T-Minus 9 Years
A couple of months into our marriage, before our move to San Diego, I lay awake in our bed while Josh played video games in the other room. I was overwhelmingly lonely, waiting in our freezing Michigan home for him to come join me. But I said nothing and waited patiently, like good Christian wives do. Eventually, he pulled back the covers and slid in on his side of the bed with his butt facing me. I rolled toward him and attempted to be the big spoon. He shook his body and moved away from me. This was the fifth night in a row my brand new husband would come to bed late, not in the mood for sex. I laid there, just a few inches away from him, feeling more alone than ever before. My body screamed, “Don’t you see me! I’m right here waiting for you to want me!” But my voice said nothing. Tension in my chest choked the words from me. In reality, I expected that he would read my mind. He, of course, did not.
I felt him yelling, “You are fat and needy, get off me!” Which, of course, he did not say at all, but it tacitly filled my ears nonetheless. Hot tears stung my eyes, but I was used to it. I couldn’t understand how playing video games could possibly be better than coming to bed with your new bride. I was devastated. We were 21 and 27 years old, evangelical Christians who believed sex should be reserved for marriage. We had fought our urges for our entire engagement. Now, not three months into the marriage, the entire reason for it seemed to be gone.
My tears turned to silent sobbing, which I knew he could feel from his side of the bed. He didn’t move, even though I could tell from his breathing that he was still awake. The sobbing got worse and the ignoring got louder until I got out of bed and headed for the bathroom.
As I passed the living room, the glaring blue light from Josh’s computer hurt my eyes. I walked over to shut the lid, but then remembered he had been in the middle of a game. I didn’t want to shut it down in case he was letting it run overnight to gain some kind of points or some other stupid video game reason. I bumped the mouse to wake up the screen.
My story is all too common. I don’t even need to describe what I saw there. It wasn’t a video game.
My sheltered little Christian heart dropped to the floor and shattered into a million little pieces. I left my heart on the floor, entered the bathroom, drank half a bottle of cold medication and pulled a towel over me. I woke up shivering in the daylight. I wanted nothing more than to be dead.
I didn’t confront Josh right away the next day, nor did he ask why I had stayed the night in the bathroom. We went about our morning as usual, screaming at each other from our mutually silent mouths. The next chance I got, I examined his browsing history and clicked on every image he had viewed. I compared myself to each and every one, noticing if my stomach was flatter or if my thighs were smaller. Josh had been lying to me about what he was doing, for month choosing other women on a screen over my body. It felt like betrayal, it felt like adultery, it felt like my fault. If only (as he would later tell me) my butt was smaller and my boobs were bigger, then he would choose me over them.
A few nights later, we were out at a craft brewery with close friends. A woman I didn’t know was hanging around our group. She had perfect boobs and a tight little butt. Josh kept calling her “sweety” and “hon”. He called all the girls like that. It pissed me off. He kept finding a reason to talk to her. At one point, she made a joke at his expense. Up until that point I had silently ignored her. When she made the sarcastic comment about my husband, I lost my mind. She was standing, and I stood up to tower over her in my heels. Although I was far from drunk, I knocked the beer out of her hand and began screaming, screaming, in a crowded brewery. All the words I had been holding in finally erupted, directed at some poor innocent girl. The simple fact that she was attractive made her my enemy. I don’t remember what I said, but it was something about ripping her perfect tits off if she took one step closer. I am a good Christian girl with wholesome parents and conservative values. This outrage from within me scared me more than anyone on the outside could ever do.
The next morning, some friends who had been there that night suggested I get help. I agreed. That was the first of many times that I sought counseling.
But I also got a third job as a waitress–while still teaching and taking graduate coursework–to save for a breast augmentation. And I redoubled my unhealthy commitment to exercise.
I started exercising at least twice a day during my grad school years, no matter how exhausted I was. Eventually, Josh and I nearly stopped talking. He played a lot of video games and I spent a lot of time in Mathland, at work and at the gym. He was just a young guy doing stupid, young guy stuff. He wasn’t a bad person. I was a young girl with zero self worth and behaving like it.
Josh kept telling me he was getting help with his porn addiction. I kept believing it would stop. But I also kept checking his browsing history and learned new ways to hack his computer. Eventually, I issued an ultimatum: porn or me. I felt justified in doing so, because Christians consider porn to be equal to cheating. That meant, biblically speaking, I could leave him. He got smarter at hiding it. Months went by, and I found nothing. I thought we were through it. I was subconsciously disappointed. If only he would look at porn one more time, I could be free of this mess and it would be all his fault! Of course, I didn’t want him to relapse. I just wanted out.
I told Josh it would happen before it actually did. I told him I needed attention, I needed affirmation, and that if he wouldn’t give it to me I would go elsewhere. It never got that far, but it was the beginning of the end. I saw another man four times. Each time, I told Josh exactly what I was doing and who I was going with and why I was doing it. Although it never got physical, I was sabotaging my marriage without consciously knowing it. I wanted out, but couldn’t admit it to myself. Christians don’t get divorced unless there is unfaithfulness or abuse, those were the rules. I always follow the rules.
Just before Christmas, Josh announced the truth. “I’ve been using my external hard drive when I browse, so nothing gets traced to the computer. That’s why I don’t need to erase the history. I’m done, I can’t be with you. I can never forgive you for emotionally cheating on me. I’m going to file for divorce.” He stated it simply, without emotion, as if he were telling me what he had for lunch.
