One of my lessons in learning on how to fit my brain into this changing body is learning to adapt to normalcy. I have lived for many years, being that person, the one who tries to fade into the background because she’s the largest person in the room, the most common identifier being that fat woman over in the corner.

If Rosie the Riveter could do it… so can we.

So when we were invited to a friend’s house this week to swim, I was ambivalent about it, at best. There are women of entirely average size that dread being seen in a bathing suit; quadruple that level of angst for me. I’m still a large woman — and with it, I carry the visible scars of my weight loss. I have batwings worthy of a 90-year-old woman. I have large amounts of loose, wrinkled skin in the areas where my weight loss has been the greatest. I am always conscious of this, even when not wearing a bathing suit.

I had a choice, though. I often swim at another friend’s house, because the people I’m with, there, have known me for many, many years — when I was at my fattest. When I was at my thinnest. And they accept me at all of the weights in between, which is one of the biggest gifts a friend can give someone who’s ever conscious of their physical being and limitations.

It’s an act of faith that other newer friends will be the same. I should have had no doubts; I went, had a great time, and never felt as if I were a science project. I’m blessed to know so many people who don’t stop at the surface and, instead, value people for the core of them, rather than their looks. As my mother likes to say, beauty is skin deep; ugly goes straight through to the bone.

That doesn’t erase the fear of judgment, though. I have been the object of nasty comments from strangers — and from people who have been close to me. I have dealt with judgment regarding my weight, no matter how well-meaning. I have been dismissed as something less than human, someone not worthy of customer service, someone apparently worthy of ridicule. There are still many people who firmly believe just the act of being overweight is a character flaw.

While I have fairly thick skin, these days, and someone’s opinion of me only matters if I respect them, there’s still a residue of fear in new situations. There’s still the awkwardness of dealing with someone who may automatically dismiss all that I am because of my physical characteristics.

Learning to live a normal life doesn’t mean I’ll live without these fears; I think most people — most women, at least — are concerned that they somehow don’t measure up to an imaginary (and likely unattainable) ideal. There are many who won’t wear shorts or sleeveless shirts in scorching hot weather (like we have right now!) because they are conscious of their imperfections.

The truth is that we all have imperfections; they are part of what makes us who we are, and in that light, they are not imperfections. They are traits that make us unique in some way, and just because we are different from some imagined norm should not be seen as a bad thing.

I am who I am; I would not choose for my heart and mind to be different, simply because of the container they exist in. For me, living normally means accepting myself for where I am at this moment, with whatever perceived flaws I may have, and not letting those fears govern my actions.