The first time I was called fat I was 9 years old. I was visiting my grandparents, and my grandpa was folding laundry. As he folded my shorts he held them up and commented about how large they were, and made a comment about my “huge ass.”
I was sad, humiliated and felt disgusting. I was embarrassed by and ashamed of my body.
This began my lifelong struggle with food and body positivity.
When I was 12, I started to eat my feelings and my unhealthy relationship with food began. My parents were abusive. They both worked second shift, leaving my step brother and I alone after school every night. We were forbidden to go outside or interact with friends. I would call my grandmother often in an attempt to to curb the loneliness. I started to notice that when I ate certain foods, I felt good. I began eating even when I wasn’t hungry just to feel that rush of endorphins. This established a pattern for me. I would eat my emotions, gain weight, then I would feel guilty, frustrated and ashamed, and eat more to cope.
The vicious cycle I was trapped in landed me at 300 pounds at 35. I had three small children and couldn’t climb the stairs without being winded. I would wake up in the morning and struggle to get out of bed. My feet, ankles and knees hurt so bad that it was hard to walk at times. My doctors encouraged me to lose weight so I would feel better, but they didn’t give me any tools or support to help make it happen.
I hated my body. My boobs were destroyed from nursing all three children. I was soft, squishy and I jiggled all over. I had stretch marks and a mom pouch from three c-sections . I wanted to lose weight and learn to love myself but I had no clue where to start.
Taking Action
I decided to check out the bariatric surgery program at my local hospital. There, I learned that obesity is a chronic disease and it requires proper treatment with a multi-faceted approach. Through them I entered into counseling to learn how to deal with my emotions in a constructive manner. I also saw a nutritionist and a nurse practitioner monthly for six months. I learned how to track my food and make healthy choices. I learned to remind myself in those moments that I wanted to turn to food, that food is for nourishment, it isn’t a cure for boredom or loneliness. At the end of that six months I opted to have weight loss surgery.
Learning to Love the New Me
It’s been about 18 months since I had surgery. I have dropped an incredible 93 pounds, yet I still see that fat chick in the mirror. I still struggle with anxiety and depression, and subsequently I still struggle with using food as a crutch. I decided to go back into regular therapy and it has made a world of difference. I no longer feel like I am failing if I have a bad food day or miss a workout. I have discovered new tools to help me cope, like watercolor painting and true crime podcasts.
The way I view my body has also changed. No, it’s not aesthetically perfect, but holy cow has it served me well. This body of mine has carried three beautiful children to term. It fed all three of my children for their first year. It carried me through my first 10K last spring. Yes, it’s a work in progress, but that doesn’t mean I should love it any less.
June Tomaso Wood once said, “Don’t let your mind bully your body.” Personally, I think those are excellent words to live by.
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