I notice some folks heading over to the other side of the ballroom where it looks as though there are pictures covering the far wall.
I nod in that direction. “Did you want to go look at that picture wall?”
She shakes her head. “I’m good here, if that’s okay?”
“Here’s perfect,” I reply.
“Oh, my God, Lindsay Palmer, is that you?”
A woman approaches our table. In the past, from time to time, I’ve felt Lindsay tense up or stiffen in my presence. That was nothing compared to how still she is now. Her hand holds mine tightly as she turns to stone beside me.
“It’s me, Missy Pollard, well Hughes now.” She points behind her. “Surely you remember Hank.”
Lindsay smiles tightly, nodding, but not breathing a word.
“And you are?” Missy leans closer to me.
Based on Lindsay’s reaction to this woman, I decide to keep my reply brief. “I’m Luke.”
“So, how do you know Lindsay?” She doesn’t let me finish as her mouth drops and she grabs my arm. “Holy shit. Are you Luke Jamieson from that show with all the fat people?”
I don’t argue, which she takes as a yes and turns. “Hank,” she yells. “Hank, come here.”
As her husband approaches, Lindsay stands, pulling her hand from mine, and whispers, “I can’t.”
She hurries to the exit. I start to stand as well to follow her but Missy still has my arm. “Are you her trainer? She has put on a ton of weight.”
What?
Before I can ask what she means by that, her husband joins us. “Hank, look; it’s that trainer from that show. Take our picture together.”
I start to back away. “I should go find Lindsay.”
Hank’s head snaps up. “Lindsay Palmer?”
Missy glares at him while I glance between them, confused. “Yes, she’s my girlfriend.”
Missy’s mouth drops open. “You aren’t her trainer?”
I’m not about to further complicate things by trying to explain that I’m both.
She tilts her head to Hank. “She looks nothing like the pictures on her website.”
Her website?
“What do you mean?” I ask.
She squints at me. “You’re her boyfriend. Haven’t you seen her blog?”
I’ve known she has a blog, but never thought about it. “I need to go find her.”
I take off, hearing Missy complain that we never took our picture as I walk away. I’m assuming Lindsay went up to the room, so after getting my hand stamped at the door so they’ll let me back in, I hurry to the elevators. While I wait for one, I pull out my phone and open a web browser.
I can’t remember that name of her blog so I Google her name. I’m not surprised to see it’s the first link that pops up. An elevator arrives and I click the link as I step onto it. Either being in an elevator or the chance that my signal is weak keeps the page from loading until I’m on our floor.
I’m about to close the browser and stop worrying about it when the first picture pops up. I freeze in the middle of the hallway.
This must be some kind of joke.
The woman in the picture looks like Lindsay and is wearing something I could see Lindsay wearing. She’s also borderline skeletal. That isn’t her.
Shaking off my confusion, my feet move again, propelling me to our room. I pause outside the door to look at another picture. The similarities are uncanny. It makes no sense.
I continue to hold my phone in one hand as I use my keycard to open the door with the other. Lindsay is right inside the door, and jumps back as I enter.
Her hands are shaking as she tries to smile. “Are you all right? Did that woman upset you?”
She gulps. “It’s a long story.”
I don’t know why but I hold out my phone to her. “Who is this woman on your site?”
When she sways, I drop my phone to steady her.
Pulling away, she moves across the room. “I can explain.”
I pick up my phone. “She looks just like you.”
She drops her eyes to the floor. “She is me.”
“But how?”
I put my hands up to stop her as she hurries toward me. I regret the movement the moment I see pain in her expression.
Hugging herself, she steps backward. “I alter the images until I look thin.
“Why would you do that?”
Her eyes fill with tears. “I wanted to feel beautiful.”
I want to reach out to her, but I still can’t understand how she could do that. “But the images you posted are unrealistic and unhealthy. Just think of how many people could be starving themselves trying to look like you and it’s all a lie.”
This is my life, my work, something I believe in and am passionate about.
“I’m sorry.”
I shake my head. “Come here.”
She falls into me and I wrap my arms around her.
“Will you stop?”
She looks up at me, a tear rolling down her cheek. “I want to. I almost did a month ago but I was scared.”
I cup her face dropping my lips to hers. “What are you afraid of?”
“That they won’t like me anymore.”
“Who?”
“My followers.”
“Other than Sasha, are you close with any of them?”
She blushes. “Not really.”
“Exactly.”
He holds me tightly in his arms. “You aren’t angry with me?”
“Bummed, maybe. Angry, no. It’s important to me that you stop. I’m not sure I understand why you did it, but it would be hard for me to be cool about it if you keep doing it.”
“Altering the images,” I confirm.
He nods. “It’s dishonest and it perpetuates unhealthy body image issues. How many followers do you have?”
I cringe. “Almost five hundred thousand.”