The feeling in my body shocked me more than the words he spoke. I didn’t feel sad or betrayed. I felt relieved, and a little pissed, but mostly relieved. At last, it was over. And what was better, he was doing the leaving, not me. Neither God nor my my parents could fault me for this.
Pretty Enough
T Minus 7 Years
I experienced my first, brief weight loss victory as an undergraduate. It was a reward for having found the willpower to live on jello, soup broth, carrot sticks and coffee for almost 6 weeks. I allowed myself 600 calories per day, unless I went for a 3 mile walk while carrying hand weights. In that case, I could have 800 calories. For the first time in my life, the scale started to drop and I felt victorious. Later that year, I trained for and ran a marathon to help keep the weight off. My senior year of college, I tried out for the cross country team and promised the coach I would “lean out.” I lived on veggies stir fried in soy and mustard, spears of romaine and green tea.
When I was dating Josh, I first realized that I could enter the pretty game and maybe, just maybe, win some attention for it. I was no longer living at home, and was finally out of my sister’s shadow. I remember observing Josh as he eyed a girl with hair extensions and bad skin. She had fake nails and wore 4 inch heels to a basement drinking party. She was wearing heavy makeup and a skin tight dress that hardly covered her butt. Her boobs jiggled when she laughed. I worried they might fall out. Josh sat next to me, but kept looking at her. Something clicked for me: pretty is a matter of costuming.
When the time came, I trembled at the thought of calling my Mom to say I was getting a divorce. For months, I had been purposefully telling her all the awful things I could about how Josh had been treating me. I wanted her to be on my side. But going through that divorce without much support from my parents gave me a lot of strength. I was able to start doing a lot more things my parents might not have approved of–for the first time, ever.
Post-divorce Melanie was not only thinner and prettier, but she also had started to find her own voice.
After Josh and I split, the divorce diet worked wonders. I was 10 pounds thinner and carried $6000 worth of silicon in my bra. My hair was past my shoulders for the first time since I was 10. I finally learned how to wear makeup, paint my nails and walk in heels. I bought my clothes with my own money, free from the the watchful eye of my mother. I could show a little more skin in the California heat.
It was my first boyfriend after the divorce who convinced me to participate in a beauty contest. I would need to parade in front of thousands of people, wearing a bikini and heels. The winner would become a spokesmodel for the contest organization, making appearances at charity events for the next year. And posing with award winners in a bikini. Hoping my parents would never find out, I entered the contest.
The evening of the contest, I was in full costume: hair, nails, makeup, heels, tan, jewelry, pasted on smile. I was called to stage along with the other contestants for some parading around. Then they dismissed us backstage. We waited, breathless, as they called the four finalists back on to the stage. I almost choked when I heard my name called. I strutted back out, into the glaring lights, performing a little twirl, certain I was going to puke. I reminded myself that being a finalist was good enough. Just being a finalist meant I was already prettier than mostly everyone else. But I knew in my heart that second place would feel like first place loser. They called the name of the second runner up, then the name of the first runner up. Neither of these names were mine. There were just two of us left. I looked at the other girl whose name had not been called. She was pretty, but I was prettier and I knew it.
Receiving that bouquet of flowers, that crown, that blue satin sash…well, it changed everything. My whole life up until that moment, I had believed I was ugly and I had placed all my energy into validating my existence on earth through other endeavors. Awards and trophies, first places and championships for sports and academics, all meant nothing when I was fat and ugly. And now, at last, I was not just a beautiful woman, I was more beautiful than the others. I had been seen.
For a few months, my unhealthy relationship with food and exercise took a backseat while I reveled in the glory of my crown, my sash and my boyfriend, who worshiped my feet. A few pounds crept back on while I drank bottomless mimosas and went for Harley rides–instead of trail runs–with my boyfriend. Eventually, I was scheduled for a photo shoot for the organization with which I was a spokesmodel. It was spring. I realized that I had packed on some winter weight. I went searching for the next great diet to get ready for my shoot. What I found would change my life forever.
I read a book by a doctor claiming that humans do not need to eat carbohydrates and that carbs are the cause of fat storage. I had tried everything else. I was desperate for something that worked. I cut out a lot of junk like taco shops and drive-through food, but I also cut out all whole grains, all fruit and almost all veggies. I ate pretty much only meat and oil. There was nothing living in my diet. Within three days, my hunger had shut down and I lost several pounds. It was the magic bullet. The more success I tasted, the more driven I became. I started exercising more and more, and I prided myself in exercising on an empty stomach when the only fuel to burn was stored fat. I started surfing. I would wake up early, walk the beach and surf. I would work a few hours on my computer, do a crossfit workout on the beach, work a few more hours and go for a 3-5 mile run. I was exercising 4-5 hours daily. With a calorie counting app, I tracked every bite of food that went into my mouth. I weighed and measured every portion. I quit eating out and I quit drinking. I was quite thin before I started my no-carb diet, under my natural weight, but still lost another 20 pounds. Once, I had Googled “average height and weight of a Victoria Secret model”… and I had arrived!
That first summer, when I reached my goal weight, was one of the happiest in memory. I broke up with my-not-so-hot, boyfriend, mostly because for the first time in my life there were so many new options. Looking back, I don’t think it was my weight that got me all the additional male attention. Much more, it was newfound confidence in my body and an uplifted personality. I was comfortable in my own skin for the first time in 15 years. My attitude, not my overly thin body, oozed sex appeal. I finally had what I wanted, and was about to get far more.
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*Some names have been changed to protect privacy
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