C L O S E T S
By: Return To Your Wild
Tags: Love Yourself, Acceptance, Transformation, Body Image, Closet

Excited to attend an evening at a Tapestry performance, I started pulling clothes off the hangers in my closet, searching for a nice outfit to wear. One by one, I slipped a dress over my head or slid a skirt up past my thighs and each one yielding the same result. Nothing FIT!! I angrily yank them off and sling them to the floor and wind up settling for something less than what I had intended to find. I leave the house feeling defeated, ashamed and not happy about myself. Not even 3 months ago, I could ease my frame into any of these dresses, skirts and jeans…but now they lie here, discarded misfits.

This scene brings back memory after many agonizing memories. As far back as I can remember, I’ve always been very aware of my body and I’ve always been somewhat ashamed of my body. Maybe “ashamed” is a strong word, so let me say “disapproving.” I seem to return to this state over and over again and that’s why I know that I have yet to learn to truly love this “envelope that houses my soul” (as I heard someone recently describe our body.) How can I love this body of mine when it’s not cooperating the way I think she should behave?! How can I be confident in my skin when my skin is stretching and sagging in different places all at the same time?! How can I feel “good” when I don’t feel “good?” What would it be like not to have negative body issues?! How much freedom would there be?! I want to find out.

As I unravel these memories, like a flash bulb, these images burn into my thoughts:

I was one of those girls who grew up very fast. I always felt more mature and serious than many girls my age. I was bigger, taller and stronger than most. I had a younger sister who was a string bean and I often compared myself to her, feeling like a giant, an oaf. It probably didn’t help matters when Halloween rolled around, that I often played the “boy” part in the elaborate costumes that mom made for us. Raggedy Ann and Andy. You guessed it, I was Andy. An old lady and old man. Yep! I was the old man. Although, one year we decided that we would dress as “fancy ladies.” We even got to wear make-up and jewelry! One day while thrift-shopping, I spied this long powder blue dress with small white polka dots and a delicately embroidered collar. I had begged mom for it but she told me that it was too big for me and that I would have to wait. However, mom had sneaked back in and bought that sweet little dress and I remember feeling so beautiful as I knocked on the neighbor’s doors and shouted, “Trick or Treat!”

I started puberty in 3rd grade and was often teased about becoming a woman. The remembrance of my very first training bra was that of anxiety, vulnerability and embarrassment. Feeling the weight of becoming a woman, I carried my little bra out of the store in a K-Mart shopping bag, thinking to myself that I would rather curl up somewhere and hide. The next day, I readied myself for school and I felt so different and weird about the way that bra made me feel. As if I wasn’t already self-conscious enough, something happened that day at school that has obviously stuck with me. I went to a little country schoolhouse where there were around 50 kids (K-12) in the whole school. Our cafeteria was in another building just outside of our schoolroom and we would stand in a single file line waiting for the cooks to let us enter the building. I was near the back of the line kicking the loose gravel around with my shoe, when one of the girls snapped my bra and told the next kid standing in line, “Lynna’s wearing a training bra. Pass it down.” Needless to say, that message spread like wildfire to the front of the line. As for me, I was angry and embarrassed but I managed to shuck off the comments and enjoy my lukewarm school lunch anyway.

As I continued to pubesce, everything grew larger. I would hide my breasts behind blousy shirts and large t-shirts. I would fold inward so as to not draw attention to them and never did I wear anything that revealed any cleavage… although that was really never a problem. As I sit here writing these words, past comments from boys and men seem to haunt and anger me. I feel fury and rage as I think about these demeaning voices of ill equipped men and boys who didn’t know any better, because they had never been taught what it meant to respect and honor women. Comments like, “That tight sweater looks good on her.” Or…“Just give the baby to Lynna and she can breastfeed her,” spoken at a family picnic. Derogatory comments toward women were a near constant in my growing up and adult years. The lights are beginning to get brighter as to why I have always had body issues.

The body part that I’ve been most ashamed of is my ass. I have always had a larger derriere and I have always wanted to hide it. Where did this come from? What made me so focused on the shape and size of my rear end? I’m still pondering this question. At one point around age 9–10, my obsession got so bad that when we were invited to dinner with friends and family, I would pack up weak little salads with sparse dressing and eat that while everyone else enjoyed their meat and potatoes. I was still a little girl! Where had I learned this behavior?!

