Tag Archives: homosexuality

Who’s That Girl In the Mirror? *Graphic Images*

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Have you ever thought to yourself if I had this or if I accomplished this then I’d be happy? I mean…with whatever…be it weight, money, love. All my life I’ve imagined what my life would be like if I were thin. Surely it’d be better and it’d be different. So many times I’d look at myself in the mirror and say ‘man, if I could just lose {fill in the blank}, I’d be content’.

I’ve always been very unhappy with my boobs and my arms. So extremely self conscious. It impacted everything from what I wore to how I sat to how I had sex. I can remember very vividly when Paul had moved into my house and I was changing clothes and I turned away from him as I took off my bra. He kinda chuckled and said ‘why do you do that’? I instantly felt embarrassed. I told him that he wouldn’t understand and it turned into this huge conversation. In summary, I hated the way my boobs sagged and he loved me just the way I was. He told me so many times throughout our relationship how beautiful and sexy I was and how much he desired me. This is the first time I’ve really said this but I never really believed him.

It was and is so absolutely irrational. My body issues are deep seeded. It wasn’t until probably a year into our relationship that I actually took off my bra during sex. Because I hated how they looked. I hated the sounds that they made.

I’m a bundle of emotions today. I’ve said it a thousand times: grief is a bitch. She’s an evil bitch that I think waits until you’re least expecting it and the she pushes you down and laughs at you. At least that’s how I feel today; how I feel this week.

I can’t tell you how long I’ve imagined having my arms and boobs done. Probably the first time I ever really gave it thought was at 16! That’s a lot of years of fantasizing of what it’d be like to have slender arms and perky boobs. I’ve never had them. And I’ve always had a negative body image about it too. I’ve always thought about how amazing it’d be if they looked a certain way.

As I showered today, I could see myself in the mirror. My boobs are very perky; perfectly rounded. They look they way I’ve imagined they should all of my life. I squeezed the soapy rag against my outreached arms and watched as the suds streamed down my arm, down my body. I washed my stomach and the underneath of my breast. It was foreign to me that I did not have to lift my breast. I bent down to wash my feet and my breast did not hang or sway and neither did my arms. I got out of the shower and dried off. I tried to whip my towel around my back to catch it with my other arm like I always do but I wasn’t able to. My face felt warm and my head was pounding, my nose turned red and my eye began to water.

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Significant bruising to underside of right breast. Minimal pain now.
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I can almost extend my left arm completely now. I only have about half of this range of motion on my right arm. Both arms are tight. I continue to have to ice them.

I stood there and I looked at myself in the mirror. I looked at myself from head to toe. Not intending to critique myself in the least. Just kinda soaking it all in. And I began to cry. Who is this girl?

This face. It’s slender with a defined jaw line, no double chin. Topped with the darkest shade of brown hair, so short that it barely brushes my brow. And my boobs: my nipples are centered and in the correct anatomical position. My bellies are still there but as I put my hand on my hip, I can feel and I can see my bone. I take a deep breath in and I can see my chest rise, my stomach drawn in; I can see the outline of my rib cage. I turn to the side and I look at my arm. Slender. One smooth, semi-even line from my shoulder to wrist. I dry my back and I can see my shoulder blades. My lumbar spine is defined and there is no back roll or rather back ‘shelf’. I stand forward again. My thighs are still thick by not massive and when I look down, I can see my toes.

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I don’t recognize this girl. She’s everything I’ve bargained with myself to be. She’s everything I’ve been working to accomplish but I just don’t recognize her.

I finish drying and I have to put my compression vest on. And the tears come full force as I have my right arm in the sleeve and I can’t quite reach behind my back for the left sleeve. My arms are tight.

And I close my eyes and I see Paul.  We are standing in our home on 46th street. He’s holding my shrug as I put my arm in. And he tells me that it’s awfully warm outside and that this jacket isn’t really necessary. And I tell him ‘you know I hate my arms’. He kisses my shoulder and tells me he loves me just as I am.

I struggle but I get the vest on. And I snap it. And I look at myself tears streaming. He loved me just as I was but I didn’t. Now I look the way I want but I don’t recognize myself. And I have this rush…this panic…this feeling I felt for days, weeks, months on end following his death after all my friends and family had to leave my side to get back to their lives…I’m alone.

There’s some days when my house is so quiet and I walk through it and I have flash backs of a moment where he stood in that spot. And I think of the moment we stood there together. And now my memory is not of the girl that I see in the mirror now. And in some morbid way, it’s devastating.

