by Tapati

I remember the lines. You remember the lines. Team captains dividing us into the more or less worthy as we stood waiting for our doom. Nervous laughter accompanying some of the choices. The smell of perspiration pervading the gym as tension mounted and fewer of us remained to be chosen. No one wanted to be last. It was embarrassing enough to be among the last few. We would sell out our best friend rather than be chosen last. We promised God anything if only we would not be last.

Sometimes the worst happened, and I would be the last one chosen. In that position I was supposed to act “cool,” as if it didn’t really matter to me. Over time, from this and other similarly humiliating experiences, I learned to conceal my emotions almost totally. What I still haven’t learned is to reveal my emotions–even to people I love. I learned the lesson all too thoroughly that at any moment my feelings might be used against me: any show of vulnerability brought inevitable attack and ridicule.

Years later, as an adult, I still face versions of “the lines” when I am in public. Most recently–and blatantly–when I began riding the bus to UCSC I soon noticed that I was the last person people would sit by as the bus filled up. At first I thought maybe i was paranoid. But day after day I watched as people consistently avoided sitting next to me until there were absolutely no other seats available. One day people chose to stand rather than sit by me. When finally a person (most often another woman) did sit beside me, they often turned outward to face the other side of the aisle.

I cannot feel natural when I’m in this situation. My throat tightens until I am almost incapable of speech. I hardly dare to breathe, and my entire body tenses with the effort not to touch the other person or take up too much space.

What, I wonder, do they fear–these people who avoid sitting beside me? Do they fear contagion? Guilt by association? Might others suspect them of collaboration? Or am I supposedly so disgusting that they can hardly bear to be that close to me, and dare not risk touching me lest I rub off on them? Continue reading »

by Tapati

The Model: Five years ago I would have laughed at the suggestion I might be doing nude modeling for an artist. Nothing could have been further from my mind. I was only beginning to work on changing my body image. I was just beginning to appreciate my wide hips, powerful buttocks, smallish breasts, and round belly with its network of stretch marks like ribbons of fine silk. The only parts of my body I had always liked were my blue-green eyes and my soft, thick brown hair.

It was a major step just to go to a beach or a pool in a swimsuit. First I had to know that I deserve access to the water just as much as any thin person. Then I had to use that knowledge as a shield when I ventured out in my bathing suit. I met shocked stares and the occasional rude remarks, but it was worth it to be in the water again. Still, it took a lot of work.

Early in my exploration of body image, I did a series of visualizations with body image educator and hypnotherapist Ruah Bull. The first visualization involved going inside a house–representing the self–and finding the “body room.” I was to enter and take note of what I saw and how I felt about it. The first time I did this exercise, I could not see anything but pitch blackness. It was too scary, this body room. I could not confront it.

Months later, after much work with Ruah, I was able to see into the body room. I saw a room that was much more pleasant than I had expected. It was homey and welcoming. Ruah asked me what changed I might like to make, if any. I said that the windows needed to be bigger to let more light in. When Ruah asked what that meant to me, I said that I wanted more freedom to wear clothing that was revealing, such as shorts and swimsuits. I was tired of being expected to hide myself away.

Years later, I unexpectedly found myself posing nude for an artist’s sketch. I had been swimming with friends in a mountain river, dressed in shorts and a top. I found a natural seat formed by a projection from a cliff wall and sat on it to rest. Everyone remarked that I looked like a mythical Earth goddess and wished someone had a camera. Our host, artist Heather Lee, decided to run home and get her sketch pad. Continue reading »