Fat

I have always been about body positivity. I used to make my roommates compliment themselves three times for every disparaging comment they made about their appearance. We were fresh-faced and fancy free, and the idea that any of us then was fat or ugly gets ever more ridiculous with time. We were young and healthy and happy. Our childish bodies were beginning to turn womanly. Our lips were still naturally pink, our skin was taut, and none of us was losing hair. Most of us didn't have any gray yet (I started going gray at 18). We were immortal.

I try to continue that body positivity with my children. They, who are built so differently, need to accept their natural shape and not covet another. "Fat" is not the f word. I use it openly to describe myself these recent years, because, while I have come to hate the amorphousness of my own body, I know that fat shaming is a cultural phenomenon of this time and place. My body used to be coveted. Children are pure and honest. Them saying I'm fat is not judgment; it is observation. It does not hurt my feelings. It does not shame me. 

I am far more confident in every way imaginable than I was at 18, including about my body. Yes, I was 70 pounds lighter than, but I covered my stomach with my arms as though to hide myself from others' eyes. Now, I feel no such fear. For one thing, I have great boobs.

But I do want to be skinny again. 

Yes, I want to be healthy, to have knees that don't shriek when I go down the stairs, to be able to run a mile straight, to reach the floor or stand up without saying "oof." But I also miss the superficial pleasure of liking how I looked in the mirror. I want these things back.

The problem is that I've never successfully lost weight. Not by diet and exercise. It takes commitment, and I don't mean the time and effort. I'm good at those. I mean the mental and emotional commitment to hating my body. To constantly remember why each small sacrifice is worth it. I guess I have always been too vain to hate my body that much. 

The only times I have ever lost weight was moving to college, where I walked everywhere and didn't have enough money for food, and then breastfeeding my babies. The fat went straight from my thighs to theirs. I hit my pre-pregnancy weight by my six-week checkups. 

I gain weight when I am depressed or stressed. I eat my feelings. My father's love language was food: he rewarded good behavior and expressed concern, approval, apologies, and love with food of various unhealthy sorts. 

I gained weight when Michelle moved in, but lost it when Matthew was born. I gained weight after the miscarriage. This was followed by six months of preparation to move to Colorado. Not only was it a stressful time, but a busy one, too. Drive-thrus became my new best friend. And the numbers on the scale just kept rising. 

I hit 200 lbs just over two years ago, and, damn, was it a rude awakening. I made changes and kept my weight steady for a year, even with moving my dad to a care facility, Kevin starting in the Bishopric, and me getting my CNA license. I quit Coke for six months.

Then my dad died. 

And my sister's liver failed.

And school began. I sit in a chair almost full time, while still feeling drained and stressed. I was chugging coke to keep going.

Then I got the invitation to my twenty-year high school reunion. You know, I really thought that would motivate me to finally lose weight. But it just made me anxious.

I started therapy thereafter. This was a year ago. I wanted to learn how to handle these emotions without resorting to a spoon. But my therapist was more interested in my nightmares than my waking habits. I went to my doctor for help. She suggested exercise. I tried Noom (which I loved, but dropped the ball on) and Walking to Mordor. I have asked for help from friends and family, but to no avail. School got harder. Then, Michelle moved back in. And the numbers have kept. going. up. 

I hate my reflection. I hate how I look in pictures. I am always frumpy and lumpy and tired. In the last year and a half, I have gained twenty pounds. I think Kevin is not attracted to me. And that just makes me more depressed.

I cannot live like this. 

I am not built to hate myself. I have always loved my body. Katie comes by her vanity honestly. But it seems I have finally gotten to the point where it requires less mental work to try to lose the weight than to love myself the way I am. I never thought I would get here. May this wakeup call be one to last.