Honestly....

I’m still getting used to my post-pregnancy body. The transition back to my old weight has been challenging, and while I’m making progress, it is going SLOW. I bought a few clothes, mostly for work, in my “new” size, but for the most part, I have refused to purchase a new wardrobe. I don’t want to make it easy for myself to accept this body. I’d rather suffer with months of having nothing in my closet that fits or looks good on me, than talk myself into believing that I can be satisfied as a bigger person than I was before I had a baby.

This can be a double-edged sword though, because as I lose weight, things start fitting differently. And the bar for which I measure my progress, and what actually looks good, has changed dramatically. I no longer know if what I put on actually looks good on me or just better than it did a few weeks ago.

The other day, as I was getting ready to go out somewhere with Roger, I decided to try on a pair of what used to be my “fat jeans”. I was elated to find out that I could actually button them! And once I got past the awful realization that these were the jeans I used to curse myself for filling out, and are now something I’m trying to shrink into, I actually tried to talk myself into believing that I looked good in them.

I asked Roger for his opinion, and got the proverbial “you look beautiful, Baby”. Sigh. I needed the truth. Everyone knows that just because you can get into something, doesn’t mean that it actually fits. Thinking that they did was just temporary fashion insanity on my part. Frustrated, I changed. Roger, perplexed at my moodiness asked me why I was upset…after all, he had told me I was beautiful and looked great…isn’t that what I wanted to hear?

Well…yes, I did want to hear that I looked good, but I also wanted those words to be the truth…and they weren’t. The truth, in this case, was more important. I needed not to publically humiliate myself.

This got me thinking about all the times I’m asked for my opinion. I used to warn people not to ask me what I think if they were going to get mad at me for saying it. And, like Roger, I often feel like it’s a “damned if you do, damned if you don’t” scenario. Most people don’t really want the truth. They want other people to validate their behavior or tell them the same lie they are currently telling themselves. “Beth, what do you think?” is normally not what people say to me when they want to know my honest, no-holds-barred, opinion. Somehow, I’m supposed to figure out what lie it is I’m supposed to tell, and then tell it convincingly enough that the other person actually believes that it’s what I think. Very rarely, does my honest opinion coincide with what someone actually wants to hear.

Anyone who’s paid attention might notice that I rarely ask people for their opinion. Not because I don’t care what they think and not because their opinions aren’t valid, but mainly because I don’t want to put anyone in a spot to feel like they have to compliment me. If I’m confident in what I’m doing or wearing, I really don’t need anyone else to validate that for me. Sure I love being genuinely complimented. But, if I have to fish for it, it’s not genuine. Having people be insincere in their praise is more frustrating than ego-boosting.

And for the times that I’m really not sure…like with the blue jeans…I really really want an honest answer. It’s frustrating that, most of the time, I can’t get one. I don’t like being the person who has to give the constructive criticism, (which is why I only share my opinion when directly asked for it), so I understand that a lot of people find it difficult not to say they like an outfit when they really hate it. But, if I ask for an opinion, it’s because 1) I really need an honest answer and 2) I value the person enough to hear what they have to say and use the advice in a constructive way. And I know it’s not always easy. There’s always the question, “Will saying this actually help?” If the answer is no, by all means find something nice to say and move on.

Anyway, I digress. I told Roger that I’m not like other girls. When I ask him what I look like, it’s because I really want to know. He must notice that I don’t ask him for his opinion on my looks very often. And yes, it’s true that if he tells me I look awful, I might get upset. But that’s because the truth hurts and not because I need him to tell me lies. Being upset is just frustration at me. I wouldn’t take it out on him.

Alas, he doesn’t believe me…