#64: I didn't lose weight for my wedding

among other things

Hello, I’m here with an illustrated poem. I hope you like it.

I didn’t lose weight for my wedding,

nor did I count calories in that app 
I obsessed over in my early twenties, 
or measure the curve of my hips 
with the pink measuring tape 
I once kept in my bedside table,
or stash pants a size too small 
in my closet like a secret.

I couldn’t lose weight for my wedding, 
not after believing for so long 
I’d find happiness if I could wane 
from full moon to crescent, 
a glimmer barely there 
in the dark stretch of night,

and certainly not after years of therapy sessions spent 
slowly untangling the disordered thoughts, 
of finding a way around the self-hatred 
guarding the door to the place I yearned for, 
a place where food was just food and 
my body was just my body.

So I didn’t lose weight for my wedding. 

Instead I rode my bike to the beach, where I’d sit 
by the ocean and watch the harbor seals swim, 
their bodies thick and beautiful and glistening under the sun,

and I went to happy hour with friends on 
a Tuesday night, where we’d belly-laugh 
between sips of wine 
and smear goat cheese on salty crackers 
because it’s fucking delicious

and I slept in on Saturday mornings, 
waking up just in time for the breakfast 
my boyfriend prepared: 
a thick stack of pancakes, 
butter soft enough to spread, 
maple syrup in a jug sticky to the touch,

and I’d gaze out the window at 
the mountains stark against the sky, 
mountains that made me think, 
look at them, 
expansive and grand and magnificent. 
how could I not want to be the same?

On my wedding day I will put on the dress 
I picked out with my mother and sister, 
and I will walk down the aisle toward the man that I love, 
the man who embraces me and my body 
not because he must
but because he chooses to
and I will recite my vows to him
just as I have vowed to love myself 
all of me, all of the space I take up

and I will take off my dress 
later that night,
knowing full well that what I find beneath it is just as magical as 
a full moon, a mountain range, 
because this is a woman 
who waited decades 
to call herself home.

Thanks for reading. I’m taking next week off for post-wedding recovery (read: will be wearing a bathrobe for seven days straight and I can’t wait). See you soon!