I don’t ever remember there being a time when my weight was not the elephant in the room, pun intended. It was brought up at pediatrician visits, while shopping for clothes, on the playground, when asking for treats. I trust you see the pattern here. The mixed messages I received about food still haunt me in my adulthood. Being told I needed to lose just a little bit of weight, immediately followed by an offer of frozen pizza or ice cream. Being told that I shouldn’t eat donuts, after they were bought, brought in the house, and I’ve already eaten one. Viewing foods as “good” or “bad”. Deciding I was going to “be bad” and have an ice cream. Food is food. It’s all fuel. You could live on a diet entirely of donuts and not gain weight if you stay within your calorie range. Granted there are foods that offer better nutrition and other health benefits, but it’s still fuel.
Sitting here now, in my early thirties and with my present body, I can look back on old photographs and see myself with a clearer perspective. I was never a petite child, but I was certainly never the gargantuan I believed I was. In high school, I shot up several inches, grew curves in the right places, and can look back fondly on my pictures. Dare I say it, I was even pretty! But that’s not how I felt then. I felt like the fat girl. The girl who never got asked out. The girl “with the great personality” who was “so funny”. I watched my friends go out with the boys I had crushes on and my heart broke a little more each time. With each new scar, my personality grew a little bit more out of control.
I have tried every, and I do mean every, method of weight loss out there. Dexatrim, Phen-Fen, Xenadrine, Acai berry pills, Weight Watchers, Jenny Craig, Nutrisystem, diets I’d found on the internet. I even dabbled in anorexia, bulimia, and excessive workouts, up to 5 hours a day. Nothing worked, at least, not long term. I’ve probably gained and lost well over 1,000 pounds in my life.
After a time, I became DEFIANT about my weight. See? I could be smart AND fat. I could be successful AND fat. I could have lots of friends AND be fat. I could attract men AND be fat. It was my personal war against a world that proclaimed we should all be size 2s. I even think I used it to test Jeff’s love for and fidelity to me. You love me? Really? How about after I gain 20 lbs.? You still love me? How about after 50 lbs.? 100 lbs.? The love was still there, unwavering. Inside, I was screaming in the prison I had built for myself.
The programs I tried never worked long term because I was addressing the symptoms of the weight gain, rather than the cause. Even with therapy, it’s a bit like fighting a Hydra. For every head I cut off, 3 more seem to sprout. I have so many emotional issues tied to eating; it’s going to take some time to sort them out. How do you eat an elephant? One bite at a time.
I’ve started losing weight again, with great success. It took some hard work, and I don’t mean exercising or logging foods. Strange as it may seem, I had to give myself permission to lose weight. I had to tell myself that it was ok to take care of myself, that I deserved it. I had to see myself of someone worthy of love, something I had been fighting against for years. I have spent more years hating myself than I care to remember. I have to be kind to myself. Food is fuel, but it can also be enjoyed. A little indulgence here or there is ok; perfection is not an option, nor is it possible.
I want to see my Q grow up. Most importantly, I don’t want to pass these food issues on to her. I can preach to her all I want, but in the end, what I do, how I treat myself and take care of myself are the lessons she’s going to learn.
Wow, thanks for voicing my struggle! I appreciate your honesty and strength. Keep fighting the good fight!
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