When we are children, most of us dream of becoming older and taller and stronger.  We want to grow up and be just like an admired older sibling or a beloved parent. So, when did we stop proudly holding up our fingers to show our age and start demurely keeping our ages to ourselves?

I grew up with two brothers and no sisters. My brothers yearned to become taller and bigger so that they could, quite literally, “play with the big boys.” Both of them loved sports and did quite well on the local teams. They ate enough food for three or four people, and never gained an ounce of fat.  I don’t think they cared about being older, just more developed.

I, on the other hand, NEVER wished to be more developed! I was one of the tallest girls in my class and had a big frame. My only female role model in my testosterone-saturated home was a petite, tiny, cute woman – my mom. While she topped out at barely five foot two, I grew to 5’6”; while she has the sweet, little bone structure of a bird, I have the frame of my good stout German ancestors. My distorted body image had a great deal to do with this discrepancy – but that’s a story for another day. 

For now, suffice it to say that, while I initially grew and gained weight normally for my body type, I eventually screwed up my body trying to lose weight because I believed myself to be absolutely huge for as long as I can remember. I kept gaining and gaining well beyond a normative growth rate.

The shame of being larger than one’s peers, and then gaining more and more weight, can cause one to want to hide. One of the ways I hid is by wearing loose clothing.  I believed that it would somehow flow over all of my flaws and camouflage my most embarrassing traits.

I was so humiliated by my appearance that I didn’t just wear larger clothing because it was less binding and more comfortable, but also because I felt that no other person would want to look at my body. (Now I know that, if that’s true for some people, that’s their problem, not mine.)

One day my youngest daughter, Renee – then a teenager – insisted on going clothes shopping with me.  I thought it would be fun, and I happily included her. I was having a rare, enjoyable clothes-shopping trip. I had lost a few pounds, and I was working out with Renee three times a week at the health club, so I felt pretty good. As I traipsed around the store, grabbing colorful, flowing clothes to try on, Renee came over to check out my choices.  She grabbed one article of clothing after another and said, “No!  No!  No!” 

“What are you doing?” I gasped. “Those are cute! Why don’t you like them?” 

She then pointed to the offensive clothes and said, just as bluntly, “Muumuu!  Muumuu!  Muumuu!  NO MORE MUUMUUS!!”

“They’re not muumuus,” I cried. “This is a shirt; this is a skirt; this is a really cute, comfortable dress!”

“If you wear any of these,” Renee replied in her defiant, teenage-know-it-all voice, “I will NOT be seen with you!”

Renee then led me to a dressing room and brought clothes that she insisted on picking out for me. To my surprise, they did, indeed, make me look more shapely and make me feel more beautiful; and they were comfortable to boot!

This was a moment of truth for me. If my teenage daughter was willing to be seen with me in form fitting, right-sized clothes – and ONLY form fitting, right-sized clothes! – then, I really could wear this stuff!  I did not have to wait until I lost dozens of pounds. I could wear these things proudly NOW!

This is my body. I have wonderful curves; I have a statuesque bone structure. Muumuus were hiding the most positive qualities of my physique, and, in fact, muumuus made me look larger than I was.

Since then, I have been wearing form-fitting pants and shirts, tank tops in the heat of summer, a two-piece swimsuit, and cute, body-hugging workout wear. I’ll always struggle to lose some weight: I want health and easy movement in my life. I’ll always have days where I believe I am the largest, most hideous person in the world. But, I am learning to embrace my curvy, strong, beautiful body.