This will probably be the most candid I will have ever been about my weight. Usually, I avoid all conversation about my weight like it's a plague. Or poke fun at my own weight, because that's always been easier then facing the truth. Easier then really facing how much it all hurt. Writting this will probably be one of the hardest things I've EVER done, I will probably cry, but I imagine it will be a theraputic cry. A lot of people might not understand some of the emotional aspects of all this, that's ok, you don't have to. You don't even really have to agree or like anything I say, this is more for me anyways. So, strap yourself in for a part of my story no one has really heard.
I wasn't always struggling with my weight. I was actually pretty stick like as a kid. A tall, string bean thanks to my every present growing sprees. I was always active. Before I got into basketball, my love was dance. I did ballet, tap, jazz, etc. I had to stop because my feet kept outgrowing the shoes and it was too expensive to keep ordering new ones. Around this time was when my mom first was diagnosed with cancer. I was 8. I think, when you're 8, you can't really understand something like cancer. How it can take a perfectly healthy person, and in a matter of weeks turn them into an almost ghost like shell of themselves. When I think back on this time, I can see that this was the time I turned to food. In a time when nothing was stable, food was a constant that never changed. An old friend, always there to dull some of the sadness, pain and worry I felt.
Some people think 'food addiction' is just a sorry excuse for lazy people that just don't want to change their eating habits or something. I promise you, it's not. 'Addiction' can be described as a persistent, compulsive, couter-productive behavior that is harmful to the individual. It is defininitely possible to develop that kind of relationship to food. Just as someone might turn to alcohol during a particularly difficult time in their life, to numb the pain, the same can be done with food. The only difference is, alcohol and drugs are not necessary for life. Unfortunately, food is inescapable. For me, food became the way I dealt with all the emotions that came from my mom being sick.
Food has a pesky consequence. The more you eat, the more you gain, and for some reason it is much easier to GAIN than it is to LOSE. Before I knew it I was bigger then everyone else in my class. Then the name calling starts. But, with the name calling, a sort of viscious cycle occurs...
Eat to dull emotion ---> Get made fun of at school for being overweight ---> Ouch. Being made fun of sucks and causes me more emotional pain ---> Eat more food to deal with being made fun of.
Eventually, I just got to the point where I didn't have very many friends. My entire 7th grade year, I spent more or less alone. When we moved from Southern California up to Shaver Lake just before 8th grade, things more or less started off the same. Not only was I the new kid in a small school, but I was the OVERWEIGHT new kid. Goodie. It was around this time that I discovered that a bigger personaility almost cancelled out my bigger stature. Suddenly, I had friends! I didn't stop eating though. I didn't change my relationship with food, or learn to deal with the pain I felt in a healthy way. So, while my ever growing personality appeared to make my life better, it also started my habit of blocking things out. Of acting like everything was fine when it wasn't. Of laughing off the remarks about my weight...and even joining in poking fun at myself.
In high school everything changes. Societies expectations of beauty almost seem to rule during those 4 years, but thanks to my personality, I still made a lot of friends. Friends who were gorgeous and thin. Friends who were going on dates and kissing boys. Friends who could wear cute clothes. Friends that could do everything I couldn't. I don't want to say I was jealous of them...but I started feeling very insecure. Eventually, I was the one saying mean things to myself, things worse then anyone else had ever said to me. You say those things to yourself enough and they become a part of you. I no longer defined myself by my personaility, I defined myself by my weight. My weight and food started to control my whole life and all of my thoughts. Going out with friends became something I did out of a feeling of responsibility, more then wanting to have fun. It's hard to enjoy going out and doing things when you always feel like people are staring at you, wondering how someone so 'fat' can be friends with people who are the exact opposite.
