I can't remember a time when weight wasn't an issue in my life. I was chubby for the better part of my childhood and I carried that with me into part of my adult life. Looking back I recognize that I was overweight not because of a love for food but a disdain for myself. I can't remember half of the food that I put in my mouth back then because it never stayed on my plate long enough for me to fully appreciate it. Eating the amount of food that I did provided me with the what seemed to be gratification and comfort that I felt I wasn't getting at home or at school.
When my parents were fighting... I ate.
If I was made fun of at school... I ate.
If my heart was broken... I ate.
When I was feeling lonely, bored, angry or sad.... I ate.
You get the idea, right?
There weren't alot of things that I was sure of in my youth but I knew that food and writing were always there for me when the world seemed to turn its back. I was a diehard overachiever. In my mind if I was going to be a fat girl, I was going to be a smart fat girl. It wasn't until I progressed into adulthood that I started to understand that there were choices that I could make for myself that didn't involve frequent trips to the fridge. I didn't have to accept the 250 lbs. that the scale read and I didn't have to cloak myself in the familiar surroundings of plus size pants and a painful smile of acceptance.
Weight was an all consuming topic for me. I thought that if I wished hard enough or clipped out enough pictures of pretty skinny girls, the weight would magically disappear.
As the old adage goes, "You get out, what you put in". The life that I was living while I was extremely overweight was a reflection of what I felt about myself at the time. After suffering a few bouts of depression I decided that it was time for change.
While I have been successful in keeping my promise to never go back to the lifestyle that made me so unhappy, I still have a bit of unrest within me. I know that I haven't pushed myself as hard as I can. If I did, I don't know if I would recognize myself anymore and that scares me a bit. I can't let that fear keep me from trying.
Taking care of myself isn't about vanity anymore. It's about my self-worth. The scale doesn't have to show a specific number as long as I know that I have nourished my insides with good things and moved enough to work up a bit of a sweat. While difficult on some days, becoming accountable for my own well being is helping me to appreciate more and more of the simple things. For that I am eternally grateful.
Until next time, friends,