My best friend's weight loss: Beth lost 20 pounds and two dress sizes. So why did our writer feel so betrayed?

Shape, May, 2004 by Carolyn Armistead

I was in countdown mode. In just two weeks, my best friend, Beth, would be in Boston for our annual Girls' Weekend. No work, no husbands, no kids and no responsibilities--just two glorious days of shopping, laughing, eating out and chatting into the wee hours.

"Can't wait to see you," she said, calling from her home near Chicago. "By the way, I hope you'll recognize me at the airport. I've dropped two sizes since the last time you saw me!"

I tried to hide my stunned confusion and murmured something congratulatory. But after the phone call, I found myself processing some new, unsettling emotions. My best friend had lost two sizes--about 20 pounds--and I felt oddly betrayed. What was that about?

Perhaps it helps to explain that my friendship with Beth has always flourished on the basis of our similarities. We're both passionate about art, good books and our daughters--the younger of the two pairs each named Corinne. We enjoy belting out Broadway tunes. We like our margaritas frozen, no salt. We each have the middle name "Anne." And in addition to both being 5-foot-5, we wore the same size. Nothing model-thin, mind you, but respectable. Normal. Healthy.

But now Beth had decided that our size was unacceptable. Did that mean I was unacceptable as well? Did I need to lose weight too? My inner adolescent forced her way out of my subconscious, all insecurity and jealousy. I even wondered--fleetingly, and irrationally--how I could manage to drop two sizes in the two weeks before her visit. (This, of course, did not happen.)

The day of Beth's arrival came. First impression: Yes, she was thin, too thin in my opinion, triggering another set of emotions, among them concern. But all was forgotten when I saw the fond, familiar twinkle in her eyes as she gathered me in a crushing hug. This was no stranger. She was still Beth, still the dear friend I adored. No matter how many sizes were lost or gained between us, this would always be so. How could I have ever doubted it? I sent my inner adolescent to her room and slammed the door.

Later, while we chatted over drinks, I found I understood the reasons for her weight loss (to conquer perceived body flaws, to keep up with her ultra-athletic husband, to stall the march of time), if not the extent of it. But by then, I'd also abandoned my childish "we're the same!" mind-set. With all that we have in common, Beth and I are on our own unique journeys. On hers, Beth had chosen to achieve a more slender physique, an accomplishment that clearly made her happy. And as long as she remained healthy, I could be happy for her too.

This challenge to my self-image also made me realize that my quest isn't to drop a dress size or two, but to accept the healthy body I'm in. For me, this is a much more attainable goal.

No matter where our journeys take us over the years, Beth and I will be there to encourage each other, through thick and thin. OK, so at the moment, I'm thicker and she's thinner. Such things don't matter between true friends.

Carolyn Armistead lives, writes and maintains a healthy BMI near Boston.