No, I’m not pregnant, but you look fantastic.

So, it happened again last week. Someone asking me if I’m pregnant when I’m not. How very easy it is to deflate an ego.

I’ve been through it before, this mortification, but this time was extra special. I was working with someone I had hired to do a marketing related project for our business, a man who shall remain unnamed because this is a small community. When I laughingly answered, “(ha ha) No, just fat. (tee hee)”, he said “Oh, sorry, I guess you’re still just working on losing some baby weight.” My baby is six and a half, so, um, I think it’s just called weight at this point. He told me how his sister lost a bunch of weight by only eating one meal a day, and I might want to try that. I should also think about giving up carbs. Super helpful. You can imagine how grateful I was for this unsolicited sage advice. To my credit, I kept it all together and managed to work pleasantly with this person for two more hours before going home to cry.

Hello spiral of shame and self loathing, we meet again. Like it’s not hard enough to be accepting of ourselves, you know? And then someone comes along to point out the things we are most embarrassed of. I am constantly trying to hide my belly fat, from myself and everyone else. It is my Achilles heel, my most vulnerable place. My belly holds all my insecurities related to my body, especially the fear that everyone thinks I’m not attractive enough for my husband and someday he will realize it himself and leave me. It’s a lot of worry for a belly to hold. Which may be partly why it is round and full.

Of course, I’m now on a diet. I have really mixed feelings about it. And since writing about those feelings here in this semi-public setting is less expensive than hashing it all out with a professional, that’s what I’m going to do. Yes, I would love to lose some weight. 20 pounds would be great. So I’m working on that. But at the same time, being driven to lose weight out of humiliation doesn’t seem like the right way to make change. I’ve been reading a lot about intuitive eating and Body Trust, which is, at its core, is just about listening to your own body with compassion. It feels revolutionary because of the barrage of cultural messages we get defining what it means to be healthy, sexy, desirable, and acceptable. Living comfortably in our own imperfect skin shouldn’t be a progressive or feminist statement but that’s where we are at. As much as I think of myself as a feminist and a cheerleader for letting the world see people as they really are, I am completely lost when it comes to knowing how to be at ease in my body.

This New York Times article popped up on my phone a couple of days ago, echoing my thoughts about the diet industry, “wellness” and the role we women play in perpetuating the madness. The fact of the matter is that shame is a powerful motivator, both the kind of shame that comes at us from the outside world and the shame that comes from within. If shame about our bodies was suddenly erased I would definitely not be on a diet. I have a feeling that I would be joined by legions of fluffy women eating bread and cheese in full view of everyone. Without shame the whole reality of what it means to be a female would change.

I am surrounded by amazingly beautiful women that I adore. I know and admire their chubby arms, muscular legs, glowing skin, bony backs, bubble butts, ample bosoms and wrinkly necks. Of course that is because they belong to people I love. I would never find these people unattractive, even if they had a soft belly like mine or some other quality that made them different than the cultural ideal. But here I am, vain and self absorbed, unable to extend to myself the kind of grace that I want all my lovely friends to feel.

Even if I manage to lose the weight I’d like to, I have no doubt that I will be asked again if I am pregnant. It is how I am shaped. I have a round stomach, and I have a very arched low back that gives me the posture of a pregnant lady. When I’m too old to be mistaken for pregnant there will be a whole host of other things to feel self conscious about and there will always be people to point them out. Some people are passive aggressive and ask out of fake concern or curiosity just to point out how inadequate you are, but most, like my wisdom spewing buddy from the other day, are just speaking without thinking (pro tip: don’t do that). Unfortunately, whether intentional or not, these sorts of interactions are a wrecking ball to the fragile cocoon of self acceptance that many of us walk around in.

My brain has exploded a little bit trying to reckon with the competing messages rattling around in there. Don’t be such a fucking wimp. If you hate your body, change it. Toughen up, quit eating and lose some weight. That is one message, the loud, insistant one. I am trying hard to commit and follow through with this. And yet…there is a softer, sweeter voice whispering, Dieting will not fix this problem. The only way to truly feel better is to find comfort and acceptance in the body you have. Ugh. If you think dieting is challenging, acceptance is damn near impossible. And I have no idea how to find balance between these two paths as they seem to be in total opposition.

What I do know is this. I do not want my own insecurities to make me cold or hardened. I have wrestled with jealousy off and on throughout my adult life. I’m sometimes tempted to look for the bad in people that I feel inferior to. That is not a becoming trait. So while I struggle with my self worth and my imperfect body, I want to put some effort into beautifying my insides. I want people to feel good after being around me. I want to give genuine compliments and call attention to the subtler beauty that comes from being a good person. I want to be the opposite of the wrecking ball.

During my awkward encounter last week I was focused on myself. I regret that I was too stuck to reach beyond my humiliation and give a compliment. This man with foot-in-mouth disease looked much healthier and happier than the last time I’d seen him and I wish I had told him so. I have no idea how he feels about himself, but maybe it would have been a balm for us both if I could’ve said, “No, I’m not pregnant, but you look fantastic.” It’s something to strive for.

I’m ending with a picture my friend L took in Russia and shared with me. Somehow it seems appropriate. Hoping I grow up to be the lady on the left, gazing at her friends with love and affection.