I Cropped My Body Out of a Photo

Deciding what to wear in the spring is complicated. The typical forecast on any given day in upstate New York ranges from snow and wind warnings to sunshine and 70 degree highs. Yesterday started with a gusty breeze and snow, with a promise of sunshine by afternoon. In preparation to attend an outdoor function, I culled through my closet, grabbing dresses, tops and pants, tossing them on my bed. I haven't worn much more than sweatpants and hoodies over the last year, and the fabric in my hands felt foreign, despite wearing each piece time and again before the pandemic.

My heart was set on wearing a pretty and comfortable, short-sleeve, black, wrap-style dress with ankle boots. A thrift store win, I purchased it for $4 but had nowhere to wear it during quarantine. My heart sank, knowing my outfit choice was sure to make me miserably cold. I tossed it, and several, warmer yet less exciting options, into my day bag, hoping my friend would help me make what presently felt like an impossible choice. Several hours later, I modeled each option for her, and like a pair of Goldilocks sisters, we felt each outfit was not quite right. We agreed that the black dress was equally perfect in style, and realistically terrible, given the continued snow showers. I stared at myself in a floor length mirror, turning from side to side, frowning in frustration, until a small beam of sunlight flooded the room.

"I'm wearing the black dress." I announced. "I'll wear leggings and high boots." As we shuttled toward the door, I layered up with a faux leather gloves, a high-neck, black, wool cape coat, and a faux fur and silk scarf, which didn't quite fit under the cape properly, but was warm. After all, you can put a mom in a sexy dress, but you can't take away her common sense.

At the event, we drank mimosas and listened to jazz music. The morning's clouds gave way to blue skies and abundant sunshine. It was warm enough that I removed my scarf and cape while eating, and to pose for a few group photos with friends, happily showing off my new dress. However, a brisk wind caused me to keep my jacket and scarf on for the majority of the event.

As we wandered the grounds, admiring hundreds of daffodils around the property, my husband requested a selfie with me. I assumed my usual position, tucked behind him so that my small head looked like a little attachment to his broad shoulder. I obliged his follow up request for me to stand in front of the field of flowers for a portrait. I squinted and smiled. He told me to stop squinting. I told him to stop being annoying. He seemed happy after a few snaps. I savored the sun, and the good company, and forgot about the photos until today.

My husband always posts photos of our adventures to his Facebook page, and he queued up yesterday's photos first thing this morning. I eyed the images from my corner of the couch, paying special attention to those including me. "Eww, edit that one of me in front of the flowers!" I demanded, appalled because my scarf and cape not only hid the gorgeous dress, but made me look like I weighed at least 30 pounds more than I do. My shoulders looked too broad, my chest looked puffy. The face squinty-staring at me in the photo looked like Mother Goose minus her bonnet.

My husband refused to meet my demand, not understanding my growing irritation. He insisted that my desired edit, a removal of my body below my neck, was unnecessary and odd. I grabbed the device from his hands and swiftly manipulated the photo so that my head was centered at the bottom, a million daffodils framing my face. He agreed to post the edited version, but not without a caption calling out my bizarre crop job.

I can intellectualize how media shames women into thinking our bodies are objects to perfect. We've reinforced a culture of Goldilocks, categorizing our own bodies as too big, too small, too round, or not round enough. It is rare that a woman views herself as "just right". I rally cry against the bikini industrial complex and fill my feeds with body positive social influencers. I use words like "healthy choices" instead of "diet" around my children. I think school dress codes that center on lengths of skirts and widths of straps are perpetuating the problem, and I am already prepared to sit in my teen daughters' principal's office if this issue comes up with either of them.

I am not immune. I have my own inner Goldilocks. When I was twelve, my knees were too knobby. When I was seventeen, my chest was too flat. When I was twenty two, I lived on a diet of sugar-free hot chocolate and butter-less popcorn. At thirty four, I had two babies and a map of stretch marks on my legs that I hid under a swim skirt. Now, a month before forty-three, my belly is too soft, my hips too round. For the last 3 years, I have Nancy Drew'ed the hell out of a thirty pound weight gain. I am committed to using my sleuthing abilities to suss out the mystery of my ever-changing body.

Is it my medication?

Is it my thyroid?

What changes have I made to my diet?

Should I increase my exercise?

Could it be peri-menopause?

Is it a slowing of my metabolism?

I need to solve this problem because gaining weight is a problem.

These are not necessarily bad questions, if they relate to managing an underlying health problem, but I am not asking a lot of other important questions.

Am I mentally healthy right now, despite the weight gain?

Are my softer belly and rounder hips preventing me from hiking, walking, swimming, or any other activity I love?

Will eating 6 almonds and bone broth for a week make me happier, if it helps me lose 5 pounds?

Should my biggest concern, if I have thyroid or metabolism problems, be my weight gain?

Is being skinny more important than having a tool to help me overcome my anxiety and depression?

What's wrong with a body changing?

What are the ways I bring value to the world beyond my physical appearance?

Is gaining weight really a problem to be solved?

I know the system is messed up, and it messed me up.

And you can tell me, over and over, that I am beautiful. Maybe you love me and you see beyond my body. Maybe you, like me, believe in the bikini industrial complex and want to lift other women up no matter their shape and size. I won't believe you when you say I am beautiful. I know you have likely struggled with body image or an eating disorder, have tried a diet to lose weight, and have cropped your body out of a photo, or not posted a photo of yourself at all, because of body insecurity.

If only we believed in ourselves the way we believe in one another. If only we could be as gentle with ourselves as we are with one another.

I am working on changing my relationship with my body and to reframe my thinking about my body. I will work on it my whole life. Will you cut me some slack? Promise me you will cut yourself some slack, too. And, when you see that photo of me in front of the daffodils pop up on your social media, please comment that my head is "just right."