I have a SECRET

WOW, could I look a little more pale in this photo?

I have a nasty, terrible, deep, dark, shameful secret.

I’m not really sure there are enough ugly adjectives to describe this secret.

I don’t want to share it, I try to hide it at all costs and succeed remarkably at it.
BUT
Sometimes I hate keeping it. It eats my insides like a parasite. It makes my stomach acids boil into an uncomfortable heartburn fire. There are days I avoid mirrors in order to not look myself in the face because I am ashamed.

The dilemma in sharing this secret is that if I TELL, I will inevitably have to CHANGE. I am not a fly-by-the-seat of my pants girl, though I sometimes crave spontaneity. I am a planner, an organizer.

I don’t do change.
That’s just not how I roll.
In fact I am TERRIFIED of change, and the certainty that I will have to embark on a LIFE CHANGING CHANGE if I tell my secret.
On the other hand…

I can’t live like this forever. I can’t feel trapped by my own fear. I can’t avoid myself forever. I am compelled to reveal myself. If only to ‘rip off the band aid quickly’ and move on with the long journey I will face ahead.
After many sleepless nights I decided it was time. I was going to do it. I called my best friend (because my husband doesn’t really do the ‘emotional’ stuff and I knew there would be crying) and we talked about her new job and my new job and possibilities of life and moving and shoes and quitting smoking and blah, blah...
FOR 3 HOURS.
We said our goodbyes and I was smiling and thirsty. I ran to the fridge and grabbed a soda, and caught a glimpse of myself in the chrome handle of the crisper and realized, I DIDN’T TELL. I meant to, I planned to, I organized to, but I didn’t.
Now what? If I couldn’t count on telling the one person who knows everything about me (I mean even the juicy, real, weird, awkward things about me) who could I tell? I have decided that maybe it’s the act of actually TELLING someone, using my vocal cords to form the sounds that make the words to tell.

So, I am going to tell you. I am going to WRITE it to you. I am going to hope that the act of pressing the keys will allow me to ‘tell’ my secret.
Want to hear the good news? The very BEST part of telling YOU?

I know that somewhere out there in the blogverse someone will read this, and be courageous.

They will be brave.
They will be bold.
They will be empowered to feel their fear, and DO SOMETHING about it.
They will understand the heart pounding, palm sweating thoughts I have about being brave and DO IT ANYWAY.

And that makes me smile, and it makes me brave. Brave enough to tell you
THE SECRETEST OF SECRETS:

I am FAT.

- I am JEALOUS of all normal size women everywhere.
- I HATE my naked self (and sometimes my clothed self).
- I am AFRAID to be naked with my own husband of 12 years (even though he says he doesn’t care).
- I feel PHYSICALLY ILL at the thought of clothes shopping.
- I ENVY other people’s wardrobes and wish that I could have anything resembling a style but nothing cute ever fits me, and things that do make me feel like a sausage.
- I CRY to myself in the shower while washing my hair because I know when I get out of the shower, the towel will not wrap all the way around.
- I PRETEND every day that it does not bother me, and succeed SO well in this lie that other large women compliment me on my CONFIDENCE.
- Those compliments make me NAUSEOUS, because I know they are a LIE, just another part of my secret.
And there it is. My secret, my shame, my sorrow.
Overdramatic you say? Perhaps, but that’s how I roll.
My mom used to call me the ‘Queen of Everything’ when I was a child, and I was in drama club in high school (I know THAT should definitely been kept a secret).
BUT, that’s how it FEELS. It feels THAT terrible, THAT awful. I don’t know what to do about it.
(insert awkward silence here)
And I guess that’s all for today friends, see you soon…