Six years ago I thought a woman in a dress was a Goddess. I’d look at her and think: What confidence! She must grab life by the horns and twirl while doing it. She was…not me.
The first dress I wore was to prom, excluding of course the childhood phase of ridiculous Easter dresses and feathery church hats. The dress itself was OK– glittery pink with a thin scarf to accent my shoulders. It resembled a disco ball of sorts and I remember feeling unsure about even going to prom in such a dress. To my dismay, prom was a meek experience void of a date and full of lackluster adventures of sitting alone. And when I twirled in the venue mirror, I was even less impressed. Beneath all the fabric and glitter, I was still me… a person I believed didn’t have the body for a dress.
To this day that dress hangs on the back of my bedroom door, idle and a bit dusty. Only recently did I attempt to wear a dress again, not because I was trying to hide my body, but because I was proud of it.
As a teenager, a dress was the ultimate sign of confidence. Those who wore them appreciated and loved their body. Thinking back to prom night, I realize I didn’t gain confidence when putting on the dress, at least, not in the way I thought I would. It certainly wasn’t the golden ticket to self-love and I surely didn’t feel like a princess.
My confidence came later in life, after gastric bypass surgery.
Before I lost weight I wore only dress pants. You know… the unshapely kind that are a guaranteed hem job. I was apparently determined to hide my size in anyway possible, even if it qualified me for the TV show What Not to Wear. In all honesty I was ashamed of my body and I wore what I thought was ‘appropriate’ for my size. Like many people I struggled with body image and desperately tried to love myself, but it was a hard battle. At 337 pounds I couldn’t see the beautiful person I was. I saw the labels on my jeans and the numbers on the scale.
Flash forward six years and I’m the owner of a non-prom, normal, fun dress– two of them actually. It sounds like hardly an achievement, but it’s progress. I remember the day I bought them. Standing in the Marshalls changing room, adorned in a beautiful maroon knit dress, I was confident.
After all the hard work put into being healthy, I wouldn’t allow myself to be negative. I fought thoughts of: you’re still too heavy, the middle looks awkward, and even the dreaded “I’m ugly.” Instead, I looked at my eyes, my hair, my smile, my strong legs, and all the parts of me I did love. The fabric hugged my body well, accented my olive green eyes, and I felt free, confident, and capable. Looking into that Marshalls mirror I saw: me.
After four years of learning to love myself after weight loss surgery, I am still overweight with flab in places I hate. But now I see strength in those spots. I don’t look immediately at my stomach or sigh when I turn to reveal my profile. Instead, my eyes, my smile, and my happiness are the first things I see. And in that way the mirror transforms into my friend.
I will always be concerned and worried about my weight, but I’ve learned to pull through– to move past those negative thoughts. I wear a dress at least once a week– the maroon being my favorite– and it’s not worn for anyone but myself. Of course, the dress pants still appear in my wardrobe often, but now I don’t hide my body. I’m proud of it. I’m proud of the work I put forth to be healthy and the love I found along the way.
Feature image of woman in a dress via Pixabay
Bypass Beauty 