Middle school brought even more body dysfunction. Growing up in a very fundamental fellowship and strict upbringing, we were often warned that we shouldn’t draw attention to ourselves. Dresses were preferred and pants were frowned on. Modest apparel (nothing sleeveless or short), no jewelry, piercings or tattoos. No make-up and no cutting the hair. Listening to music other than our hymns wasn’t conducive to our spiritual practice and playing team sports wasn’t encouraged. All of these rules didn’t encourage confidence or self love and I continued to spiral into self-loathing. I would try and hide my backside at all costs. I would never want to be in the front of a line, in case I would be judged about the girth of my hips. Again, I was told that I had, “Child bearing hips.” I would often wear suit coats or jackets that would cover my butt. I also remember hiding some big gaudy rings that my grandmother had given me in one of my suit coat pockets that I would slip onto my fingers once I got to school. At one point, I had discovered a tube of bronze colored lipstick that I would also drop into my pocket on a daily basis. I would get to school, sneak into the bathroom before class and apply that lipstick to my eyelids. I guess I thought it would serve the purpose of eye-shadow. Everything came off when I would get home. I became pretty good at hiding ME.

High School brought about more angst and anxiety. I was obsessed about my appearance and the desire to date (magic 16 was the age I could start dating); about having all the clothes that would make me feel like I “fit in”; having my hair “just right”. Growing up in the 80’s was a time of high and teased hair, feathered bangs, side ponytails and heavy make-up. I was into fad diets and at-home workout videos. I remember Jane Fonda telling me to, “Squeeze the cheese” and wondering what that even meant! In my mind, it meant that I had a cottage cheese butt and thighs and the point was to do the leg-lifts and squats to minimize that. And I guess in a way, that is what it was for. I remember doing leg lifts and fire hydrants in our small living room, feeling I was accomplishing something and at the same time, still not feeling fulfilled.

I got married at the young age of 19. I had dropped to a sickly weight of 115 on my wedding day. I really hadn’t tried to lose that much weight but due to the stress of managing my wedding and managing the expectations of others and their opinions had taken its toll. I loved being that thin but I didn’t feel good. I remember feeling sickly, light-headed, weak. I pretty well maintained that weight until I turned 23 and had our first son. I was excited to be pregnant and I believed that I was entitled to everything my growing belly wanted. I overindulged in all kinds of foods, stopped exercising, gained a bunch of weight and started a downward, outward and inward spiral.

Another pivotal “closet” moment happened 2 years after Logan was born. I was getting ready for the day and went into our walk-in to try and find something to wear. As I scanned the closet looking for something that would fit, I realized the only shirts that would button around me were Justin’s, large flannel shirts. If I wanted something new to wear, I would have to go shopping in the large women’s department — I would need to buy a 17–18. I crumbled to the floor, weeping. I truly hated myself. I didn’t want to come out of the closet. I didn’t want to be seen by anyone. I knew I couldn’t keep living like this and so I decided to see a doctor. Not only was overweight, I was experiencing other physical ailments such as heart, digestive and lung conditions. I went to see a doctor and after a complete check-up, he told me something that no one had ever told me before, “You are obese.” I knew I was overweight but I was so taken aback and horrified at the thought of being OBESE. All the wind had left my sails.

A friend told me about a “blood” diet that was producing good results. I would have my blood drawn and sent away to see what I could eat, a diet customized specifically to my blood composition. The results came back and pretty soon I was eating 6 crackers and a few other small items a day; everything weighed and counted. I stuck to it and I became super thin and emaciated. I lost all muscle mass and was on the other side of the weight pendulum. Real healthy…grrr.

Five years later, we had another child. Six months after he was born, I almost died from complications with pneumonia. I experienced some very strange and mysterious illnesses making doctors question why? How? 15 years later, we made a major move. 5 years after that, I had a massive spiritual awakening and transformation. AND… that’s when my body truly came alive. When my soul was set free, my body responded with love; my body and mind felt light. Who knew that the answer to my physical body was releasing my soul and uncovering my true self?! Because when we work on our soul, it is a deep work that involves taking apart and examining everything that wasn’t working — from the innards to the shell.

So, as you can see, my life has been a series of ups and downs — a swinging from one extreme to the other. Right now, here I am…a peri-menopausal woman. I know there are things out of my control but there are also things that I can take action on. I am doing my best to accept this stage in life with acceptance and grace. God has granted me such love and abundance and I want to live this last half (or whatever time I have left) of my life showing myself love. Treating my body with love. When I love me, I love others.

THE MORAL OF THIS STORY: I “FOUND” MYSELF IN CLOSETS!

Another closet that I had to “come out” from was accepting and loving my sexuality… as a bi-sexual woman. That is a book unto itself!

Now…go love yourself!

~Lynna Foster, Return To Your Wild

April 19, 2019