Grace & Courage

by Jody Wilson

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught the slightest tentative movement of the bathroom door opening out. Then a quick closing, like a breath interrupted. Then, a half second later, a quicker more determined move as if she were exhaling herself into the space. I instinctively glanced at her, as one does when another person enters room, and instantly averted my eyes. She must have weighed 400 pounds, perhaps more. I didn’t want to stare. Or perhaps I looked away as I do when I drive past highway accidents. When she saw me, she furtively busied herself with the contents of her bag, turned back into the bathroom, closing the door softly behind her. A clear retreat. The serene atmosphere of this lovely day spa suddenly crackled with shame. She had exposed herself to my judging eyes. I was exposed as a judge. The complete internal experience of profoundly obese women and those who shame them was as naked as we were. We hated ourselves and each other.

Had I judged her? All I'd done was glance up and look away. But she had "known." She'd known because that's what she expects, that's what she does herself. The project and the introject at work. When we shame and judge ourselves, we expect and seek to be shamed and judged by others. And, yes, I admit, my first thoughts were judgmental, followed instantly by prideful assessment of my own slim and supple body. People who think and write about the way we think our thoughts say we think from the platform of the opposites, think in contrasts. But why does contrasting my thin body to her fat body so readily translate into I'm good and she's bad?

This is all hindsight. A moment later, the door opened again. She stepped out, shoulders set, head high and walked with grace and courage to the steam room. No more fumbling, nothing furtive, a royal progress.

I'd like to say that our eyes met and that she saw the new admiration and respect in mine. But they didn't. I didn't even exist for her.