Most of my life I
have lived ashamed. I was ashamed of my fatness. Ashamed of the way I looked.
It took a long time to get me there of course. Whether it was an unintentional
comment from someone who meant well or if it was praise if I did lose weight, I
always thought of fat as something bad. So living that way had been exhausting.
I did countless things to get rid of the accumulated pounds. One year I started
a diet that I felt was made just for me. I lost some weight. Then I got really
sick and lost some more weight and really fast. Once I got a bit better the
doctors had to give me meds to hold down food. Once the food was held down ALL
THE WEIGHT CAME BACK (and then some).
Another year I
basically starved myself and went on a crazy diet (during that time I didn't
see it as starving myself of course).
Another year I
started paying about $100 a month to see a doctor who gave me a good meal plan
(didn't exclude anything and was well balanced) along with some medicinal help.
I lost weight the first few months then could no longer afford to go so the
weight loss stopped. Upon this happening I decided to really really watch what
I put in my body. I maintained for some time. When the weight began creeping up
I did some more dieting. Mainly because I wanted to sky dive and had to be a
certain weight or I wouldn't be able to. This was 2 years ago.
Then some time last
year (around this time I think) I started to notice some things. My shoes were tighter;
it was difficult to tie my laces, bending over for anything left me breathless.
Walking was painful; sitting was painful, even lying in bed hurt. During this
time, I wasn't eating any differently than I had during the time past year. I
was going to the gym regularly, drinking butt loads of water, drinking green smoothies
made with no sugar added, the sweetness came from the green apple. I couldn't
understand what was happening. I started to get extremely depressed over my
circumstance. I got on the scale and realized that I weighed the most I had
ever weighed in my life. A whole 60 lbs. more than just under a year before. I
didn't have medical insurance so I couldn't really go to the doctor to see what
was going on.
I then made a big
change in my life. I left my job of almost 9 years. I started working somewhere
where I would have medical insurance at no cost to me. But I still had to wait
until December. December 2015 when I went to the doctor, I weighed 15 lbs more
than I had during the summer. Once again, my eating hadn’t changed. I was
actually eating less because I had to eat at work. And holy shit did it scare
me. The words insulin resistant and PCOS were exchanged. I was put on metformin,
which didn't have the typical effect on me. Then I was put on Januvia, which
had a much better effect, but not quite what we wanted. Then my doctor put me
on a shot. Once a week. I took it in stride. I watched my eating. Ate at home
as much as I could so that I wouldn't be having anything that came from some
lab or somewhere unknown. Then another change happened around February. A
series of events took place that left me emotionally depleted. I was low, but
wouldn’t put a name on it. I refused to believe it was anything other than
sadness from the loss of people I cared about. Then another thing happened. I
learned of a book by an author whom I had read before that dealt with weight
changes (by the way it’s one of the only things I would ever consider trying
because it ACTUALLY teaches you how to eat). I remember reading the book and
being super inspired. I felt as though I could conquer the world. I planned on
starting this plan and following it to the T. I had also started walking three
times a week. And then as soon as it was time to start I felt nothing. I
started the plan following the instructions on the food, but everything else I
just shook off. I had no desire to see how much I weighed every day nor did I
have the desire to measure myself. I realized for the first time that I was in
this not because I wanted to lose weight, but because I actually felt I needed
to as well as realizing for the first time ever that what I weighed didn’t
bother me anymore. But somehow it didn’t feel like a triumph. It felt like
apathy.
It wasn’t really
until I finished my college course work for good (for now) that I couldn’t hold
it off any longer. With some amazing words of encouragement from two amazing
women (who I’m forever indebted to) I took the plunge and talked to my doctor
again. This time not about my weight or my body, but about my mental health. I
felt as if I had slipped into a void. There was no color. Everything was dim. Everything
made me tired. I slept all of the time. Nothing sounded good nothing sounded
bad. Even food wasn’t something I wanted, I ate because food was put in front
of me. Though admittedly I had good days where eating wasn’t bad. Working with
children was about the biggest highlight of my day, and sometimes even that
seemed like a task I struggled with (thank the Lord for amazing Lead Teachers).
Talking to my doctor and realizing what was going on with me was a huge help. I
have felt so good this past month and a half. I’ve sang like a fool in my car,
danced like a complete dork in my room, had real, honest, conversations with my
friends without zoning out. I still sleep a lot, but less than I had been. What
can I say? I love sleep. So why did I just bore you with that entire hubbub?
Something happened.
Yesterday while
school shopping with the little bro I saw a sign at Target. It said: $10 off
coupon if you try on jeans (maybe the wording isn’t exact, but you get the
idea). So I went to their plus size section and picked out three jeans in three
different sizes. I tried on the jeans that were a size bigger than the jeans I
was wearing that day and they fit just snug enough. Now, last year I would have
ripped the jeans off and put them back refusing to buy a size bigger than what
I was used to wearing (even if from a different store and brand). What happened
instead were two things: 1. My mom said (in that well intentioned motherly
voice), “Those are a bit tight on you.” Gee thanks Mom, I didn’t notice… 2. I
pulled those suckers off and I took them straight to the register and bought
them. A moment passed in my head where I thought “Fuck if their a bigger size!
They’re fucking cute! Who gives a shit about another number? It doesn’t define
who you are.” I gave myself a mental high five because for the first time in a
long time, I actually gave no fucks about my size or the number on the scale.
It was a few years ago that I discovered this thing on the Internet where fat
girls and boys were like IN LOVE with their bodies. They didn’t allow their
bodies to stop them from doing the things they wanted. Wearing the things they
wanted. Back then I decided I would work towards accepting my body the way it
is and loving myself rather than being ashamed. If I lose weight awesome! If I don't, well my doctor and I will discuss that since it is more difficult for me to actually lose weight. It has been a tough fucking
road. I’ve had moments where I’m high on life and love for myself, and I’ve had
moments when absolutely nothing means anything. And I have yet to reach the
point where I have complete acceptance. I mean not once in this post have I actually
mentioned my weight or size (baby steps Naroba, baby steps). I still struggle.
But I take what happened at target as a victory. And nothing could make me
happier right now.