It used to be a number I was proud of, but now looking at it from Luke’s perceptive, I was lying to half a million people, daily.
“That’s a lot more than I was expecting.”
“Am I a bad person?”
“You’re not a bad person, but do you get why I think what you’re doing is wrong?”
I nod.
It’s time to set the record straight.
“Can you take me home?”
“You don’t want to go back to your reunion?”
I close my eyes. “That reunion was never for me. I only went because I felt pressured to go.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
I shrug, and then rest my cheek on his shoulder. “I had convinced myself it was for me.”
“Let’s go.”
The ride back to my house is quiet. If Luke wants to say anything, he’s keeping it to himself now.
When he walks me to my door, I ask, “Will you stay for a while?”
He nods, following me inside.
“I want to write something for my blog. Will you read it before I post it?”
He nods again, his silence unnerving.
I don’t bother to change out of my party dress; but I do take off my shoes, wash my face, and take my hair down before I start. Luke takes off his jacket and loosens his tie, slumping down next to Coco on the sofa, and pets her.
My blog posts are normally pic heavy. While I intend to include pics, this post will be the longest thing I’ve ever written on my blog.
My confession
Years ago, when I posted the very first picture on this blog, there was something I did not tell you. The image, while me, was what I wished I looked like, not what I actually looked like.
I’ve struggled with my weight my entire life. I don’t remember a time looking back when I was ever happy with the way I looked.
I did not start this blog with the intention of ever misleading or lying to you all. In the beginning, it did not dawn on me that people would be interested i
n following the things I posted.
This blog was originally meant to act as something to inspire me to reach my weight loss goals.
That changed when the blog became popular. It became less about my current body size and more about seeking your approval.
I was too scared to tell you the truth because I feared you wouldn’t like me anymore.
I needed you to like me because I didn’t like myself.
Growing up, I was bullied over my weight, my clothes, my hair, the car my parents drove, my shoes; the list goes on and on.
To deal, I became painfully shy and avoided people.
After high school, I started college.
I was misled and bullied there, as well, in a way that permanently damaged my ability to trust people.
I retreated from the world.
I became a virtual hermit.
I intended to live this way for the rest of my life.
What changed?
Some of you may recall I received notification of my ten-year high school reunion last September.
So many of you were excited to see what I would wear to it. My attempts to downplay the event and point attention away from it failed. I felt trapped, cornered, terrified. If I went as I was, you would all know those pictures I posted were fake.
I was so certain you wouldn’t like me the way I was.
I decided if I could lose all the weight, no one ever had to know. I hired a personal trainer. I changed the entire way I viewed food, and started and kept exercising.
I started losing weight. I stopped medicating myself with food.
I started loving the reflection I saw in the mirror.
Altering the above pic broke my heart. I felt pretty; but my fear that you wouldn’t, kept me from sharing it.
I’m not blaming any of you; please don’t misinterpret my words that way. My fear was 100% my own insecurity.
Every day, when I posted a pic, and you commented, liked, or shared it, that action made me feel validated as a human being worthy of receiving love.
Worthy of receiving love.
Wow.
I must have truly hated myself to set up such unrealistic expectations around something as basic as love.
I didn’t love myself. I had to create an image I could trick myself into loving instead, and I tricked all of you as well.
I never gave you the opportunity to love me as I am. I made that choice for you.
What I realize now is apart from misleading you all about my appearance, I also added to the problem those of us with body image issues face.
When I told my personal trainer my weight loss goal, he immediately rejected it as being unhealthy.
Did I stop altering the images after I knew that for my height that weight would be considered severely underweight?
I didn’t, and for that, I’m truly sorry.
I’m not the size 2 girl you see on my blog.
This pic was taken earlier this evening. It is untouched. This is me. Depending on the maker, I’m a size 4-6.
Thank you for reading. I will be updating the original images from all previous posts to include the original untouched pics.
Please consider this my heartfelt apology.
- Lindsay
“I’m finished.” I push back from my desk and stand, offering him my chair.
He surprises me by pulling me into his lap after he sits down. I had hoped to watch him read from a distance. I’m so nervous about what he’s going to say.
I sit stiffly in his lap as he reads my post, watching his eyes move back and forth across the screen. He gives no clue to his impression of what I wrote, no smile, no frown. I twist and pull at my fingers, fidgeting nervously.
When he finally finishes reading, he sets his chin on my shoulder and tightens his arms around me. I’m about to ask him what he thinks, but he speaks first.
“I love you.”
Wait, what?
I turn in his lap so I can face him, my mouth dropping.
“I’d even love you in the first picture you posted.”
“When I was fat?”
“I love you for who you are. Don’t get me wrong, I think you’re beautiful, but there’s more to you than that.”
“You wouldn’t care if I still looked like that?”
