In recent years as I've really started to examine my weight and the issue it’s been for so long, I've come to firmly believe that many major parts of my personality have been formed in response to my weight and have, in turn, continued the cycle.
For as long as I've been this version of myself (let's call it high school and beyond), I've been a pleaser. Not in the typical sense of a pleaser who is meek or disappearing or doesn't share their feelings -- not a wallflower, because I've also always been bold and outspoken, and therein lies the duality.
Bold and outspoken because I guess I figured if I could thrill people with my funny, loud charms, they'd notice and appreciate that before they'd notice and judge my size. If I could project strength and a well-adjusted sprit in spite of my weight, the power of suggestion might work for others and for me. It was exhausting and it was that need to dominate all situations with sauce and flair (read: a loud voice), combined with my weight-induced acid reflux, that created a precancerous legion on one of my vocal folds that needed to be removed. When I was on voice rest during that time, I had no choice but to consider the circumstances that had brought me there, and the need to shine and charm in spite of my size was what brought me there -- it wasn't that I used my size as a punchline, because I never even addressed it - it was just that I could present myself as incredibly grounded and stable, in spite of an unusual size, and that seemed to please people. It was a compulsion in the sense that it was a mask I often wore - when I didn't feel like being clever or sassy, I didn't want to do anything at all, because there was no low-key way to be for me, save for a few one-on-one relationships. It was who I was, and I had created a monster.
If the funny, outgoing woman was the outward expression of my need to please, then my fear of being judged was the underlying motive, and I guess that's textbook for a pleaser. If I could be the absolute best friend, sister, daughter, employee, train rider, customer, you name it...the funniest, the sharpest, the most loyal…the friend who never said no to any favor or request and never ended an outing early no matter how tired or sick, the daughter or sister who never created any boundaries or sent anyone out of their way, the employee that had no personal limits...if I could be that person, then despite my size, I'd be loved and valued. And I guess I thought that if I made a strong enough impression in those ways, I'd beat people to their judgment of my weight. I was afraid that if I gave anyone occasion to be upset with me or think poorly of me, they'd never stop.
The only person who was not the victim (or perhaps benefactor) of this drive to please and placate was my husband Mitchell who, not because I told him or invited him in, was on the inside. He knew how much my feet hurt after endlessly parading around with a friend on a mission long after I had physically had enough. He knew I had trouble saying no or disappointing anyone and started to say so, which made it easier for me to acknowledge it. He knew that I would suppress my own needs for privacy, alone time, space or anything else by choking it down - in the form of huge takeout meals or pounds of pasta at a time. He also knew I didn't have trouble saying no to him, which is mainly because I've never questioned his approval and devotion to me, and I knew that I didn’t have his approval or devotion because of anything I did for him or anyone else, but just because of who I am. I was deeply touched when my mother, shortly before my surgery, told me how she loved me and was proud of me - not for anything I do, not for Carla the Writer or Carla the Wedding Planner or the Organizer or anything like that. Just for who I've been since I was born. The thought touched me, and it hooked onto what I was already exploring...the notion of who I am not being about what I do all the time. When you've been one way for a long time, it’s hard to separate actions from identity, and that's a bridge I'm building now.
I'm trying to draw lines and boundaries, and trying to say no when I don't want to do something, and I'm resisting the urge to explain myself or override my feelings. Of course, obligations have a place in relationships and I'll never deny that, but I'm starting to delineate true obligations from manufactured ones from feelings of insecurity from pressure, whether external or self-imposed. I want to play my role in peoples' lives out of love and respect and joy, not out of an actually selfish need to please. It feels empowering to set my own limits and feel like I'm in control of the way I live, in so many ways. I don't need to be ruled by guilt or obligation or the shackles of an unrealistic mask I put on myself just to divert peoples’ attention from what has been my greatest struggle. I know it’s an adjustment for people in my life, and I'm doing my best to be understanding and patient about it. I'm okay with the idea that it will take time. As I'm learning every day, all real change does.
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