The Day I Went Invisible

When my dog woke me up, growling and impatient to go out, I was sleepy and lazy. I grabbed the first clothing I could reach. I put on "boy" clothes: a pair of baggy cargo shorts, and a long, loose T-Shirt. 

Due to my many nervous-system-related fibromyalgia symptoms, most clothing hurts me. It hurts the skin on my upper arms and lower thighs. Though there is no tension, anything touching my shoulders feels like it's pulling on my muscles and digging into me. Because of that, I have only worn short sundresses with spaghetti straps since about mid-May. 

This morning, I put on the "boy clothes" and my baseball cap, because I didn't have time for a shower - according to the insistent growling - and took the dog for a walk. 

We walked the same route, passed the same construction site, passed the same workers, just like every day. We passed strangers who couldn't help but smile at how happy the dog looks, just like every day. 

Only this time it was different. 

I was invisible. 

Everyday, I walk towards the local school and pass neighbours who smile at me and say hello to me and to the dog. Today, despite my smile, they walked right by me like I wasn't there. I didn't really give it a thought at the time. I was still groggy and not up for small talk anyway. 

As several strangers passed us on the street, I started to notice a trend. As usual, the infectious apparent joy of my dog caused strangers to smile when they saw her. Many times strangers will say "what a happy dog!" or "such a nice dog!" 

Today, the dog got smiles. 

I got nothing. 

About 4 people walked by, smiled at the dog, but made no eye contact with me. One guy smiled so big he was beaming, but averted his eyes when his caught mine. 

I started to notice my invisibility. 

It was when I walked through the construction site that my virtual non-existence became apparent. I walk through there several times a day. And even though the workers must recognize me by now, they always look me up and down, stopping briefly at my breasts, then making eye contact and smiling. Sometimes they say hello, but usually it's just the up and down appraisal followed by a smile, or a nod.

Today? 

Nothing. 

I walked through and watched them glance and me and turn back to what they were doing. 

Today I didn't exist. 

I've never felt comfortable with the once-over appraisal. I don't enjoy it. I find it objectifying, sexualizing, and rude. And, it's been my life since I developed breasts at age 10. It's part of my daily existence and something that I hardly think about anymore. 

It is something that just IS. 

I am a cis woman with large breasts and I get noticed, and appraised, daily. The appraisal ends with a smile or a nod, and I'm on my way. I am under the belief that rest of my body does not meet societal standards of beauty, or sexuality. So I get a free-pass to not get "hit on", or "cat called". Obversely, numerous times I have been fat shamed or called derogatory names having to do with weight. 

Both outcomes are uncomfortable. 

Both outcomes make me self-conscious of my body. 

At times it feels like I am naked. The gaze of others and the feeling of judgement can make me want to go home and hide. Or wear a parka. Winter can be a much safer season for body-conscious people. There are so many layers to hide under. 

For me, in all seasons, getting dressed in the morning can be torturous. What can I wear that is comfortable on my skin, that won't make my nerves go haywire, that isn't too tight, that doesn't have too much cleavage, that is socially acceptable while meeting all the criteria of not causing me self-conscious discomfort, or the sensation of physical pain? 

My solution? 

Hooks of sundresses, organized by levels of comfort. A quick internal scan of my body, after stretching and moving around, determines a level 1, 2, or 3 dress. 

The fact that my dresses are pretty is an added bonus to finding something that is only mildly painful to wear. 

On this morning's walk, my lack of femininity in my clothing made me invisible. The dresses, the shorts, and the T-shirt happen to be from the same store. One outfit relegates me to potential sexual object, and the other to near invisibility. 

Maybe Shakespeare was right when he said "apparel oft proclaims the man." Apparently, my clothing defines the worth of my level of objectification.  

It makes me wonder if my eyes unconsciously do the up and down appraisal of others. Do I stop and stare at certain body parts, making the person uncomfortable? Do I avert my eyes and make people feel invisible? 

Growing up in a large city has made eye contact and smiles unusual. I have always made a conscious effort to make eye contact with everyone I pass on the street. It's my way of trying to illicit feelings of belonging. Being seen, in a non-objectifying way, offers a sense of community. 

It was a strange feeling to be invisible. It's something I have strived for. And now that I have experienced it, it felt like a sort of rejection. I felt disconnected and like I didn't belong. 

It certainly made me think about how my eyes and facial expressions can affect others. 

Be kind,

To yourself too

xoxo