When I was younger, I loved sleepovers, slumber parties - sleeping bags lined up next to each other, eating and talking and laughing until we drifted off to sleep. When I was a young adult, I crashed, cat-napped, and passed out on cigarette burned couches, beer soaked floors, hotel room bathtubs - and once, the back of a boat parked in a friend's garage. In my early twenties, I traveled abroad and stayed in youth hostels - a mat on the floor right next to a fellow traveller curled up on her mat two feet from mine. When I was younger - communal living was fun and adventurous and a little bit dangerous.
As a 48 year old woman, I am less interested in communal sleeping and yet - strangely enough, the opportunity has come up more than I am comfortable with. I recently chaperoned a weekend event for my high schooler's Speech & Debate team. My room and board was paid for with the caveat that I share a room with another same gendered parent. One room, two beds, two strangers. My roommate was lovely. Her pajamas were way prettier than mine. A beautifully embroidered gown with teeny-tiny bells. "Are you going to sleep in that?" I asked, as I shamefully pulled the covers up over my sweatshirt. She jingled and snored all night long. I know, because I didn't sleep a wink. In May, the 100% remote company I work for will meet in Boston for a three day meeting. Most of us have never met in person - although we talk every day. We will be staying in one big house - together - more communal living. Co-workers, sleeping together. What is this - the 70's? Look, I'm all for being young and hip and edgy. But I don't want to know my co-workers hygiene habits or if they are mouth-breathers or if they make bodily noises while sleeping. Awkward! If I refuse and book a hotel room up the road, I am the old lady who isn't one of the gang - and if I stay in the house, I won't sleep for 3 days. Either way - I'm pissed that this is even a thing. I mean - do I have to sleep wearing my bra - just in case I run into my boss on the way to the communal bathroom in the middle of the night? Oh man, I'm going to have to hold it for 3 days.
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I do not step on a scale, except during my annual checkup - and even then, I close my eyes and put my fingers in my ears just in case the nurse mumbles to herself as she writes the number in my chart. The number - that number has the power to dictate my mood, dominate my thoughts, control my actions - basically undo every positive affirmation I have ever whispered to myself while looking in the mirror. The conversation around weight is old and boring and yet, still relevant.
Regardless of my actual weight, I have a fat head. When I'm thin, I see fat. When I'm fat, I see more of the same. From years of yo-yo dieting, I no longer have an accurate view of my own body. But what is an accurate measure of my weight - is my underwear. Now, for those people whose weight only fluctuates 5 pounds throughout the year - you will not understand my scientific weight monitoring system. But for those of us whose weight fluctuates 10+ pounds each year - you may identify. When my underwear gets tight, slips below my fat-flap, becoming an irrelevant undergarment - I know that I am at the high end of my acceptable weight range. Some people use their jeans - but I find that my pants grow and shrink with my body. My underwear is less forgiving. The funny thing is - nobody is ever publicly curious about my weight gain. Hey Lori, what delicious food have you been eating this winter? Whatever it is, I see you enjoyed it! Instead we comment on and typically compliment weight loss - regardless of how it was achieved. I am no longer interested in the nonsense surrounding losing weight. Truly. I realize my self worth has nothing to do with the number on that dumb scale (quick - say that three times and click your heels together to believe). I eat healthy, except when I don't. I exercise, except when I'm napping. After all these years, I finally accept that I gain weight in the winter months and lose most of it in the summer months. Just the other day, my underwear tugged a little more than usual. Ding! Spring must be right around the corner. |
Lori Ann DinkinsOne blog at a time, I write the truth about my life as it is, as I hope it will be, as I wish it would have been. Business insights and personal triumphs. Thank you for joining me.
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