"body noise" plus sized existence & other musings

I went to try on wedding dresses solo. here's why.

My body is a rolling hill of flesh, of weight, of curves that rise and collapse to meet me in the mirror and my lover in the sheets. As far as my eye can see are stretch marks like faint rivers, signs of a life well lived, drinks drank, good food cooked and eaten. My arms are soft and ample, on either ends of them are hands ready to hold, to knead dough, to make acquaintances, to place a needle on a record, to open the blinds and let the light in. My thighs are two girls giggling at the back of the classroom, leaned into the aisle for closeness. They do know the answer if the teacher calls. The evidence of my answered calling is all over my body, spills out into the undercuff of my jeans. All this ass I got. I am thick. Dense. Heavy. Full.

I like her most when I can see her, uncovered by bulky fabrics and cumbersome tangles of yarn. She is a good friend, honest and hardworking, sensitive with an alarmingly long memory. She holds some grudges and also every single joy. But she is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to love.

The homework from my therapist was to walk around my space naked and stop in every mirror, finding new things to love as often as possible and to thank them for holding me.

I started noticing things. I noticed the ways my stretch marks come up from under my stomach and wave like delicate fingers around my navel. How they look like sunshine, a greeting. Like my feminine is saying good morning to me. Offers a new day. Something like forgiveness. 

I noticed the way my thighs looked so full, sat up against each other like cleavage, like two friends telling secrets and I thought I’d put some words there for them to share with each other. Eventually I got two sets of words tattooed on them, one by Audre Lorde, the other by Anthony Bourdain. Two storytellers at the table for dinner. Assigned reading for the visitors, a prayer back to myself and this body. And every day that I had a moment of naked courage,  I was thankful for the revelations, however small, however stretched, however large. 

“Jam is just fruit that’s been remembered… or forgotten” - Courtnee Futch 02/28/23

Therapy could only meet me as deeply as I met myself. I’d decided to stop sharing my body woes with friends. With family. I began to shut down their unsolicited comments too. And after years of a daily buzz in my brain about shrinking, I was able to block out almost everyone’s body noise. Almost.

I often wish that I’d gotten to this relationship easily, with all that woman of a mother I was born to, a wild stallion and its wild mountain all at once. I only knew beauty if it looked like her, like Queen Latifah’s Khadijah James. A full, thick-legged 5’9”. Golden and glowing like a rotisserie chicken. Freckled across her cheeks like God blew melanin glitter and she ran out from the front yard to catch it and to play. Country fine. Mountain strong. Tomboy in heels. A more gorgeous thing could not exist. Still doesn’t. At least to me. But I don’t think she thinks so. What do you do when your most beautiful person doesn’t agree with you? I have to give her grace, she is still just a girl, too.

But when I went for my first wedding dress consultation yesterday, I could not risk our body noises buzzing together. And if the best thing I could give myself was a baseline for how I’ll feel a year from now when I marry the man who loves my ample everything… then I needed to do it in silence. No nerves. No explaining. No fears of deep perception. No suggestions of diets I can start to be slim just in time for the wedding. I don’t ever want to be slim. And while I know it’s not unloving, it isn’t helpful.

So I marched all my rolling hills and 30 years of stories into The Sentimentalist in Atlanta, a vintage bridal shop that’s beyond plus-size inclusive, they’re plus-size forward. And we talked about how we can honor all the things on my body that I am proud of. I don’t think I’ve ever felt more beautiful, no noise. I’ll come back with the woman I love most, and I’m positive that it’ll be the best experience because I trust myself to prioritize my feelings.