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being fat

fat, weight loss, change, women's health, on being fat, obesity

Estimated reading time: 4 minutes

Being fat is not what I wanted to be. Admitting that I am fat is even harder. I hate saying those words. For me, it’s admitting defeat. As if somehow writing it down and posting it makes it real.

I have eyes. I can plainly see that I’m overweight. I have been for years and all the pulling and tugging at my clothes will not change that. Most days I feel like I’m wearing a suit of shame like my weight is some sort of punishment.

Being fat is hard.

It’s even harder being out of shape. I’ve decided to start working out again and I am now more conscious about weight management. These days working on my abs feels like working out while being 9-months pregnant because I am so out of shape and my stomach is so massive. When I sit down, my stomach literally touches my lap. It disgusts me. When did this happen?

I wish I were one of those women who didn’t care what size her clothes were, what her body looked like in clothes or what people thought of her looks. It’s weird because while I couldn’t care less what people think of my opinions or beliefs or me as a person, I have always been consumed by what people might think of what I look like, more specifically my body. Believe me, I’ve tried to change my way of thinking but still, I feel like being fat is my biggest and most embarrassing failure in life.

I’ve been binge watching TLC shows about being overweight; My 600 lb. life and My Big Fat Fabulous Life. I find myself baffled that people have let themselves get that overweight. Then afraid it could happen to me. Unfortunately, I cannot relate to finding fabulousness in being overweight at all but I am glad others can love their bodies at all sizes.

I used to restrict calories and work out to the extreme. I used to be good at it; too good at it. I was masterful at the art of willpower and self-control, where eating was concerned. The rest of the world could be spinning out of control but I held tight the reins on my food intake. My entire world could be off the hook but my stomach was always tight. When people told me that I looked “sick”, it made me happy because I felt like I was doing something right.

Food is an addiction, worse than any other because while if you are an alcoholic or a drug addict you can choose not to partake. You can quit drugs and you can quit alcohol. It’s f*cking hard but you can do it. You can’t quit food. Well, you can, but you will die. I know, I’ve tried and was pretty successful and unfortunately, being too thin because you are obsessed with your weight and food intake is just as terrible as being too fat because you are eating too much. Being too skinny is just as unhealthy as being too fat. I know because I’ve been both.

My food issues started around the time I turned 7, at least that’s when the photos show that I gained weight. I wasn’t overweight at all but I wasn’t rail thin anymore. I’d love to be able to tell you what triggered it but I can’t because, honestly, I can’t remember most of what happened the years of my life between the summer I turned 7 and sophomore year in high school. It’s all a blur. I just remember wanting to fade into the background.

My dad was an abusive alcoholic who was always angry and my mom shut down to survive. I felt abandoned and the only attention I got was unwanted so I wanted to be invisible and somewhere along the way, I did that because everyone knows the quickest way to not be seen is to become overweight so I hid there, unnoticed. People stare at beautiful things but no one wants to make eye contact with the ugly of the world.

Being fat was my way to disappear.

fat, weight loss, change, women's health, being fat, obesity

I’m realizing that somewhere in that haze is the answer to the question of why I have always battled my own self-image and why I have such a problem accepting the skin I live in. For as long as I can remember, I’ve been at war with my body, my health. Always beating it into submission or ignoring it all together. When I write it down, it looks like a metaphor for my childhood. Maybe that’s the entire issue.

But how do I stop? How do I learn to love my body, myself, unconditionally when I never felt that as a child? It always felt conditional. I feel like by having my own daughters and loving them so fiercely and unconditionally, I’m slowly learning that everyone deserves that kind of love and acceptance…even me.

Even if you haven’t experienced being fat, how do you learn to love something that you’ve spent your entire life wishing you could change?


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fat, obesity, weight loss, health

There have been days where I’ve looked in the mirror and all I can see is the fat girl I’ve become and nothing else. Those days are over. You know the saying; “One day she believed she could and so she did”? That’s me this morning. I’m doing. I’m a little scared because this is the third time I’ve started this journey in 6 years. I’ve yet to get to my destination and I’m an all or nothing kind of person, so either I’m losing or I’m gaining. Not intentionally, mind you.

It just seems if I’m not actively trying to lose, I throw the baby out with the bath water and just eat anything and everything I want. You know the whole, “to hell with it, this days ruined anyways ” attitude. That’s how I got where I’m at today… 100 pounds away from where I need to be.

So, I’m sitting in a green, plastic chair feeling kind of sick in my stomach, you know that feeling you get when you leap without looking? Waiting for my first meeting (first day of the rest of my life and all that). The most humiliating part is over; a stranger has weighed me. She knows my weight. I can’t kill her, so I guess I’d better change it. That’s how I function, deadlines and public shaming.

What’s brought me here today? An airplane ride to Los Angeles was my come to Jesus meeting. Yep, airplane rides always remind me that I need to lose weight. You see, depending on the airline, every flight is a “cross your fingers, pray to God, hope the damn seatbelt fits” situation. It always does but lately, I’ve had to suck in more than I want to.

Then there was the layover in Minneapolis that had me literally running across the entire airport to make my next flight. I REALLY thought I was going to have a heart attack, right there in Minnesota. I was out of breath, coughing and my heart was pounding. I coughed and wheezed and it took me about 15 minutes to recover. Then it happened, I realized that I shouldn’t be putting my life in imminent danger trying to catch a flight. That’s not the call I want my husband and daughters to get.

All I could think, as I was fighting for my breath was…

Fat Girl Walking.

I was sure that someone recorded the entire thing and I was going to end up on Youtube or as a hilarious GIF. That was 3 weeks ago. This morning I’m sitting at Weight Watchers.

I’ve been here before. The first time, it worked and then we moved mid weight loss journey and everything got screwed up because if you’ve ever done Weight Watchers, you know that your meeting leader and the people in the meeting make a big difference. Then, I started Weight Watchers only to find out 2 weeks later that I was pregnant. This is my third time and my last time because this time, I’m not stopping.

Last month, I wrote a post about the Burden of being a Fat Woman. Then I met and heard from some incredible women who said that they could relate. All I could see when I looked at them was amazing women. Not fat. Not obesity. I saw their beautiful kind hearts and it made me sad that they could identify with my burden. Why couldn’t I do the same for myself? That’s when I decided to change the things I can, accept the things I can’t and to have the wisdom to know the difference.

I will never be 107 pounds again, nor do I even want to be because when I was, I was not healthy. I was probably the unhealthiest I’ve ever been in my entire life. I can accept that. I want to be healthy and I want to be happy. I deserve to be happy. I want to be around in 50 years. I want to see my daughters go to prom, graduate from college, get married, have babies of their own and be happy. I want to live, not just exist. I want to be able to run across the damn Minneapolis airport if I want to without being in danger of dropping dead. I can change that. I know the difference between what is unattainable and what is realistic.

My mind is right. My heart is ready and my body desperately needs this. I deserve this. I’m doing this.

I’m letting go of my fat girl status.

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