I Cut Me Off At My Knees
on a personal note: a moment for my hard-wired self sabotage
I saw a cute guy walking his cute dog in the park. We smiled at each other as I walked past and said hi to his dog. There was a flash of potential but I wrote it off as him probably having a girlfriend. And then I thought about every time I cut me off at my knees. And I haven’t been able to stop.
This is not so kind of cool but I’ve wanted to lose weight1 for as long as I could comprehend my body as my own. Maybe even before it was in my complete control.2 But what if I’d never considered myself as someone who should take up less space? I think about how much more I might have got done by now. How much more I would have created out of pure joy and a lack of self-consciousness. Free from a penetrable barrier that lets in the judgement and perception of others like it’s a free entry club in my hometown.
My body has both created and carried its traumatic moments. Mostly small-scale traumas but still available to memory on demand so pretty fundamental when it comes to my sense of self. I remember sitting in the middle seat of three on a school trip to who knows where. I pulled my arms in and sat with them diagonally straight, hands clasped together between my knees. I feared that my two good friends, who were not being strange with their arms, would notice my shoulders still touched them on either side. They never noticed. Or never said anything. But this scene returns to me every month or so even ten years later. And I respond with the mind equivalent of like twenty question marks and a bemused expression because actually what the hell. I’m so tired.
For some (kind of) relevant context, I’ve grown up in the UK. Something to note about the UK is that it exists under a sleepy layer of cynicism that claims squatters rights in your gradual understanding of the human condition. It’s like a weighted blanket. Whether you’re born here or move here, it eventually overwhelms us all. And though it almost guarantees a wickedly fantastic sense of humour, it also encourages discouragement. It is rare you find people here who completely and utterly want to see you win devoid of envy or ulterior motive. And that may seem cynical of me to think of others, but what did I just say.
I’ve been actively working on celebrating the wins of my nearest and dearest. Being more considerate about their excitement and seeing it less as an indication of my lack of similar success. Our personal developments and our entire lives are not built equal. And that’s okay. If only I could apply these learnings of genuine belief and pride for my friends’ journeys to my own. And that’s where I get stuck. Nothing past the knees.3 Maybe that’s why I don’t wear capris. Because they’re an unpleasant reminder of where my self belief stops and all that’s left is my bare calves. And also it’s just never the season here.
A lot of us are writing about the same stuff on Substack because a lot of us are living through the same stuff. I can see why it may feel tedious to keep reading after three articles about personal style. But also maybe you should just stop reading about it and go put some fucking clothes on. What I mean to say is that if you’re in this boat, and it’s feeling more like a cruise liner standing in the port, at least we can watch a tribute act concert together or meet for coffee on the top deck before we eventually have to get off the ship and do something about it.4
I’ll stop cutting me off at my knees and hopefully you’ll keep reading the words I write. I just have to give the person who is sat here writing these words a chance, believe in her a little more, and care about what others might think of how she looks a little less. Super easy task. Give me a couple days to like ten years. Something within that time frame should be doable.
Thanks for reading. See you soon.
Tough subject and an incredibly subjective one. This is my own experience. Weight loss can be good for health reasons but can also create a damaging mindset so I’m treading as lightly as possible when I write this.
Though in this political climate I’m not sure it ever fully is.
It’s a metaphor
Let the record show I have never been on a cruise. I have no idea what goes on on those ships. But I’ve seen enough of Suite Life on Deck to hazard a guess.