I Gained 20 Pounds—Why Do I Feel Like I?ve Broken Some Imaginary Marriage Contract?
Because I'd just decided (somewhat unconsciously) that my husband was disappointed in my body, I'd been projecting that onto all manner of things, rational and otherwise. If we went through a dry spell because we were both overworked and exhausted, I'd assume that it was really about my body. When we related to each other more like business partners than lovebirds (an issue that's pretty much marriage 101), I chalked it up to the way I was overflowing my skinny jeans. What's more, I was hesitating to initiate sex, because in the back of my mind, I feared my husband might reject me. Or worse, humor me.
Luckily, I had just enough emotional distance to know that it was time for a reality check. And so, on a recent weeknight, while picking the good stuff out of my takeout salad, I dimed myself out to my dude. Surprised by how nervous and vulnerable I felt, I told him everything in a single, punctuation-free avalanche. I laid out the entire narrative I'd been holding in my head—how I saw myself at 25, how I saw myself now, my "broken contract" hypothesis, and, of course, the amorphous cloud of guilt surrounding it all.
"I have all of these ideas that I'm so sure of," I said, "but I'm realizing that you may have completely different ideas. So I figured we should maybe discuss." His face looked serious. There was a long pause, as if he were carefully choosing his words. "I promise this isn't a trap," I said.
So we talked. Turned out, my husband did have his own spin on things. For starters, he agreed that I was smoking hot when we met but quickly added that I had the ability to look just as hot now whenever I felt like it. Though the last part sounded a wee bit like obligatory B.S., I started to come around as he continued. He said that more than my waistline, what was so magnetic about 25-year-old me was the confident way in which I carried myself. "I think you've lost some of that, Babe," he said.
It was a double gut punch. The truth but one of those messy, real truths. The kind that don't come with a ready-made, easy fix. On one hand, I felt elated, like we were graduating to a new level of transparency and partnership as a couple. But on the other, I felt even more lost. How was I supposed to find my missing swagger?
"Even if you decide that the solution is all about losing weight, you've got to find a way to tap back into that confidence now," he added. I knew what he meant—it was a sentiment I've certainly talked if not walked—the concept of declaring yourself deserving/perfect/lovable today, with no conditions—rather than waiting to somehow earn your way into it. The question was, of course, if I could actually do it. Instead of thinking of it as a stand-alone source of confidence, could my body just be another component of me, a cool-ass person I was genuinely proud of?
