"It's not gossip, it's research."

During exam week, I did something very bad. I can rationalize all I want, but when it came down to it, I teased an old teacher of mine because of the way his looks had changed—and, Lord, I feel like the worst person alive in saying this, but I judged his weight— since I saw him last. And after saying it, I wanted to kick myself.

He was an asshole. But, still. What does weight have to do with anything?

Kathryn and I have a saying, “It’s not gossip—it’s research!” We commonly use this when we are attempting to understand another persons behavior, rather than only badmouth them.

So, when I kept my mouth shut long enough to hate myself for saying those negative things about my old professor, I began to try and look at his changes as a character in a story. I started by examining my own thoughts. I’d always felt comfortable in my own skin, until I started a family. I am/was a young mother and seeing my body change drastically in comparison with most of the women my age often left me feeling worthless. I have gained weight recently, since I stopped breastfeeding my youngest in the spring, I have gained over fifteen pounds. Ugh, it makes me sick just thinking about it, but why? I should embrace this new body, right? But no, I haven’t. Not yet. I’ve grown complacent towards exercise since school started back up, I’ve enjoyed one of my oldest pleasures, baking, a little too much, and I’ve ate terribly while on campus. I’m twenty-four and have definitely gotten wrinkles under my eyes since nursing school began, and it takes double the amount of cover up to hide the deep purple bags beneath my barely open eyes than it once did. Most days, I just go without it.

Save for no longer breastfeeding, my old professor has probably dealt with a lot of the same issues. Who I am to judge? I have no right to attempt to appraise another person, and I don’t want to, especially since when I am of sane mind I feel like weight and appearance is mostly irrelevant!  I say mostly because I can’t help but think of jaundice. That’s an appearance that is not irrelevant in an adult!)

Obviously, when I acted like a catty sixteen year old, I was projecting my own insecurities onto another person. Not only is this the kind of thing an asshole does, these apparent insecurities can show up in my writing, often in a negative way. My own lack of physical confidence manifests itself into my work, but this insecurity can also be used to my advantage. In thinking over my grievances, I was able to create for myself a writing assignment in which I wrote out a character description of a man once feared as he handed out tests, but was now a joke because of the terribly petty nature of his students. I shoved it away and may never use it again, but the concept of “practice makes perfect” rings just as true for writing as it does for anything else.

Still, I think my own insecurities do me more harm than good. A person, whether it is an author, a nurse, or a waitress, needs to be able to make choices with confidence and stand by them, and part of making these choices, is believing in and loving yourself.