Deflated
Deflated. /dəˈflādəd/ adjective 1. Having been emptied of air or gas. 2. Having suddenly lost confidence or optimism.

I have avoided full length mirrors for most of my life, but I recently had an encounter with one in the middle of Target. I was on my way to the accessories department when I caught a glimpse of myself that made me take a step back. As I carefully examined the reflection, pondering the possibility of it being a trick mirror like at the fair distorting size and shape, I began to question myself.

Is that right? I had lost some weight recently. Who is this person staring at me? As I looked in the mirror, I noticed I had curves and the way my T-shirt grazed over my stomach. That’s me?!? Those twenty seconds were the longest I have ever spent looking at myself. Most mornings include a quick glance to make sure everything is covered and clean before heading out the door.

I have been overweight for as long as I can remember. The circumference of my stomach has always been the largest part of my body, with no clear distinction between where my stomach ends, and the other parts begin. Any definition in my body had long been overtaken by the fat that has creeped up and out of every possible spot like an overstuffed pillow.

I was familiar with the various body shapes – rectangle, pear, apple, triangle. The descriptions given by the quizzes in the fashion magazines for each one sounded much more desirable than how I would have defined my shape. And of course, there was the coveted hourglass figure. It was reserved for those women with the perfect ratio between the measurements of their bust, waist, and hips. The hourglass figure was the goal of all women but achieved by only a select few who had the perfect combination of genes, diet, exercise, will-power, and determination.

As I stood there, gazing at my reflection in the mirror, I saw it! My hourglass was not the model measurements I had daydreamed about as a teenager. Mine had more than a few extra inches in all the spots, but I was pleased with the woman looking back at me in the mirror that day. I left the store elated; with a sense of confidence I had not felt before.

A few days later as I stepped out of the shower, I paused in front of the full-length mirror that covered the wooden closet door in the hallway right outside of the bathroom. (The mirror was not a design choice I would have made – it came with the house.) Up until that point, I steered clear of the mirror. The only thing worse than standing in front a full-length mirror was doing it completely naked. Today was different. I was feeling rather good after discovering my reflection in the store earlier that week. My eyes darted from stomach to thighs. My swell of pride vanished and was replaced with a familiar disappointment. I saw areas of my body that looked like shriveled balloons whose air had been let out after being inflated for far too long. My body was deflated and now so was my spirit.

Society has ingrained in me that thin equals beautiful. Magazines, television, and movies clearly delivered the message that thin people were attractive and desirable. And fat people were either funny or the subject of ridicule. I was a teenager and young woman during the 1990s and 2000s, long before body positivity was a thing. Women with perfect bodies – soft, round breasts and curvy hips framing their smooth, flat waists – plastered the cover of Cosmopolitan and Vogue. Beauty was one size fits all and that size was a small. The visibility of a woman’s bones, not fat, defined beauty.

In addition to being the largest girl in my class, I was also the slowest and least coordinated. I hated picking teams for gym class. I was always the last one chosen. The despondent groans and complaints from the team that got stuck with me still echo in my head to this day, and I still panic at the thought of playing any kind of team sport.

Diet culture was not stigmatized when I was a young adult. If you were overweight, you needed to lose weight. If you didn’t know how to do that on your own, no worries. Weight Watchers® and Jenny Craig® were there to help. What twenty-something wouldn’t want to spend their Saturday morning at a weight loss meeting that commenced by standing in line to step on a scale? It brought back all the trauma of being weighed in middle school gym class while the others in line behind you whispered and laughed.

Temptations always abounded. I would go out to eat with girlfriends and try to bypass the appetizers and dessert. “Just this once won’t hurt,” they would say as they ordered brownie sundaes dripping with hot fudge and covered in clouds of whipped cream. At the grocery store, it was like a game of Pac-Man, running up and down the aisles trying to grab the Lean Cuisine® meals and Slim Fast while dodging the cookies, potato chips and other forbidden things that jumped off the shelves and tried to devour you. Really, though, who needs chocolate ice cream when you can enjoy a frothy shake made from protein powder and skim milk? Who would turn down the opportunity to have this delectable delight in place of breakfast and lunch and be satisfied with one sensible meal a day?

A few years back, I was at a family reunion on the dead hottest day of summer. Somehow, I let myself get talked into playing a game of softball with my cousins. I let a child convince me that “I wouldn’t want to miss this opportunity.” Within ten minutes of stepping out on that field, I knew I had made a mistake. Sweat flowed down the back of my neck and forehead as the sun fried my skin. Why did I let myself get talked into this? I had no business being out here. The kid was seven! What did he know about missed opportunities and regrets? I knew without a doubt I was regretting this choice. There were times during that game I thought I might pass out and at one point, even die. But in my mind, death would have been better than having to walk off the field and admit I was too fat to play.

A couple of months ago, I found myself again staring at my reflection. I wasn’t brave enough yet for another encounter with the full length-mirror in the hall; this time I opted for the rectangular one covering the medicine cabinet in the bathroom. The wet ends of my mousy brown hair, streaked with grey, gently caressed my shoulders. My face was round and splattered with reddish-brown freckles. My lips pressed together forming the slightest pale pink line between my chin and nose. They looked just like my momma’s lips. My gaze slipped up past my nose until I found my eyes. They were green that day with flecks of gold and sepia. I peered deep as if seeing them for the first time. I saw something different inside of me that day. Instead of the shy chubby girl with pigtails wandering alone on the playground, I saw a young girl trading stickers with my best friend and sister on the front porch. Instead of the awkward teenager sitting alone in the cafeteria, I saw myself sitting on the metal bench at the racetrack next to my high school boyfriend, our outer thighs pressed against each other’s and the smell of exhaust and rubber burning our nostrils.

In that moment, I realized not only had I been carrying around that extra weight on my body, but I had also been hauling around the burden of believing I was not good enough. I have spent my entire life trying to fit in.

Fit into what society said was beautiful.

Fit into clothes at the boutique stores at the mall.

Fit into seats without fear of invading the space of others.

In my attempts to fit in, I lost myself and forgot about the unique and beautiful things about me. My compassionate heart. My passion for justice. My love of people. Those things have always been true of me, regardless of my weight. By calculating my worth based entirely on a number on the scale, I realized I had been unfair and unkind to myself, treating myself in a way I would never treat anyone else.

When I catch my reflection in the mirror now, instead of looking down, I hold my head up high. Instead of disappointment, I remind myself of how far I have come. Instead of responding with judgment, I give myself a nod and a smile.

 

Amanda Fillebrown is an author and small business owner in Jeffersonville, Indiana. She has a MA in Writing from the Naslund Mann School of Writing at Spalding University. She published her first book, Glimmers of God Through Seasons of Grief, in 2023. When not writing, she enjoys travelling and movies with her husband and curling up with a good book and her cat.