When Grief Has Nothing to Do with Death: A Midlife Reckoning

The Cleveland Museum of Art - Unsplash

“While we waited on the sidelines for our turn to sing, it wasn’t the first time I wished I was smaller. I looked down at my belly, hoping the blue A-line shift hid it well enough. “V’s not skinny” I thought. “Maybe no one will notice that I’m bigger than she is.” I knew  it was a lie – of course they’d notice.

We stepped onto the stage when our names were called and walked over to the piano. We’d rehearsed our duet, “Gossip Joan”, so much that our parents could have been up here singing it for us. Our teacher smiled and nodded and then began to play, introducing the song to the audience of our peers, parents, teachers and music festival judges.  

I wanted to hide. It was always how I felt performing, especially with singing. On stage without a grand piano to become an extension of, there was just me facing a sea of faces. I felt exposed, vulnerable, out of place in my chubby body. “If only I could be slim”, I thought, “I’d do better. I’d feel like I fit in. I wouldn’t be so afraid and feel like I’m never enough.”

I pushed my feelings aside. V and I had the audience in the palm of our hands – they laughed at the lyrics and seemed to enjoy our theatrics. We’d practiced hamming it up and it worked.

I sat down beside my teacher and V waiting for our results, feeling a cocktail of feelings – relieved it was over, happy we sang well and entertained the crowd, nervous in case we were given a low mark, and always ashamed about my weight.  

And then the moment we’d been waiting for – the results. The judge announced 3rd place first, then 2nd place, and when she said “1st place goes to…” V and I jumped up and hugged each other. “We did it!” I clutched my little trophy and 1st place ribbon, filled for just a moment with pride until that little voice returned to remind me nothing had changed. I was still chubby, hiding in an A-line shift.”   

I would go on to experience decades more of those kinds of moments – the ones that  turned me inside out and had me wanting to hide. I lived to achieve a slimmer body falling for every new diet that beguiled me into believing “it” was the solution.

There was too much at stake to give up the war I’d started with my body all those years ago. But what I couldn’t understand was that the more I fought, the more stubborn and rebellious my body became. She refused to acquiesce, to grow smaller and thinner. Living with restriction, desperation, and an obsession with thinness, was like a masterclass in how to disconnect from my body and sell my soul to the diet industry.  

At 19, I spent 6 months bingeing and purging to force my body into size 10 jeans. It worked for a minute, but my body wasn’t having any of it. Within a short time, she gained back the pounds I’d clawed away from her.

My relationship with food was like walking on a field full of land mines – one minute I felt relief and the next I’d stepped on a mine that exploded into shame and regret.

Uncontrollable eating was my nemesis, robbing me of what it felt like to enjoy food, to join in celebrations without constant worry about gaining weight. It felt impossible to be fully present - the rebel part of me was all too happy to continue eating past the point of fullness.

The rollercoaster I rode almost daily was exhausting. I wanted so desperately to step off the endless ups and downs, to live in peace with food and my body. The tears I shed over decades would have been enough to fill a dry riverbed. The judgements I told myself would have filled a saga-sized novel.

If I were to count the moments over decades that I succumbed to a culture that was guaranteed to lead me astray and feel like a failure, I believe they’d add up to years. Lost years I’d never get back.

For a moment recently I felt as if I’d fallen into a vat of grief and loss as I reflected upon all the times I wanted to shrink and hide. I felt sad for the girl and woman I might have been, angry at the lies I was told by an industry that still preys on vulnerability, furious at a society that judges our size as good/bad, beautiful/ugly, worthy/unworthy. And disappointed in myself for not figuring it all out earlier.  

And then, this week, I stood in front of the mirror dressed to go to our son’s new music release show. I’d already pulled myself out of the vat, releasing the heavy feelings I’d been weighted down by. I realized I felt different. I wasn’t the child trying to hide nor the woman who did everything she could to shrink.

I spoke very differently to myself as I looked up and down, assessing my outfit and the gentle makeup I’d applied. “This is me. Now. In this moment.” I thought. No judgements allowed.

I realized I’ve reached a degree of self-acceptance that is stronger than ever as I’ve been unravelling old, outdated beliefs and fears. I’m not naïve enough to believe that one night of a positive mirror moment means that I’m where I want to be. The truth is that I’m on a lifelong journey – the rollercoaster hasn’t stopped, but instead I’m learning to ride the ups and downs with grace, compassion, and more ease.

Over to you:

Take out your journal and favorite pen and answer this question:

“When you look in the mirror today, whose voice do you hear - and is it finally time to make it your own voice?”

If any of this has stirred something in you, and if you’d like more questions and prompts to write with, this week's newsletter, The W.I.S.E.R. Woman’s Guide, includes three reflective writing prompts to take you deeper into your own story. Sometimes the most important conversation we can have is the one we have with ourselves - on the page, in our own time, in our own words.

And, if the weight of those lost years feels heavy for you, EFT tapping combined with reflective writing can be a gentle and powerful way to process what's been sitting unacknowledged for too long. If you're curious about working together, I'd love to hear from you.

Thanks for reading.

Joan