Maybe it's Me

A Never-Ending Weight Loss Journey

I’ve been working on a play about weight loss for nine months. I’ve written it and rewritten it. Made it a musical and back into a play. I’ve been stumped on how to articulate anything meaningful on this topic because even though I have big feelings on this and think we need to focus on more important things, I can’t seem to stop obsessing over the girl in the mirror.

My stomach. It’s the first thing I touch every morning. I check to see if it’s better or worse. Or the same. Sometimes the same is maddening. Why won’t it budge? Can’t it just shrink? I mock the videos I see with their secret coffee trick, but I try it anyway. I’ll try just about anything. Losing this stomach is so hard. And everyday it’s the same process. I check, I look, I weigh, I look again. I tell myself it’s getting better. Sometimes I whisper something terrible like, “it’ll never get better, you fat lard.” Something I would never, ever say to someone else.

I blame perimenopause for this stomach. But should I? Maybe I should blame the years of too much beer and wings. Yeah, that might have something to do with it. Maybe menopause isn’t really to blame.

Maybe it’s me.

And that’s what the cycle looks like. A lot of ponderous contemplation and even some understanding about this topic, and then ending up right where I started with the “maybe it’s me” stage. Instead of just accepting myself for what I look like today, I stand at the mirror and bully that wretched reflection. I ask you, how hard is it to stand at the mirror and look at yourself. No adjustments. No sucking in. Just looking. Impossible, right?

I’ve spent so much time contemplating and researching this issue. Listening to women’s stories surrounding it, digging into the history behind it. I can come to what feels like complete clarity that should lead to some freedom from it all, but I still struggle with this every single day. In light of that, I don’t approach this play with answers. How could I? I come to this story with questions. With an enigma. We’re all here struggling in this way, and we might have the power to make it stop. But we won’t. Why is that?

In the midst of these questions, the idea of how to tell this story has finally emerged. It’s a story that belongs to all women, past, present, and future. And it’s a bigger issue than “weight loss.” Much bigger.

So, I’m headed back to my play in full force this week. My notecards are ready (again), and the plot is in motion. As a playwright, this is the fun part. This is where all the research, pondering, planning, and straining come together for the real party. I love putting my characters in a room together to see what they’ll do. I’m not sure if they’ll solve the mystery or not, but they’ll certainly wrestle with it. And maybe seeing what they do with it all can be a step toward finding some freedom. Here’s hoping.