After more than two weeks, after missing the progress test I was to take at the dojo tonight, I finally felt ready to send an email to my sensei explaining why I haven’t been in class. It was a challenge to convey to him how I’d been hurt and why I think I’ve been unfairly treated in just a couple of short paragraphs, but I think I managed it.
Sensei:
I don’t know when or if I will return to the dojo.
Each time you give me a test invitation sheet, you call me into your office to tell me that I cannot be promoted to shodan until I lose weight. It feels to me as if you want me to know that you’re doing me a favor by allowing me to test. It’s very hurtful to hear you say to me the things that I say to myself whenever I look in the mirror–that I’m just not good enough and that no matter how hard I work, my goals are out of reach for no reason other than how I look. Still, I accepted that limitation until I saw that you promoted another martial artist–one of far lesser skill–who is also obese. She’s just not as obese as I am.
I’m trying hard to hang onto my will to live; there are days when I don’t think I’m going to make it. Maybe it isn’t a wise decision to give up something that’s been a big part of my life for so many years, but I don’t know if my self-esteem can continue to take the battering.
Dorene
Adventures in Widowhood
I’m curious to see what his reaction will be.
###
There’s a quote from a book–I don’t remember which one.
“I’ve lived too long with the pain; I won’t know who I am without it.”
I’ve actually never read the book this is from, but I saw it in the signature of one of the members of the suicide forum. I’ve been thinking about this quote a lot since the last time I was at the dojo.
I’ve been wondering what my life would be like if I threw out my bathroom scale and stopped letting my “weight problem” rule every second of every day. What would it be like to march through my day with my head up instead of slinking around hoping not to see the judgmental looks on the faces of the people I encounter? What would it be like to put my hand up the next time someone starts to offer me a diet program and say, “Stop! There’s nothing wrong with me?” What would it be like to actually believe that there wasn’t anything wrong with me, that I was good enough to have what I want?
I’d love to try it, but I worry about two things:
1. I worry that I won’t know what to do with myself. Who will I be if I’m not the fat woman who wishes she were a thin woman?
2. I worry that I will gain weight if I stop obsessing about losing weight. I don’t think I’ll be able to deal with that–it’s hard enough to be as heavy as I am; gaining weight will surely destroy me.
On the other hand, maybe I could actually start living my life. Maybe I would have the time and mental energy to actually write something publishable, something important.
I suppose I can start small. From now on, anyone who suggests a diet program or a book I should read about my hormones or any other pseudoscientific nonsense is going to get a rude reply from me.
###
I’m pretty sure that I’m going to be spending most of tomorrow in bed.
No comments:
Post a Comment