Weighty Issues

I haven’t gotten much into this issue on my blog, and I won’t in the sense of coming across as whiny- but for the past calender year my weight has been a touch and go issue for myself. Once reveled as being naturally stick thin, and being one of those girls that can “eat whatever you want without gaining a pound” I coasted through much of my twenties without a care in the world of calorie counting or fitness. My mom referred to me as ‘Twiggy’ like the model and  I wore that nickname with a sense of pride.

But then I turned thirty and a few things changed. First off my metabolism decided it had enough power walking and we were gonna slow down and enjoy the ride. Unfortunately it’s something I was warned about as a genetic family trait in my twenties, but was far too busy EATING WHATEVER I WANTED to pay attention. The second thing was that in the face of unbelievable tragedy, I turned to food. Too old really revel in promiscuity and binge drinking as escapes anymore, I turned to the socially acceptable poison- food. Me and Oprah ate every feeling in the god damned rainbow, and then when I was so full I felt nauseous- well then I ate some more.

Binge eating as a way of quenching feelings is a new thing to deal with- and comes with a whole new set of rules and problems. My mom doesn’t understand why I don’t want to take her delicious cookies when she drops them off anymore, and is hurt as a result. But what my mom doesn’t realize, which I have explained time and time again- is if you drop off 6 buttertarts to me, I will not only eat them but I will eat them in one sitting. And then I will continue to see what I can eat on top of that because if I just injected 1700 calories, what’s a few more going to matter.

Expect it does matter. Mentally and physically.

The thing with weight gain is it creeps up on you. First the pants just seem a bit tight- and then they don’t fit so you get some different ones. Sz 0 (I was a size 0 at one point? That blows my mind) turned into Sz 2 and then Size 4 and Size 6. I avoided clothes shopping and mirrors and tried to make light of the jiggle in my arms and the “food baby” tummy. I dabbled in exercise and healthy eating, but only as a lighter note (because in my mind I’m still a size 0 remember?). It wasn’t until the day that I saw myself in a photograph and gasped because it didn’t look like me. It looked like a rounder, unhappier version of who I wanted to be. I stepped on the scale and saw when the damage was done I’d gained 40 lbs. Not nearly as bad as it could be, but not where I want to be either. Being a petite woman with a tiny bone structure, I knew I was outside of my comfort zone.

The trip back to getting where I was has been a struggle and a humbling one. First off, I am comfortable knowing I will never be a size zero again. When I was that small I was gaunt- I had no curves, and I do feel more womanly with my curves, even if they aren’t quite in the right places yet. Secondary- losing weight is not easy. No shit, eh? I admit- that as someone who has been naturally thin for the bulk of my twenties, it baffled my mind when people said they wanted to lose weight. I would think, “well, then just lose it?!” confused as to how it seemed to be a process.

Because it is just that. A fucking. hard. process.

It means ordering a salad at a restaurant, even though you want the french fries that are on every single other plate at the table but french fries don’t help you to fit into skinny jeans. It means working out until you sweat and gasp for air, and then working out even harder because you know that you have to burn 3500 calories just to shed one. measly pound.  It means that every single time I sit on the couch and eat from a bag of chips I no longer get to see it as as enjoyable activity, but a guilt inducing one. Every single day is a struggle. A bitter struggle with myself and trying to find a place between motivated and content. I’m not there yet, and I have no idea when I will get there honestly.

The process is paying off, slowly but surely. I have lost fifteen pounds. I have more to go, but it shows it is possible. Every single day is a struggle between not finding happiness in a number, or a dress size, getting off the couch, doing something and between giving up because it’s just not fair that you can’t have some fucking beers with friends without worrying about the repercussions. 

I don’t hold myself to the bar of wanting to have a model’s body or be a certain weight, as I know both are unrealistic and unattainable. As a woman, I will fluctuate weight, sometimes daily. But I read on Angela Liddon’s blog ‘Oh She Glows’ that without self love you have nothing and I would like to believe that goal is attainable some day.