The End Of The Fairytale

Growing up I loved fairytales. Like many little girls,  I dreamed of being beautiful, like a princess. The year my family moved from Winnipeg, Manitoba to Central Pennsylvania I was six years old.  Everything changed: I entered a new school, was introduced to new kids and went to someone else for medical care.  My new pediatrician told my mother that I was overweight and needed to go on a diet.  Of course, my mother felt the doctor must be correct; our old pediatrician never led her astray. At the age of six, I began watching my weight and felt more like Cinderella’s ugly stepsister’s.

My eating habits changed. I ate snacks of celery stuffed with peanut butter and raisins before swim practice; soft boiled eggs instead of fried for breakfast, and never butter only margarine.  I loved Halloween and my mom made us elaborate costumes each year. I collected tons of candy and froze all the chocolates; this helped me not consume the calories so quickly. My candy lasted for months after my sister and brother had finished theirs.

 I was shy and listened more than I talked. I heard my aunts and mother talk about the latest fad diets.  Everyone aspired to be thin and pretty. My grandmother was tiny and was disappointed that my mother was tall and “big boned”, when she was growing up. I feel like I have always known this. The way people looked, how they dressed and what their figures  were like was always a topic of conversation on my mother’s side of the family. This is a fact, not a criticism.

What was hard for me to hear was how everyone talked about my sister’s beauty. I loved and admired my sister, but always felt I lived in her shadow. She was tall and thin with sea green eyes  that could pierce you when she was angry. My sister didn’t realize that she was beautiful. I just heard the talk surrounding her good looks and felt like a lesser person because in the eyes of others I did not measure up. I was not the beautiful princess. These were my feelings, it didn’t mean this is how people viewed me.   However, one year, in middle school, a boy wrote in my yearbook “ I hope you turn out like your sister”, confirming to me what I believed.

During the ‘tween years, the pre-pubescent years, many children gain extra weight. I did and was probably a little overweight.  In sixth grade I became friends with a girl in my class.  When I went to her house we would borrow her sisters Candies and dance to ABBA music. This was a sight to be seen, mainly because I have no rhythm and the Candies were three inches high. My friend and I made a New Years resolution to lose weight. I lost twenty pounds.  I wasn’t starving myself and  I may have grown a few inches during this time.  The  same pediatrician who said I was overweight was now worried that I had anorexia. 

At fifteen I had back surgery, this was a choice I made; it greatly enhanced my self esteem.  I couldn’t swim or do any sports for six months. I went outside and walked as often as I could, even during the months I wore my back-brace.  Throughout this time I couldn’t worry about my weight, only my recovery. The following summer,  I was sixteen. My sister was on a bicycle trip in Europe, I met my first boyfriend. He didn’t know my sister. For the first time I felt “seen”.

In college I started worrying about my weight once again.  During freshman year I went to many  parties, but during one party in particular an upperclassman looked over at me and said “you’re a whale”,  then proceeded to laugh with his friends. In sophomore year, my love for aerobic exercise became borderline obsession. I ran, swam, and cycled; If I didn’t participate heavily in at least two of these  activities each day I berated myself. After sophomore year in college and for some years into my twenties I felt good about myself. 

When I was 26,  I started dating a young man who constantly talked about his heavy his ex-girlfriend. One day we saw her, from afar,  in a restaurant. He explained who she was and said,  “Isn’t she fat?”.  I responded, “She’s not much heavier than me”. Our relationship ended shortly thereafter. My childhood image of myself flooded right back in. I don’t know why he decided to end it, but our relationship was ultimately doomed for failure.

The next man I started dating, I eventually married. There were so many good things about him, but we both had behaviors from past experiences that just worked against us. After we had been dating for about six months I “opened the door” and asked him if I was too heavy; at that moment I gave away my power. He walked right through the door and soon policed all my food. I went to weight watchers and lost about 14 pounds, but was still not thin enough. He wanted me to be a size 4.  Having inherited my father’s short waist, made it extremely hard to be this thin.  I started cutting out all of the tags in my clothes because I was ashamed that  I could rarely fit in a size smaller than a 6. After losing a lot of weight, and keeping my hair just so, he continued to compare me to other women.

After a year of marriage we sought professional help. I started feeling better emotionally. The weekend I found out I was pregnant, my then husband was out of town. When he arrived home he told me he was  taking a trip to “think about our marriage”; at the same time he asked me not to run, until I had the go ahead from my obstetrician . When I finally talked with my doctor, the nausea had set in and I no longer felt like running. Later in the fall, yet early in my pregnancy, he left for Texas to “ponder” our future together.  Upon returning home, he announced he wanted a trial separation. The therapeutic work I had done on myself started to slip backwards, just a little.  I was hormonal and working through a marriage that was failing. I ate whatever I craved to help me through my  grief. Being busy with work, driving an hour (or more) to and from work, and going to therapy three times a week did not give me any time to swim. I gained 50lbs.

Once we were separated, despite the weight gain, I felt better about myself because I started making my own choices; my sense of self worth once again improved. My free time was used to focus on my mental well being and, just as importantly, the life I was carrying inside me. I didn’t dwell on what my husband thought about my appearance. Eventually, I decided to end the marriage.

When my daughter was about 9 months old I had a conversation with my first boyfriend. We remained friends after we dated and corresponded off and on, but not for 10 years. As we started talking again, I was reminded of who I had once been.  I took back my power.  

Almost a year after my daughter was born, my brother got married. I had lost some, but not all, of my pregnancy weight. At the wedding someone said to me “You know Sarah, not everyone is meant to be thin”.  Words that were possibly meant with good intent, were not received well. I  internalized them and was once again the 6 year old at the pediatrician’s office. 

After my divorce was final, I started to think about dating again. When my daughter was 16 months old I met the man I am now married to. He didn’t have expectations about how someone should appear, nor care if I decided to change my hair. We have been together for over 20 years and have two more children. I am fortunate to have found a man that I love. He cherishes. me despite the roller coaster ride we have had in life

I read my children fairytales and let them watch “princess movies”, explaining to them that beauty comes from within. Over the years I have tried to instill healthy eating habits for my family, without being negative about food. An active lifestyle was something I encouraged.  Candy was allowed. I’m not sure what messages they have received from me. My children have seen me go to weight watchers and participate in Noom, mainly because I want to maintain a healthy weight. I am confident in most of the choices I make and who I have become.  There will always be that little girl voice at the back of my mind telling me to lose weight. The young adult me will continue to niggle in my head, telling me I am not worthy because I do not live up to someone else’s standards. I know I am more than this. 

Read your children fairytales, but let them know that nobody is perfect. Tell them that Cinderella’s beauty came from the kindness she showed others, the hard work she did, and the life she created for herself with her animal friends…When they grow too old for the fairytales of their youth, read them fairytale a  poem by Becky Hemsley. Post it on the wall or mirror and remind them they are who they CHOOSE to be; this is where true beauty lies.