Letting go

This post was originally written on May 11, 2010.

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A Litany of Regrets?

No.

A Bill for Damages.

Not quite.

A List of Facts…

A Letting Go.

Yes. That.

Feeling physically incapable has been a huge part of my life. I started thinking about it tonight, and I’m sure I’ve expressed that idea as a major theme before, but I realized tonight just how much and for how long that’s been true.

Rewind:

Gymnastics. I was 5 or 6. I went to class once a week for awhile. And we were little, so it wasn’t too crazy. And I have to say, I’m not one of those people who remembers every detail of childhood. I barely remember high school, to be honest, so childhood is seriously distant and blurry for me. However. I distinctly remember sitting in class, and then getting up and trying to do somersaults. There were a bunch of mats laid out, end to end, and we had been working on somersaults for awhile. And there I was, trying so hard, to do a forward roll. Easy, right? But even though we’d been working on it, I struggled. One of the instructors had to stick with me all the way down the line. And I remember stopping, and looking over, and seeing another girl from our class doing handsprings. FREAKING HANDSPRINGS!!! We were 5, people! WHAT?! I promptly quit the class. I hadn’t even hit 2nd grade, and I took one good hard look at what my peers could do, realized I couldn’t even come close, and said to myself, “Well, no sense working at this any more.”

Oliver! the musical. I was 13. Pretty basic choreography, mostly box steps and such. I was an orphan and one of Fagan’s boys and the strawberry seller in “Who Will Buy?” (Ripe strawberries, riiipe!) There was this part where we were supposed to click our heels. And I never could get it. I came close, maybe I even did it and didn’t realize because I couldn’t see myself. But for the most part, I totally faked it.

Ask anyone who has had to be in a musical with me and they’ll tell you I suck at dancing. I wish I didn’t. If I could have any gift, it would be to dance with ease. You can’t imagine how much I wish I could dance. It is truly one of the great sadnesses of my life that I’m such a horrible dancer, that it’s SO hard for me to pick up anything more than the most basic things. One of the reasons I love belly dance so much is that it is the only form of dancing I’ve ever tried that I could feel even a little bit good at. I am deeply grateful for that once-a-week gift. So far, in 4 + months of class, there has only been one class where I felt really discouraged. And that was rather circumstantial. Anyway!

Gym Class. 9th grade. One of the great tragedies visited on Southern High’s students is a gym class that’s dual purpose is to a) make you feel like crap if you’re not a natural athlete and b) make you play sports. Not teach you how, just make you play them and make you feel like crap if you don’t already know everything about sports. Example: playing a dribbling game with basketballs one day, the teacher pulls me aside in front of everyone and says (in her super nasal voice), “You look like you’ve never done this before.” I stared at her. “I haven’t.” She was the kind of person who would make comments like “I would’ve EXPECTED them to teach you this in middle school, but I guess I can’t count on them for that.” I wanted to yell, “I didn’t GO to middle school! DO YOUR JOB! TEACH!” Gym class was a low point. Obviously. The grading was totally ridiculous, too. You only got As if you were good at everything. And I’m sorry, but we’re talking about 14 year olds here. You should at least get good grades if you’re trying hard and attempting to learn. In our class, if you didn’t run a 6 minute mile, you couldn’t get an A. (Gag me. A ten minute mile almost killed me that semester.)

These are but a few examples. And I don’t mean to be depressing. I just want to admit that this is the reality I’ve dealt with. That even as a very young child, I felt like I couldn’t do what other people did, and would never be able to.

I’ve been swimming since I was 3, I was on swim team briefly, and I was a lifeguard, too, but I don’t dive. I don’t do somersaults anymore. I’ve never done a cartwheel or a handspring or even a handstand or headstand. I don’t do upside-down, peeps. I just don’t. And I have no desire to. I’m generally okay with that.

Here’s another big downer, because this one, I feel like I need to get off my chest, and then leave at that: a certain relative of mine, henceforth known as WMR (well-meaning relative), has been putting me down about my weight, ever so effortlessly and likely unconsciously, since I was about 10. I don’t see her often and I truly believe that she is a good person and that she cares for me, but for some reason, weight is a blind spot for her. Things like:

• greeting a cousin my age with “Hi! Wow, you’ve lost so much weight!” followed immediately by “Hi, Abbie.” (I was 10.)

• my mom saying, “Abbie swims a lot, she’s in the lake all the time-” WMR: “Oh, swimming is a great way to lose weight.” (I was 12 or 13.)

• my mom is on a visit to WMR and hands the phone over to her. WMR: “What are you doing today?” Me: “Well, I need to go get groceries-” WMR: “Oh, are you on a diet?” (I was 22.)

That last one was the hardest to take, but maybe I only think that because it’s the most recent. It was so unnecessary and so hurtful. I called my friend Marianne, who is like a sister to me, and told her what happened and she confirmed what I felt, that it was a horrible thing to say and that I needed to dismiss it for what it was and talk to my mom about it. I did talk to my mom about it later and expressed that I would really appreciate it if she would ask WMR to stop bringing up my weight. She said she had and would but didn’t know if WMR realized she was doing it or would remember not to in the future (she is an older woman). There are two important things to recognize about that situation – first, this woman is truly a good person and altho I have never been one of her favorites, I do not believe that she would ever intentionally hurt my feelings, and second, that pretty much all of the women in my mother’s family have struggled with their weight, off and on, for their whole lives – some more than others. So maybe it’s her way of trying to connect with me? Or do me good? I have no idea. I will see her soon, and I really hope she doesn’t bring it up, because it will take a lot of self-control to take another of her comments in stride at this point. But that’s what grace is for, right? Covering a multitude of insults… :>p

There have been a thousand other little things like that, tiny almost-unnoticeable barbed comments, thrown at me at different times thru the last decade or so. I won’t bore you with more but there is a LOT more. It’s a lot to let go. But I have to. No feeling sorry for myself. No wishing that growing up had been different. Now it is past and all I can do is learn from it and hope that if I have children, they won’t feel like helpless victims of hateful genetics the way I did.

The following facts didn’t really hit me until a year or two ago: I had this total light bulb moment when I finally recognized that the body I’m in is the body I will always be in. I’m not going to magically wake up on my 25th birthday with the body of Eva Mendes. (So sad, but true.) I guess I kinda felt more like an renter than an owner. I “settled” for my body but it was never what I wanted and deep down somewhere, I was waiting around for my “real” “adult” body to show up so I could live the rest of my life in that. And then one day, I blinked a little and suddenly knew (in that same deep down somewhere) that it wasn’t so. This is it. I am what I am and that’s all that I am. It’s just me and my body – THIS. FLAWED. BODY. (the emphasis is for my benefit more than yours) – for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and health, ‘til death do us part. It took me a solid 22 years for that one to really sink in, and I think sometimes I still forget it. I just don’t remember that I have to work for what I want and that there are some things that I will never have, no matter how hard I may wish and hope and pray and yearn and work.

This is it.

So.

Learn to make do.

Learn to enjoy, regardless of everything.

This is my map for the future.

-the Getty girl