It’s summer and we’re doing the camping thing, again — my husband, our dog, and me. We’ve owned a small pop up camper for a little over three years, and it has been more of a gauge of my progress than most — perhaps because it’s an occasional thing and not an every day task. Sometimes, small increments of progress get lost in the common details of our daily lives.

We camp a few times a year, and now that both of us have nifty new knees, we might up the amount a bit. When we first got the camper, I had some difficulties maneuvering; it’s a small space and I wasn’t small. I also didn’t bend well. I needed a stool to get up into the bed bunk end, and I worried more than anyone ever should about things like rolling out of the bunk end (it’s just canvas there, after all) and falling down the step. I used to get down out of the camper backwards so I wouldn’t fall, and it’s taken me a bit of time to accept that I can step out forward without killing myself.

We’re at the lake as I write this; I can see the lake over the rail bordering our site. We are the farthest site away from the bathhouse, which means a quarter mile walk there. That’s something I absolutely could not do two years ago, and have no trouble with it, now. It’s — dare I say it — normal.

I admittedly have spent the vast majority of my adult life as a morbidly obese woman, and although I have been at a normal weight early in my adulthood, I find myself going through a constant checking process. I don’t really know what normal is in this new world of mine. I don’t know what normal expectations are, or even normal reactions.

Earlier, I was down at the bathhouse and heard a couple of teenage girls come in while I was in a stall. After a couple of minutes, I heard them giggling as if they had an inside joke, and I have to admit that I immediately thought they might be giggling at me, even though I was in a stall and hadn’t so much as made eye contact with them. Does everyone else just assume they’re the butt of a joke? I have lived much of my life, subjected to whispers behind hands while their eyes have taken in my size. I have no reason to feel that way anymore, but it still is embedded in my responses.

The last couple of days, I’ve also watched, with some trepidation, neighbors in the campsite beside us. She was using a handicap scooter and was morbidly obese. She didn’t use the scooter all the time; if I had to guess, I’d say she has limited mobility and can get around small spaces without assistance. I’ve been there. He, on other hand, likely weighed more than my previous 371 pounds — by a long shot.

That site has direct lake access, and they spent a fair amount of time floating in the water on their floaties. I wondered if they had picked the site because they could do so without eyes on them in the same way they would be if they had used the beach; I’ve been subjected to snide remarks when I have been at beaches and have been close to their sizes. It’s possible their normal is the same as mine once was; removing myself from common activities and hiding so no one would make me feel as if I didn’t belong. Quite honesty, I wouldn’t blame them. People can be incredibly cruel for no good reason. Just because someone is overweight doesn’t mean anyone else has the right or authority to criticize them for it.

Last night, we ran the risk of severe weather; my husband and I worked to get our site in order if winds and heavy rains came up. Our neighbors, on the other hand, left their things out in the weather and left the site altogether. I don’t know if any of their things were harmed, but it occurred to both of us that they might not have been able to move their things easily, so they just protected themselves. Their normal — my former normal — often comes at a price because of disability or inability.

That normal is unimaginable to people of normal size and abilities. And normal size and abilities were once beyond my grasp, but as I settle into this new existence, I still have a lot of learning to do. Most of the changes in my life are positive, and I’m grateful, but I also hope I never forget how difficult life once was.