Let's talk about maybe when and how and why that happened.
Living in the United States, being a child of the 1980s and a woman, I think our society places sort of a crazy emphasis on weight and what we look like. So what did I look like? Once upon a time? When I graduated from High School (Chugiak High School in Alaska in 1987, by the way--Go Mustangs!) I was very critical of myself, my body, and what I looked like. And I looked like this...
Definitely a child of the 80s, right?
And like a typical American teenager, I saw nothing but the flaws. I should lose weight. My teeth were crooked. My skin was ugly. There was plenty wrong to see and that is pretty much all that I saw.
The first time a boy noticed me was in the 8th grade. His name was Joe. I was shocked. And also super excited. Pretty much every time after that when a boy noticed me I felt the same way, surprised. Lucky. Low enough self-esteem that any attention was good attention from anyone. And I never really stopped being surprised.
Part of the low self esteem I think comes from an experience that I had when I was in elementary school. I'm not even sure how old, 4th or 5th grade would be my guess. I was walking home from school and as I left the parking lot, some "older boys," maybe 6th graders, maybe Junior High kids--I really have no idea--laughed at me and called me ugly. I cried all the way home. When I got home, I went into the bathroom and looked in the mirror and decided the the reflection looking back at me was the very definition of "ugly." I believed them. And it stuck inside me like a festering thorn.
So, in spite of the fact that I had no lack of attention from boys, no lack of dates, and no lack of hormonal teenagers doing their level best to have their way with me, I welcomed the attention and somehow thought I didn't really deserve it. I kissed a lot of frogs. A lot. And had a lot of not-so-great experiences with boys.
Perhaps there will be an opportunity to write about the boy who was different. The one who changed the way I saw myself and made me believe that I was special, but not here and not now. Suffice it to say that when that relationship ended--in the early part of my Sophomore year of college--devastated didn't quite cover how I felt.
And, at the time I was sort of seeing a guy who I had met at a dance club the previous year in college. And it was BYU and I did think I was there to get my MRS degree, so...when he proposed just a few weeks into our relationship, I didn't really know how to say no.
I have since learned that not being allowed to say no as a child led to not being able to say no for most of my life. But that's another story.
So I got married.
Engagement
May 26, 1989
It turns out that not knowing how to say "no" is not a stellar reason for getting married. I weighed 112 pounds that day. I got up early and drove to the Salt Lake Temple. All the way there, I imagined what it would be like to open the door and jump out onto the highway. And yet, I was somehow still so...well the only word that I can think of is "stupid"...somehow still so stupid that I didn't say anything. I didn't do anything. I just silently rode in the car, went into the temple, and got married.
Without going into much detail, it was not a happy marriage. There are some moments that stand out, even more than 30 years later, as painful, heart-wrenching, unforgettable. That day came in October of 1989. I had gone out to Colorado to visit my parents, and for the first time told my father how the marriage was going. The things that were in my heart and mind. The things that were painful. My dad, to say the least, advised me to leave. But, quite frankly, I didn't know how. I spent several days working up the courage to even say anything. Finally, I just asked a simple question, "Are you happy." And he gave me a simple response. "No." But he went on.
"I don't know if it's that you're not pretty enough, or not smart enough, or what it is. But I feel nothing when I'm with you."
It validated everything that I had always thought. I was not pretty enough. I was not smart enough.
I wasn't happy either. So I suggested (quite reasonably, I thought) that we get this annulled. If neither of us were happy....
But no.
There was no way that was going to happen. And that was that.
My body started to fall apart. I was 19 years old. I got ulcers. I got trench mouth. And, yes, I started to gain weight. Slowly. Steadily. He had mentioned that he would leave me if I ever got fat, and although it was not a conscious decision, I saw it as a way out. Getting fat, that is.
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