It’s endlessly intriguing to me how our view of certain things can be changed completely by new experiences. I have been thinking about this a lot lately, because after 11 years together, my husband and I have taken an unexpected (but very positive) step with our marriage — we are exploring polyamory. Something I took for granted over the course of more than a decade in a stable relationship was how many things I didn’t have to think about, especially when it came to my body.

I thought I had a very good body image. I am not about to become a supermodel, but I felt very secure with my curves, stretchmarks and scars. I wasn’t really bothered by my jiggles and dimples. I saw everything about my body as part of my story, the story of my whole self. All the puzzle pieces fit together and the result is Me. And I was ok with that.
I thought that this self-acceptance came from within, a sign of my own inner strength, no external validation required.

And then came my new gentleman caller.

His slim, muscular frame contrasts with my flesh in a way I’m not used to, and I worry. Despite his reassurances that he finds me attractive, I worry. Through his assertion that “guys don’t really care about that like you think they do”, I worry. When I realized I was interested in him, I began going to the gym. I feel self-conscious at dinner with him, as I can eat much, much more than he can. When I stop eating, he knows it’s not because I’m full, and he encourages me to finish my meal. I have wrongly judged him as someone who would judge me — he has never, ever made a disparaging comment about my body shape or size or food intake, and has instead given many positive comments and affirmations. My body image has taken a nosedive nonetheless.

I have some theories about why this is. I think it’s all about perspective. My two gents represent two ends of the spectrum, my husband being a person of size who has always described himself as a “combat marshmallow”. I lie somewhere in between, having once been much bigger, now being too thin to have my fat-solidarity accepted, but too fat to fully gain thin privilege (or find jeans that fit properly). I already felt like I had one foot on either side of a threshold. But I was comfortable there, and had a pretty good concept of my body.

Now I am realizing that I viewed myself in relation to my husband for the past 11 years. My body image is my own, the acceptance does come from within, and it is genuine. But since I started seeing my new gentleman, I have realized that my body image is not as resistant to outside forces as I’d thought. I struggle now with not only my changing view of my body, but also a shifting idea of self-empowerment: what it means to suddenly understand that your self-concept was dependent on another person. I must not let myself feel bad about either of those realizations.

I think it’s like putting a painting in a frame: The painting looks pretty, the frame is very nice, and they go together very well. You stop noticing the frame after a while — it just sets off the picture so nicely, the two seem to become one. But then, you change the frame. The new one still goes well with the painting, but it’s different. Kind of jarring, at first. Eventually, you will get used to it. Eventually, painting and frame will seem to go together as naturally as can be. But for now, you just keep thinking of how you felt when you looked at the picture in the other frame. As time goes on, I think I will get used to my body image in relation to my new gentleman. I will trust him when he says he likes what he sees. I will understand that a beautiful painting is still beautiful — no matter what frame it’s in.