So I’m 27 and I’m ready for a change. Here’s my story:
Growing up, I always thought I was fat. I always thought I was chubbier than the kids on the playground, and I was painfully aware of how my body jiggled when I moved, ran, or jumped. To top it off, my Dad didn’t really know how to have daughters. In reality, I was barely overweight, but my Dad just didn’t see that. We moved into the country when I was in 3rd grade, and we finally got to go to the park ourselves, and bike down the back roads. My Dad made comments like “If you were really walking and biking as much as you say you are, you’d be losing weight”. I never had a Doctor tell me I needed to lose weight (until well into my adulthood, which you’ll read about below). When I was in 7th grade, I didn’t eat for a week to prove I could, and try to lose a few pounds. It didn’t work, and I hated myself. In high school, I weighed 185, and I got boobs and curves. Boys LOVED me, even though I didn’t date really, I realized that I might not be as terrible as what I saw in the mirror. Actually, I was pretty attractive.
In my graduating year, I took a fitness unit in gym class. It was the last unit before grad, and I magically toned up like crazy, like my prom dress was loose on me, my arms were toned, and my collar bones made an appearance. Not sure what I weighed at that point. This was also the year my Mom was diagnosed with stage 4 cancer. They gave her 2 months to live, and she declined treatment, since she didn’t want to feel like crap every day if it wasn’t going to extend her life at all. I lost a little more weight because my Mom’s health was a major stress factor, in addition to preparing to audition for spot at the Faculty of Music.
In my first year of University, I LOST 20 pounds right away. Not on purpose, but because I was A) constantly missing the bus, and had to power walk a mile to catch the next one, and B) I was living in a house with a family I didn’t really know, and felt bad eating their food, so I was eating a big bowl of raisin bran for breakfast, buying a lunch, then eating as big a sandwich as I could make when I got home from school at 8pm. NOT enough food. It got to the point where I was losing a pound every day or two, actually kind of scary, and I tried to eat more to compensate, but it ended up making my metabolism faster? Anyway, I didn’t feel tired, so I just kept eating crappy food and enjoyed the smaller pant size for a while. I was pretty proud, since everyone else was packing on the “Freshman 15”. My lowest weight was 140, and despite not feeling crappy, I looked pretty crappy, and my face broke out like crazy, probably partially due to all the junk food, and booze I was ingesting.
In my second year of University, my Mom passed away from the cancer she’d been diagnosed with two years earlier. She had outlived all the Doctor’s expectations, but it was still terrible. I gained all the weight I’d lost back, plus a little (up to 190) by succumbing to my Dad’s loneliness and sitting on the couch and eating crappy food out of sadness, and a sense of duty to not let my Dad struggle through on his own. And then I gained a little more, and ballooned up to 195, had a minor freak out and joined a gym, got a trainer etc.
For the next 5 years, my weight yo-yo’d in an upward pattern until my last year of University. Somewhere in there I’d been diagnosed with clinical depression, and put on medication. I hit my all time highest weight: 256. I hadn’t weighed myself in a VERY LONG TIME, but I saw a picture of myself at a wedding social and thought…. “Do I really look like that?” “Why are people posting such terrible pictures of me?”. I realized, they weren’t just terrible photos. I’d let myself go majorly. On top of that, I was in a toxic relationship. So I lost weight, and eventually ditched the dude.
2.5 years ago, I was at my lowest weight since my big drop in the beginning of my University career, with the help of an ED. There I said it. I’ve never said it beofore, mostly because there’s this stigma that fat girls don’t have eating disorders. Usually I just say I had some issues with food, or I didn’t eat a lot. But it was straight up disordered thinking. My brain was so absorbed, even when I did lose 80 pounds, I was desparate to keep losing. Some days I’d think I looked alright, and some days I’d swear I still needed plus sized pants. But I didn’t care at the time. I was wearing shorts! And dresses! and I felt dizzy a lot of the time, but who cares! My collar bones came out to play! My hip bones dug into my mattress when I lay on my stomach. I had a shitty boyfriend who liked to spend a lot of time on his own, and slept in most weekends, which was ok with me, since I didn’t eat unless I was around people anyway! So when I decided to cut that shit out, and start eating again, I just didn’t pay attention to what went into my mouth, and BOOM. 70 of the 80 pounds I’d lost just wandered back onto my body. Though, luckily I maintained some of the muscle mass I’d gained by running and walking the hills in the town I live in now, and playing slow pitch, so at least I don’t look like I did previously at this weight.
And now, here I am. Fat, and a bit downtrodden about it (but not depressed). For the first time ever, a Doctor has said “You need to lose some weight”. But I’m willing to do something! No more hopping around for an hour, or attempting to do P90X, or 30 Minute Shred (good for you if they worked, but they just made me feel crappy about myself, and I’d quit after 1 or 2 workouts). For me, the battle is going to be 90% mental. I know. It’s going to be hard, but so so so so worth it in the end.
This time I’m going to do it the right way. The healthy way. I’m going to be strong. I’m going to kick ass….. I’m going to wear an amazing dress to my 10 year high school reunion in 6 months!