Visibility

Corinne Marchand in Cleo From 5 to 7 (dir. Agnes Varda, 1962)

Adjusting to the thyroid medication the past couple of months has been a roller coaster ride of side effects that have reawakened things that have been dormant in my body for the last few years. On one hand, I am glad I feel reinvigorated again, but some of the awakenings have been intense, and maybe it’s because I have forgotten what it feels like to have energy instead of constant fatigue. Or it could be overstimulation. In any case, it’s been a blessing and a curse.

Because of the increased amount of energy, which is making me more active, coupled with a change in diet, I have been losing weight, which is one of the more pleasant side effects. I’m trying not to get too thrilled about this because everything in my body is still adjusting, but it is nice to have my clothes fit looser and my co-workers note the difference. The weight loss is proof the medication is working. The mere thought of exercising six months ago made my entire body ache. Now it’s something I look forward to in the day because it makes me happy. The weight loss is a visual that my health is improving.

The downside of the weight loss is realizing how a woman’s physical appearance changes how you are noticed in the world. The last couple of weeks I have been getting more male attention, and not the good kind. For years, I thought men no longer noticed me because of my age, not because of my weight. I have suddenly become more attractive as I have shedded weight. I’m no longer invisible to the rest of world. Knowing this and experiencing this are two very different things, and experiencing this first hand makes it suck more.

I rewatched Cleo From 5 to 7 last weekend. Watching it in a new perspective, having gone through health problems, and experiencing the anxiety of receiving medical test results, it resonated more. One of the themes in the film is Cleo’s femininity and value that is placed in her physical appearance. Cleo is constantly worried about how she looks to the rest of the world, and as a viewer we understand why when we see how many people gawk at her in a cafe as she’s trying to not exist in the world for five minutes.

As a woman, going out in public means sometimes feeling like you’re in a fish bowl while strangers take a gander at you swimming, just trying to live and eat fish flakes. The last few weeks have felt like that. Riding the bus, walking to the theater, going to a restaurant, eating a cup of Honey Nut Cheerios in front of the library—all of these things have brought about some sort of attention from a man trying to strike a conversation with me when it’s obvious I have no interest in speaking to anyone.

Maybe I should be thrilled my stock is going up as a 34 year-old woman, and that I am getting attention. The confidence boost from losing weight seems to be overshadowed by the shallowness of the world. Oh, and the many creeps who are coming out like cockroaches to simply grab my attention.