“I’m a nutritionist and a personal trainer; those are things I’m passionate about. Your diet was a disaster when we first met. If you still ate like that, I’d probably encourage you not to. Your health is my concern more than the number on the scale.”
“I like the stuff I eat now.”
He laughs, ducking his head to kiss my neck. “I’m glad.”
“I love you, too.”
He stills, his breath hot against my skin. “You don’t have to say it because I did. I have no problem waiting for you.”
I try to stand but his arms tighten, holding me in his lap. “Why would you say that?”
He drops his lips to my shoulder. “I’m not trying to piss you off, so hear me out first.” He waits for me to nod before continuing. “You aren’t as experienced and haven’t had that much interaction with guys. You could change your mind as you get out more.”
“I’m not a virgin.” I cover my mouth, amazed I admitted that.
He squints at me. “Huh. I was not expecting that, and gotta say, I’d love to hear more but that doesn’t change that I’m the first guy you’ve gone out with in almost a decade. I’ve been dating and interacting with women on a regular basis since I was in school.”
I press my finger to his lips, silencing him. “I’ve interacted with thousands of people virtually. Some of them have made advances, but you are the only person I trusted enough to talk to, then see, and meet. You have to understand how amazing it is that I’m sitting in your lap right now.
“You love me?”
I nod and he captures my lips in a powerful kiss, stealing my breath.
“Rise and shine, birthday girl.”
I duck my head and snuggle closer into his side.
“Come on, Mi Amor.”
Mi Amor.
His Love.
Since the post went live, so much has happened. Some good, some bad, a lot in between, but all of it with Luke by my side. There were comments and private messages that made me cry happy tears as I printed them to tack to my wall. Unfortunately, there were also horrific, hateful comments and private messages that made me fear for my safety.
In more than one instance, I received a threat so vile I had to contact my local police department. I had to get a security alarm and even though the reason for him doing so sucked, Luke and Loki moved in with me. It meant him leaving a gym he loved working at, for one closer to my house.
Luckily, given his role on that reality show, he had no problem gaining new clients. For the clients he couldn’t give up, he has one dedicated day for them where he drives out to his old gym.
There’s a chance at some point in the future we’ll move closer to Raleigh. For now, with all of the changes I’m working through, Luke has been understanding as to why I’m not ready to try living somewhere new.
The police investigation into some of the threats is still ongoing. Luckily, the majority of them I received originated from overseas and the users backed down and were apologetic once they were informed the authorities had been contacted. I don’t know what it is about the internet that inspires evil in some people.
The volume of responses to my post was overwhelming. So much so, I took an extended vacation from the blog while I dealt with it all.
I had been contacted by just about every major television and print media outlet for an interview. Sadly, I wasn’t the only one they contacted.
One morning, I became physically ill after watching Missy Pollard on a nationally syndicated morning news show. She talked about how close we were and how she supported me through my body image struggles.
A
fter calming down, I finally shared with Luke the reason I dropped out of college and stopped leaving my house in the first place. I’d never seen Luke so angry. He questioned whether what Hank and Missy did to me was assault.
I tried to argue that I had never said no and I thought I was in love with Marc/Hank. He asked me if I would have given Hank my virginity if I had known who he truly was. No, I wouldn’t have.
With Luke’s help, I found a new therapist and see her twice a month. For so long, I had used my blog to define my self-worth. In therapy, I am working toward being my own master.
Luke’s technique to get me out of bed escalates to tickling. This backfires though as his touch goes from teasing to demanding. Instead of us getting out of bed, we manage to spend the next thirty minutes delightfully off schedule.
Afterward, still kissing my neck, Luke grumbles. “People are going to start showing up at noon whether we’re ready or not.”
“We can save time and share a shower,” I joke.
He laughs. “That never ends up saving us any time.”
He makes a good point.
“I don’t need to wash my hair so why don’t you go first and I’ll walk Loki.”
“Are you sure? It’s cold out.”
I kiss him before easing out from under him. “Yes, now go before I change my mind.”
I clean up quickly, brush my teeth and wash my face before I pull on a pair of jogging pants, a hoodie, and some thick boots. Loki and I take a slow lap around the soccer fields. Usually, Luke and I walk him together, but to save time, it’s just me today.
Luke is throwing me a birthday party at our house with all of our family and some of his friends. A year ago, I would have been in full-blown panic mood. A year ago, I also wouldn’t believe I could be walking my live-in boyfriend’s dog after a morning of wake-up sex.
The only constant in life is change. Instead of freaking out, I’ll go home and get ready. Then I’ll open my door to a group of people who are happy to celebrate my growing another year older.
When we get back, I leave my boots on the front step because the track was muddy. “Honey, can you grab me a towel for Loki’s paws?”
“Sure. Give me a sec,” Luke calls out from our bedroom.
Yesterday's Half Truths Page 22