A few years ago, my work team and I were sitting in our office conference room waiting for *Lola to come in. She had baited us into an impromptu meeting with free Starbucks to which we had all happily accepted. A few minutes later Lola, who never cries, never showed any kind of discernible emotion whatsoever, was misting at the eye as she explained to us how due to a lifetime of bad interactions with other women, this was the first time in her life where she'd been surrounded by a group of women, co-workers at that, who supported her, and treated her like a person, and not an enemy. The next words out of her mouth to me and *Ava were, "would you be my bridesmaids?"
As you can imagine, the next few weeks at work were filled with wedding talk. Every break we got, it was what type of flowers and what type of food should be served to her multi-cultural family and planning for bridal showers, and types of tuxes. And then came the day for the bridesmaids dresses. Ava and I were told that we needed to meet at this really high end boutique I'd never heard of, and that Lola couldn't make it. We'd also been told that Lola had already picked the dress with no input from any of the in total 6 bridesmaids, and that she wanted us to try the dress on, get measured, and purchase all at once. She also wanted to see pictures of us in the dress.
This made me nervous because Lola had never actually talked about the dress to us other then that we needed some free time in the next two weeks to go try the thing on. I guess I figured that's how it was done, because the last time I'd been in a wedding I was in high school and I was a lowly usher in a standard issue non descript long navy gown. Now Ava and I were surrounded by every gown in every color, make, and model. We talked about what we thought the dress would look like, or what color it might be, and fifteen minutes later, we found out. It was a red satin strapless cocktail dress. It kind of looked like the dress below, except there was a ruffle that went diagonally across the bust.
I was given a size 12 to try on by the sales lady. Let me tell you...I was definitely NOT a size 12, but of course, that was the only sample size. When I got into the fitting room, I couldn't even zip the thing up. I was gasping for air trying to both squeeze myself in and not rip the dress. Ava asked if I was okay in there, jokingly I think, but I really wasn't. I hung in the dressing room unable to physically move anything but a tiny space of air between my knees to help propel me forward in the sausage casing. When the sales lady came back, she asked me to step out of the fitting room and onto the pedal stool in the gallery in front of about 100 mirrors and 3 other waiting families. I've never been so embarrassed in my life. I had to trot at a slow clip so as not to rip the dress onto a pedal stool I could barely even get up on because I couldn't really move and stand in front of everyone in that room with a dress that had my underwear showing in the back even with the dress clamped, my arm flab hanging out everywhere, and the dress revealed a very painful childhood scar that was hidden all the time because I never wore strapless anything for any reason.
My eyes watered when I saw myself in all those mirrors under the light. Every insecurity bubbled up and over right then and there. The satin dress clawed at all my rolls and lumps highlighting them. I could see my doughnut belly, my dimpled bottom, my flabby arms. Everything I hated about myself was there on full display. Ava didn't say anything. At the very least she didn't try to say something dumb like, "you look great," because I think that would have put me even more over the edge. Instead she just sort of looked at me, like everyone of the other strangers in the room was looking me over and probably thinking that I looked as awful in that dress as I know I did. Lola wanted pictures, so Ava propped me up against a corner and snapped this photo of me trying my absolute hardest not to cry, but I eventually did when I got back to the dressing room dripping a few tears onto the dress.
Ava then had to try on the same dress. On Ava, it was a sack. It must have been four sizes over what she normally wore. She could barely keep the dress on, it was floating on her. By the time she'd tried it on, and I'd taken the photo of her, I was in a daze. Suddenly all the planning and good times didn't seem to matter much. I immediately started back onto a dangerous path I'd been on before in my life when I'd spent an entire 2 years in the grip of an eating disorder. I'd spent 2 years of my life looking like someone in a concentration camp because I'd subsisted on apples, carrots, salad, water, and 4-5 hour high intensity workouts a day, everyday, no fail. Everything about me was transparent. I just lived for the disease and it ate at me and ate and me, and because of this one dress, I was having those feelings again.
Things only got worse over the next few weeks. I would look at the picture on my phone and it would trigger me. After some very destructive old behavior at the gym and with my diet, I confided in a friend who'd known me back then. I'd explained to her how I just couldn't be in the wedding and how I had reverted to some dangerous eating and exercise habits again. It was my cry for help. I was struggling so bad. The wedding and that dress just consumed my entire thought process as I thought of all those eyes on me, and cameras, and having to always see these pictures again. I told a few other friends who didn't know my history of my plans to possibly quit the wedding and they said I was being selfish and thoughtless and it was only one day or a few hours. I felt so guilty and I kept trying to tell myself that they were right, but this was effecting my health, both physically and mentally to the point where something had to give, and I just really could not put myself or my family through the hell we'd been through with my previous eating disorder.
So I called Lola about a month before the wedding. Probably one of the worst things you can do, and I told her I had a family member who was getting married on her same wedding weekend and that I had to cancel on her because we needed to drive to the wedding and I'd hope she understood. The truth is, there was a wedding, and we were driving, but my family understood I was already in a wedding and so they'd gotten someone else to drive, but now I had to go. I couldn't lie to my family and stay home. So I cancelled on my friend. She was pissed. Beyond pissed. I felt so bad for her because of what she'd said about the reasons for her choosing us for the wedding and now I was hiding the truth about my issue and ditching her so close to the wedding when she was already stressed. Needless to say, the conversation did not end well and I allowed myself to take every hit and blow from her.
I went back to counseling after that. I think I really needed to. You think sometimes that you've put things in your life behind you, but they can come up and catch you unawares. I'm just lucky this time, I had some supportive friends and family to back me up. It took about 2 years after the wedding before Lola would speak to me again without disdain in her voice, but she can't be blamed because she didn't know, still doesn't. I also realized in that time that I'd gone from one extreme to the other, from being underweight to being overweight, so it took some time but I finally also got to a place where both my diet and exercise plans with the occasional additional counseling, help me to stay at a nice healthy weight. I still struggle from time to time, but in regards to the wedding, I don't feel guilt about walking away from the wedding anymore aside from the thought of hurting my friend. Ultimately though, I know that I had to make the choice for me, to work on me, and to get better both mentally and physically.
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