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My Story Hi, my name is Kim...and I'm fat. God those words are so hard to say. Not just the words, but to really say them out loud in a non-self-deprecating way, waiting for your friends to chime in with the inevitable "OMG!! You're not FAT!! You're 'solid', 'sturdy, 'strong, etc. " I've spent my whole adult life having my friends tell me I wasn't fat. And somehow, somewhere, I started believing my own press. We've all done it. Gotten dressed in the morning, everything tucked in and sucked in, and convinced ourselves that we look pretty damn good... normal even. Then there's that unexpected glimpse in a reflective surface, that sort of fun house distortion. But it's not distortion, it's real. Dear God!! I really look like that? Can everyone see that? Let me tug on this, rearrange that... and for pity's sake, SUCK IT IN!! Ahhh, there. That's better. Thirty seconds later, the fat relaxes, oozing over my waistband, the chins reappear. And on I walk. Thinking no one can really see me. I wasn't always fat. In fact, I was a rather lithesome little girl. All long, coltish legs and a shy smile. Somewhere that girl starting getting lost in the subtle softness of adolescence. I remember at 12 or 13 years old having a friend of the family comment on the (normal) little stretch marks on my thighs. Why? What possible purpose could it have served? That was the beginning of self-consciousness, with the awkward tugging at my clothes and the shy smile becoming more uncomfortable and anxious looking. I was 5 feet 4 inches tall and weighed 125lbs. Skinny? Perhaps not. Fat? Not even close. Now that the door to self-doubt and anxiety was opened up I did begin to gain weight. Not much, perhaps another 10 pounds. But enough for my father to make sure I knew that I was the biggest girl out there on the drill team. Thanks Daddy! My self esteem surely could use that little boost! Time wore on, I got married and made my little family. Stressors like infertility added more pounds to the pile. When I finally stepped on the scale at 40 years old and found I weighed 244 pounds I was stunned. You see I knew I had LOST weight. I'd been watching my intake, I was exercising again. If I weighed 244 now... what did I weigh THEN? I got serious about getting more healthy. I lost 40 pounds, I worked out and started lifting weights again. This time it only lasted about 8 months. We stopped trying to get pregnant and focused on adoption. When we got our son home, I devoted my life to him. Apparently that included cleaning up his left overs and eating the toddler snacks we now had in the house. The weight crept back on, slowly and insidiously. Then one day I caught a glimpse of that fat girl across the way... and realized she was me. My parents are fat, my husband is (was) fat. My sister was fat, lost weight, then got fat again. There really wasn't anyone that was going to hold me accountable. Then my Mom got a RNY. I was spiteful. I didn't compliment her weight loss because she "cheated" and took the easy way out. (Yeah, right!! Bitter and angry, party of two?) My husband finally decided to have a RNY and I saw first hand how hard it could be. But not me. I could do it ... (drum roll please) the RIGHT way! I could exercise and eat right, and take the weight off again. (BTW, my husband is doing very well with his RNY and is looking quite fabulous in his own right!) But one day last week I sat up straight in bed. I'd lost the exact same 40 pounds four different times. Each time regaining more weight. At what point was I going to admit I was just going to keep getting bigger unless I made a drastic change? My father is a genetic disaster. Diabetic and hypertensive with severe cardiovascular disease and several small strokes. THAT is my future. I don't need to lose 40 pounds. I need to lose at least 80 to 100 pounds. I am the mother of a small child and I am slowly dying at my own hand. It's time to take responsibility for my actions and DO SOMETHING. I am afraid. I am very afraid. I am afraid of what I will do and how I will feel when food can't be the answer anymore. When I am no longer able to numb my feelings of inadequacy and insecurity with crackers and cheese and chips and dip and ice cream. Will the facade of self-confidence crumble? Or will I be able to reconstruct the woman that used to believe she could do anything? Will I be a better mother and a better spouse? A better daughter, sister and friend? The gaping hole that the absence of food will leave will have to be filled with something. I only hope that I can find the right thing. I am sick and tired of letting my big fat ass hold me back. Just step back, ya'll. I'm all done with this life. I'm ready for a new one. |
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