Making Peace with My Matronly Upper Arms

I’ve battled weight issues for over 20 years. From anorexia and extreme dieting to binge eating due to depression, there aren’t too many diets in the world that I haven’t tried. I have spent my life comparing myself to others, with a constant reel-to-reel going off in the back of my head that tells me I don’t look good enough. One of my most self-conscious body parts have been my upper arms.

I started out with twiggy upper arms as a young teen, and then as I got a little curvy in my later teens and early 20s I got into body building. My upper arms were awesome when I was doing multiple reps of various toning routines with 25 lb. dumbbells. They were toned, rock hard, and always one of my best qualities. Unfortunately, a more rigorous college course schedule during the beginning of my junior year, along with the onset of what would be a 5-year bout of severe depression took my life from body builder to couch potato, and my arms from brick to marshmallow.

I came out of my depression and immediately lost weight, but the damage to my upper arms was done. They were now matronly, and no matter how much weight I would lose, they would never return to being the slender twiggy arms I once had. I have spent the last ten years covering my upper arms with everything from sleeves to shawls. I would never even entertain the idea of walking out of the house in a tank top sans jacket, or some other appropriate upper arm cover. My upper arms were an embarrassment, a symbol of that awful time in my life were I let myself go, they were a part of my body that was to never see the light of day, until my recent move to California.

Southern California is hot, and I got here in June. I had packed a cache of summer sweaters, which are very popular in the Northwest. It can be a very warm summer day, but once the sun goes down, you might need a little something to keep you from shivering. Summer sweaters make sense there, but down here people looked at me like I had a third eye when I talked about them.

At the end of June, I ventured out shopping at my favorite clothing store, and took a long, hard look at the sleeveless shirts. They were nice and stylish, so I decided to be daring and tried one on. It fit well, but the moment I saw my pasty, white, matronly, upper arms I ripped the shirt off, and darted back to the sales floor looking for something with sleeves. A couple of weeks went by, the temperature went up, and I decided to go back to my favorite store and try again. The second round in the dressing room with the sleeveless shirts weren’t as bad, but I didn’t buy them. I opted to walk around a bit hoping that I would find something else with sleeves, but as I paced the mall I noticed other women, who were my size, going sleeveless. Perhaps years of the self-loathing along with the back-of-the-head negativity soundtrack had blown this upper arm thing way out of proportion. Maybe I was the only one who really noticed that my upper arms weren’t up to par.

I went back to my store and purchased two of the sleeveless shirts, and I’ve been wearing them ever since. They are definitely a nice garment for a typical Southern California summer day, and this whole upper arm issue has forced me to re-consider my self-image completely. How odd is it that in the Mecca of body-obsession that is Southern California, I have finally overcome my weight issues?

For the past two weeks I haven’t once looked in the mirror and thought something bad about myself, and that is amazing. Even as an anorexic 16-year-old I didn’t have a kind word to say to myself, but now it’s all gone. Don’t get me wrong, I can’t wait until my elliptical trainer arrives with my furniture, but my motives for getting on that bad boy have shifted from wanting to look perfect to having the desire to live into my elder years without the aid of a wheelchair or medication.

I have finally, after over 20 years, come to grips with what I look like, and I’ve discovered that I have a really great head of hair, I’ve got a pretty face, I look good in black, metro cut slacks and garments that accentuate my small waist, and that I can rock a sleeveless shirt just as well as the next suburb punk mama (minus the cool tattoo, of course).