**big sigh**

Being a widow is tough. Being a bariatric surgery patient who lost her husband on the same day is even more tough. In time wounds heal, but big wounds always leave a scar. I’m still healing. I still have days like today where it hurts like it is January 2015. On nights like right now, when my heart is literally aching and it seems that I’ve surely cried every tear a person could possibly produce, I try to tell myself to be thankful. I’m so thankful that I experienced Paul. I’m so thankful that I experienced a love that touched me to my core. I’m thankful that I survived. I’m thankful that I’ve pressed onward. I’m thankful that I’ve experienced new love. I’m thankful that I get to keep his memories with me. I’m thankful for this blog to share them with you.  And I know that sooner or later I’ll recognize the girl in the mirror and I’m gonna love her too.

Love after death and bigotry: Love chose me; I said yes. It’s not your place to judge.

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Love chose me; I said yes. It’s not your place to judge. 

I’m from a religious family. All my life I’ve heard how homosexuality is wrong. I’ve never agreed. I’ve always believed in love. I’ve always sided with equality. I’ve always been loudly in favor of the freedom of choice. And when I found myself in a relationship with a person who brightened my life on the darkest of my days; who accepted and celebrated my love with Paul; who quickly became my best friend and love interest; when that person was a woman; I tolerated and even walked on eggshells for others’ religious convictions. After a few conversations and encounters over the past couple days…I reject the bigotry of my family and friends. We can agree to disagree. Have your convictions. But have them silently. Because at the end of the day, I still believe…if you can’t say anything nice; don’t say anything at all.

All my teenage and adult life, my father has been absent. My father is an intelligent man and a wise man in many ways. My father has devoted the last 10+ years to ‘Yahweh’. He rejects Christianity but in many ways he is just like those certain Christians that we all have encountered. He has preached time and time again about how wicked homosexuality is and how Yahweh hates it. My sister is homosexual and don’t get me started on the struggles that she has had to endure on her own journey along with those she’s faced with my father. To his credit, he has tried in the best way he can to be tolerant. I have walked on eggshells with him. I try just not to mention it. But in recent events, he has made efforts to give the appearance of acceptance. And at the first opportunity, he is quick to point out his efforts. Today was no exception. He told me today that he has done more for me in terms of accepting my ‘choices’ than he has with anyone else because he loves me and that credit should be paid given his beliefs. While I recognize his efforts, I reject the pedestal he is perched upon! Accept me; don’t accept me. I don’t really care but don’t you put on a show of tolerance and expect me to bow at your feet. It’s not going to happen.

On the flip side, my heart was touched by my mother in law, a very conservative Christian. A wonderful woman. A woman with a huge heart. She of all people is allowed to take pause. I knew that me announcing that I was pursuing a relationship with a woman within the first year of my husband’s, her son’s, death would be a bitter and difficult pill to swallow. I did not push her. I did not say anything directly to her. I allowed her time. I had no expectations of her. I was fully prepared for her to shun me; for her to not accept me. This weekend she left me in awe. She was so very honest with me. She shared with me how she had a difficult time coping with the news last year. She told me she had to unfollow me on Facebook for a period of time. She went on to tell me that she reflected and she realized that I wasn’t disrespecting Paul. She saw what a positive force Lisa was in my life. She saw how Paul’s memory and our love still lived on. She recognize what a wonderful person she must be to accept that in her life and in our life together. I was truly humbled. Here in front of me sits the mother of my late husband. A mother who should have never had to ‘bury’ her son of only 30 years; a conservative Christian mother. She told me that she could never condone my choices but that she accepted me and loved me. She told me she wanted to know her. She told me we would always be family. And I love her more deeply for this conversation. I recognize how hard this was for her to arrive at. I love her more for never making me feel ashamed, for recognizing that she had to step back and do some soul searching. And I love her for being able to have her convictions and to still be able to love and support me without making it feel as though she’s doing me a favor.

Love, life, death and grief are hard to juggle. They are even more difficult to explain. There is not one day that goes by that I don’t think of Paul. I don’t ever foresee a day where he won’t be a part of me. He has forever changed my life and who I am and I will love him forever. Love does not end when death rears it’s ugly head. My life did end the day my husband died but I did not die. I could have but I chose not to. I chose to go on and to make a new life. I have a big heart. And I’m able to love him and love another. I’m able to keep my memories and to make new ones. I’m able to grieve and to laugh. I don’t have to choose between the two. The grief of losing a spouse is never ending.  You learn to adapt. I’ve chosen to adapt. You can’t know unless you’ve been here. I feel fortunate to have found someone who accepts all that I am; all that I’ve been through; a person who wants to make my life brighter but allows me my darkness; who wants to celebrate this life with me and to make it better. Who be it to say that it is wrong just because she is a woman? Who be it say that it wrong because I’m a widow?

I hope that everyone finds love like these; a love that changes you-that enhances you. I hope that everyone gets to experience the look in these pictures.