The other night I was at an outdoor cabana bar on the lake with a group of friends and I was introduced to a woman in her late twenties. First impression - pleasant looking, on the thinnish side. Closer inspection: What's with the puffy tummy going on? Even closer: What's with the arms? Hanging off of her upper arms was a long drooping swag of loose skin. The arms themselves - without the swag - were thin. But this stuff looked almost like bat wings. It hung down several inches. She was wearing a tank top and every time she gestured those bat wings would swing back and forth. When her arms rested at her sides, the skin sort of fell down and pooled around her elbows. I watched the people around me who - like me - were having trouble not looking at this woman's arms. And of course the poofy tummy - which did not match the rest of her - was probably made up of a whole bunch of loose skin smashed into her pants.
Eventually one of the people who was there told me that she used to be over 300 pounds and had had stomach stapling - or some such procedure and had dropped two hundred pounds. And had dropped them relatively quickly. And was then left with these arm flaps and stomach flaps. And yet there she was at the bar in her tank top chatting away with other people with her arms on display - having what seemed to me to be a very good time.
Now, I have to admit that that same night I had had what I call a clothing explosion in my bedroom. Every woman knows what I mean by this. I had planned to wear a particular outfit - but when I put it on and looked in the mirror - I didn't like what I saw. Which was a stomach lump showing. An upper above the waist stomach lump. So I tore off the outfit and threw it on the floor and put something else on and -after a look in the mirror - threw it on the floor along with several other skirts and tops all of whom hit the deck with increasing fury simply because they didn't pass whatever standard I had set in my mind before I looked at my reflection in that mirror. But what about this woman? She must have looked in the mirror before she went out. She must have been aware that those under arms were swinging, that that stomach was pooching out. And yet, she went out anyway. With her friends who obviously could care less about her loose skin. She had a good time. She wasn't focused on what her underarms looked like. Maybe instead of criticizing herself when she looks in the mirror, maybe she tells herself how proud she is of the progress she has made. Maybe she thanks herself for lowering her cholesterol and blood pressure and risk of diabetes.
It was truly a humbling experience for me. When I went home, my clothes were still scattered all over my floor. A sign of a pretty spoiled person. Instead of being happy to have  a choice of outfits, happy to have lost over sixty pounds, happy to be healthier than I've been in years, happy to be more active than I've been in years - all I could focus on was a slight imperfection.
I think I need to be a whole lot kinder to the woman in my mirror. And I need to remember what is truly important and what is only skin deep.