At 20 years old and coming out of basic training, I was ripped and I was lean. I was also approximately 80 pounds lighter than I am today, sitting here writing this post. I won’t actually weigh myself until Monday morning. In 10 years I experienced a lot. Anyone who knows me knows that I am a nomad by nature and never stay in one place too long. I’ve uprooted, hit rock bottom (more than twice), picked up the pieces of a shattered heart, experienced loss, and more than my share of pain. Life, basically. I don’t claim to have any more shitty of a story than the next person, however my experiences are unique to me. And it’s evidenced in the 80 pounds I’ve packed onto my petite, 5’3″ frame.
It’s safe to say that 30% of the weight was put on in the past year since my son was born. I didn’t gain much weight during my pregnancy, 20lbs or so, and when Aiden was born I lost the baby weight and then some relatively quickly. And then post-partum depression punched me in the face, and I did what I’ve always done. I turned to food to ease my sadness and frustration. Only this time was different. This time I couldn’t stop. I’ve battled with compulsive overeating most of my life, but this a whole different beast. This felt like an addiction. Like something possessed me and I was powerless to stop the constant shoveling of food into my face.
I was disgusted with myself after every binge. But not disgusted (or sick) enough to purge. I just ate. And ate. And ate. Even when I wasn’t enjoying what I was eating, whether I was hungry or not, or even wanted the food or not. I was helpless and out of control even up to writing this post.
Then, last week, I turned 30. And I did what I do every year on my birthday. Sit and feel sorry for myself and think of all the ways my life has been a failure and a waste. I don’t remember the exact moment I’d had enough. But I’m done. My husband asked me what my breaking point was. I’m not sure I can answer that. I’m done feeling like a vibrant, goofy, playful 19 year old and then walking past a mirror and suddenly I remember that I’m actually a morbidly obese whale of a woman who can’t even walk upstairs to change my son’s diaper without getting winded. I’m tired of not being able to keep up with my son or to play with him very long because I get too tired and out of breath. I’m tired of not wanting my husband to see me with my clothes off. I’m sure he’s tired of it too. I’m tired of never finding anything that fits me unless I wear old lady style plus size clothes. Plus sized clothing is also outrageously expensive.
On the topic of my husband, I could not have married a more perfect man. Perfect for me, not perfect as a human being. He’s flawed, as we all are, but he supports me and loves me and has never once made me feel less than beautiful. I know he’s still attracted to me and loves me no matter what, but the fact is, there are (many) things I cannot do with him due to my weight. That goes for both in and out of the bedroom. I think that’s what drives me the most. I have the energy level and desire for so many different things, and yet my cumbersome and overloaded frame will not allow me to do any of them.
I created this blog to keep myself accountable, and to garner support from those who love me most, but also to document my journey. The last thing the world needs is another weight loss blog, but this isn’t for the world. It’s for me. It’s for my horribly mangled self-esteem. It’s for anyone else who thinks that, with so much weight to lose, it’s too hard and too much. It’s also to prove to myself that I really can do this. That I don’t have to accept “fat” as my fate any longer. That I CAN be a better me and that I’m worth the struggle and fight I’m about to take on.
For all of you following me and cheering me on, you’re the best!