The contstant in all of this was my mom. The one person I never felt self-conscious around. The one person I knew loved me no matter what. She was still fighting cancer, and also fighting her own battles with self esteem, thanks to losing all of her hair, the chemo making her skin change and wrinkle, and other crap cancer causes. I always made sure though to tell her that she was beautiful, because she was. In every sense of the word, she was beautiful. I know I talk about mom in almost every single blog post, but that's just how much of a part of my life she was. I took it upon myself to take care of her and do whatever I could for her. To be strong for her. I couldn't stop to feel those hard emotions, or be scared. So I continued to turn to food. Food and my weight became the best security blanket of all for me. It made me strong enough to face cancer head on with mom. I don't know how she did it, but despite it all, she always made me feel beautiful, like I could accomplish anything. She had a way of doing that to people.
The cycle continued though...continued for a few years actually.
Then I met Patrick. Poor guy, I don't think he really knew what he was getting himself into. I had enough insecurities to fill up a dump truck, but he stuck by me. Piece by piece he helped me unravel some of the walls and insecurities I had baracaded myself with. Apparantly, he thought I was worth keeping. For years I had convinced myself that I was unlovable. That I was too fat to be loved. To have someone willingly choose me, and see past all the extra to see ME, is a gift I don't think I'm still entirely accustomed to. I am blessed beyond belief. Yet, despite his best efforts, I retained many of my insecurities and unhealthy relationship with food. What can I say? I'm stubborn.
A couple months ago, I started noticing that I was feeling like CRAP. Severe crap. Not just with insecurities and self-hatred, but physically. Just like that I realized how selfish I've been. Choosing not to take care of myself or value my life at all. To me, that was such an insult to mom. She fought for YEARS to live, and I was pretty much rushing to my death. Plus, I now have a husband who loves me and choose to spend his life with me. He deserves a whole life...not a quarter of one.
So, I asked myself, is food worth losing my life for? Is the temporary security of food worth never having kids? Never being able to do things I want to do?
No. It's not. And just like that everything changed.
So there I was, just under 350 lbs. (by the way, that is horrifying for me to admit), no clue how to start, but I did anyways. I put one foot in front of the other, and I haven't looked back.
It's been 1 month on this journey, but my journey is far from over. I do have a pretty significant amount of weight that I need to lose, but I've come to realize that it's not so much about the number for me. I mean, I'm almost 6' tall, I'm not expecting to ever be a size 6 or anything. All I want is to be healthy and to feel good about myself. Wether that's at 180 or 210 lbs. or whatever number it may be.
I've been eating healthy. I go to Curves 5 days a week and walk 3 miles everyday. I get up and exercise, even when I don't want to. I've worked through the pain of a knee injury and didn't let it keep me down. I'm changing how I think about food and starting the long process of changing how I think about myself. I'm making realistic goals for myself. Instead of ignoring feelings and shoving them away, I take the time to acknowledge them, to learn from them. I've come to accept that neither my weight or my emotional scars will be a quick fix. It's taken me many years to acquire these things, it will take time to lose them as well.
So, I guess you want to know what kinda numbers I made happen this month huh?
In one month, I have lost:
- 27.5 lbs
- 5 in. from my wait
- 5.5 in. from my abdomen
- 0.5 in. from my hips
- 2 in. from my thighs
- 2 in. from my bust (though I'm not convinced that's a good thing haha)
- 3% body fat
- Surprisingly I didn't lose anything from my arms, but I'm taking that as I sign that I need to focus on that area a bit more.
I probably won't lose that much every month, and that's ok. What mattes is that I keep going, because even if the numbers don't always change, the inside of me is changing and getting stronger everyday. For every good decision I make, my body thanks me, and that is priceless. Food and my weight haven't done anything helpful for me, it's only held me back from living my life, it's time to change all that.
Before I end this wannabe novel, I just want to say thank you to all of my precious friends and family. All of you have chosen to see past all the 'extra' and see and love me for things that I often have never been able to see myself. You are all amazing jewels, and I treasure each of you greatly.
I don't know where I heard this from, but it's very true. "Listen closely: the only time it's too late to change yourself is when you're dead. Until then, you're simply making excuses or lying to yourself." It is NEVER too late to change. I am going to lose the weight. I am going to be happy with myself. No matter how long it takes...
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