I wanted to feel ready to lose weight before committing to a “life style change.” It was always the “wrong time”, and some day was always right around the corner. Holiday season? Maybe after the new year. Long day at work? Well, we’ll order out tonight, but next week we’ll make better choices. The more I put on weight, the less active I became, my stamina felt like it was slipping through my fingers and my silhouette seemed to suffer. I lived in denial, thinking– I’m not ready yet, I’ll start when I feel ready.
I weighed myself in late May and the numbers caught up with me. 424 pounds.
424 wasn’t “maybe someday.” It was 424-THIS IS REAL! 424– TIME FOR A CHANGE!
And just like that, it was back on the merry-go-round we go! Back to calorie counting and fearing that the numbers don’t budge. Back to meal-prep Sundays and scrolling through pictures of thin girls wearing crop tops I couldn’t fit around my leg for ~*inspiration*~.
It’s always a whirl wind of self improvement at first. The promises to myself to be better, mentally listing the many ways my life will be improved. This is not the first time I’ve made an effort to lose a significant amount of weight, but it’s different this time for many reasons.
I’ll catch myself mourning lost time. If only I had continued to lose weight when I was 19. If only I had been consistent all these years instead of trying and getting frustrated and quitting and quietly feeding into my own self-loathing internal rhetoric. If only, If only, If only . . . with the same landing point: I’d be thin by now!
But that is to be expected when you are an expert at poisonous self-talk. If you can think up a nasty comment to hurl at me, well that’s nothing I haven’t thought myself. What makes you think things will be different this time, you fat fuck up?
I tear myself down because, well– that’s all I deserve right? Fat people don’t deserve to be treated like people. That’s the culture I’ve grown up in:
Fat is shame, misery, and solitude. You’ll never get the guy, you’ll never grab that great opportunity or get hired for that amazing job because fat people just can’t. That’s the diet of hatred I’ve grown up on for years well into my early adult life, and mastered it.
Not Anymore. Never Again.
I internalized the idea of “Fat people can’t” and applied it to so many things that I was watching myself overcome, but I applied it still to weight loss.
To those nagging thoughts of self doubt, I say: things ARE going to be different this time for a myriad of reasons.
Because then, I grew up with poor eating habits and was shamed for them as I grew larger and larger.
Now, I am in control of what I eat– I buy healthy food to fill my fridge and prepare my meals for the week to keep me on track.
Because then, I was surrounded by unsupportive, hurtful people.
Now, I’ve cut out any negative people in my life, and am married to a wonderfully supportive man who loves me at any size.
Because then I didn’t realize why it was so hard for me to manage my weight and struggles with things that I didn’t know to were symptoms.
Now, I know I have PCOS and have for years. There’s nothing wrong with me and there are millions of women who have the same struggles.
Then, I tried to lose weight motivated by vitriolic self loathing, I would starve myself because I hated myself. I would purge because I would want to punish myself for eating something “unsafe.”
This time, I will choose to be compassionate with myself. I will not relapse into my disordered habits, and I will be patient with myself. In a world of hurtful, harmful fear mongering, I will choose softness and empathy towards my own struggles.
This is not a shameful secret to drag around with me, this is a joyous occasion– a new beginning in my life beginning to care for myself.
I have come a long, long way. From being so scared of how much I weighed that I don’t even know where I begun at 16 years old, to losing weight unhealthily and living in fear of the scale. Then, moving out of a toxic environment and finding ways to love myself more, defiantly refusing to starve myself for my wedding and proudly proclaiming you can be a bride and fuck starvation culture for the sake of appearances. I worked stressful, under paid jobs far away from my apartment to build a foundation where I could find a better paying job closer to home with far less stress than before.
And now, I’m week 5 into a life-long journey and house-sitting for my husband’s friend, and no way to weigh myself. Last week I was down 30 lbs, and this week I know I did well with my eating. I’ll weigh myself next Saturday because that’s the next time I can and that’s okay.
In fact, I’m going to be overweight for a long time, and that’s okay!
I’ll get there when I get there.