How I See Myself Now

Would you believe I didn’t look at my own wedding photos until years after the big day?

My husband and I celebrated our fourth wedding anniversary this week and I saw most of the professional photos for the first time just a few months ago.

Yes, you read that right.

Thousands of dollars worth of photos depicting some of the most important moments in my life spent years tucked away in a forgotten dropbox, out of sight out of mind.

Why?

Because if I didn’t look at those pictures, I could box up the humiliation I felt on that day along with them, the shameful shadow that darkened every moment of my special day.

I could maintain the facade it was the day of my dreams, instead of admitting to myself that one of my worst nightmares had become a reality.

I was a fat bride, something I swore I’d never be.

I’d broken a promise I made to myself more than a decade earlier on my graduation day, after being defeated by a rose pink gown that had not magically transformed my curvy frame into the slender one I longed for.

I vowed then and there that I would be the perfect bride one day, willowy and lean; I would earn the right to wear a beautiful dress on my wedding day instead of disgracing another gown with my unworthy body, that poor pink dress was ruined by the likes of me.

I walked across the stage to receive my diploma filled not with pride at earning honours with distinction, but with embarrassment that my fat arms were bare on stage in front of all those people.

I went on to lost fifty pounds in University and was exalted by everyone who knew me and even those who didn’t, solidifying my belief that success without beauty wasn’t valuable, and happiness without success wasn’t possible.

Skinny equaled relevant. Beauty equaled worthiness. Perfection equaled happiness. That’s what the warped interpretation of my experiences had me convinced of, anyway.

My obsession with getting skinny was replaced with an obsession to STAY skinny.

The less space my body occupied, the more people noticed and appreciated what I had to offer, even though what I had to offer hadn’t changed at all, just my body had.

I battled to keep that fifty pounds off as a young adult and was up and down twenty of them every few months for years.

Between having a baby that didn’t seem to need sleep, an aging metabolism and starting a medication regimen that caused significant weight gain, I officially lost the war I waged on my weight in my late twenties.

My wedding pictures were a stark reminder of my personal failure, evidence of my lack of self restraint, proof that I was powerless to temptation, that I didn’t measure up.

I couldn’t even lose weight for my wedding day; all those years of being skinny were deemed pointless in my mind as my wedding day arrived and I was far from the willowy woman I had envisioned being.

I was a disgrace to the iconic image of the beautiful bride.

I sent the Dropbox of photos to my sister the day I received it from the photographer with instructions for her to choose a few where I didn’t look huge, red faced and sweaty, to post those on Facebook and tag me.

My friends and family would expect some sort of photographic evidence that a wedding occurred and I hoped a few photos would appease the masses.

Eight months after the wedding our two year old daughter was diagnosed with Autism.

Just like that my worries about fat arms, diets and wedding pictures evaporated. The last thing on my mind was how I looked, and those pictures were all but forgotten.

When Autism entered the scene, everything I believed about life changed instantaneously.

I didn’t realized how much I had changed, too, over the years until I stumbled across the photos a few short months ago.

I hesitated only a moment before taking a deep breath and willing myself to finally look, to accept the images gracefully and without judgement.

I saw something I didn’t expect to see as I clicked and scrolled.

I saw myself.

I really saw myself.

Maybe for the first time, I was seeing myself as I was instead of hating who I wasn’t.

I saw my sparkling eyes.

I saw my wide, warm smile.

I saw the soft curve of my waist.

I saw sunbeams dancing on the white lace of my dress.

I saw the tender touch of my husband who didn’t care what size my arms were.

I saw the ocean blue eyes of my daughter framed with wispy blonde curls.

I saw my family and friends basking in laughter and sunshine.

The fat bride skulking in the shadows of shame existed only in my mind.

The bride in these photos was glowing, illuminated by the love of a groom who saw her as she was on that day- and every day that came before. In fact, he saw her for exactly who she was and what she had to offer all along.

It’s shocking to realize how consumed I was with hating myself and my body just four short years ago.

I don’t want to imagine what my life would be like if my daughter’s diagnosis hadn’t shaken me awake from my miserable existence, if she hadn’t taken the reigns in showing me a new way of thinking and living.

I’m a different person than I was four years ago, though not in physique.

The difference isn’t visible to the eye, it’s not a change you can see.

The difference isn’t in how other people see me, either.

Many people will still just see a chubby woman with a pretty face and a lot of potential if she could just lose that extra weight.

What’s different is how I see myself.

In the eyes of my husband, my daughter, and the people who matter, I’m worthy, I’m more than the measurement of my waist and the size on the tag of my wedding dress.

I see myself through their eyes now, and I spend my days in the glow of the sun, not a shadow in sight.

Written by, Jill Kakoske

Jill Kakoske is wife, middle school teacher, lover of pets and Mom to one daughter, Evie, who is Autistic. She lives in small town Saskatchewan, Canada, and enjoys spending time reading, relaxing with friends and family and writing about her experiences being Evie‘s mom. You can find her on Instagram and Facebook under Evie The Explorer or check out her website www.evietheexplorer.com 

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