History of The Fat:
High School: Thought I was fat. Starved myself, took laxatives, worked out excessively. Still thought I was fat.
Twenties: Gained 20 pounds first few years of marriage, was a whopping 145 pounds. Went on crazy diets and worked out excessively. Got down to 130 pounds. Still thought I was fat. Got pregnant, gained 50 pounds. Started working out 6 weeks post partum. Lost the weight. Still thought I was fat. Got pregnant, gained a buttload of weight again. Lost the weight. Still thought I was fat as shown in the picture below that I recently found on my computer titled “stillfat1”
Thirties: Gained weight. Lost weight. Missed out on events with friends and families because I thought I was too fat to enjoy my life. Gained weight. Lost a lot of weight. Still thought I was fat. Went through a severe depression. Turned to food for comfort. Gained weight. A lot of weight. I didn’t just THINK I was fat now. I WAS fat. Went on anti depressants. Gained more weight. Saw the numbers 200 on the scale. Wanted to die. Found out I was pregnant with a child we didn’t plan. Tipped the scale at 250 pounds. Had the baby. Felt disgusting. Decided to lose the weight by eating right and working out hard. Documented it on the internet. Lost weight. Over 70 pounds of weight. Stopped losing weight. Couldn’t lose anymore weight no matter how hard I worked out. Became discouraged. Gained weight. Gained more weight. Started to feel depressed, ashamed. Tired. Wondered if there was something else wrong. Doctor said nothing was wrong. Stopped working out. Started eating a little more than I should. Tipped the scale at 225 pounds. (You read that right. two.twenty.five)
(My Ass is all “Hello! Would you like to rest a cup on me?”)
Found out that there WAS something wrong. Something called Hashimoto’s disease. It all made sense. The inability to lose weight. The gain. The depression.
(That right there should be the poster for what my “condition” looks like. Dry skin, frizzy, thinning hair, puffy face. Exhaustion. Depression. DROOPY EYE.)
I’ve tried to write about my weight gain at least 20 times. And every time, I sit here and start typing, then I delete. I type again… delete. Walk away. Try again.
Today—I decided I wasn’t going to delete. No matter how bad it came out, not matter how horrible it sounded or how many mistakes. I was just going to write and write and write and get it out once and for good. I want to delete what’s up there. It’s horribly written, it’s not what I wanted to say, but I’m not going delete it.
I don’t know why it’s so hard or why I’m hitting a wall, but it is and I am.
Maybe it’s because I don’t want it to turn into a book, or because I’m just tired of talking about my weight, or because I meant what I said in this post and I am trying to be a good example to my daughter and not focus on my Feelings (nothing more than feelings) when it comes to my weight. God knows I’ve wasted a great deal of my life being consumed with how I feel about my weight (see: Self Centered Asshole.) and I’ve been working really hard to change that.
That said: I’m fat again and it sucks.
I hate getting dressed. Nothing fits me and I refuse to buy the ugly ass clothes they sell in my size, so I wear the same velour sweat suit from Kohls pretty much every day.
I’m ashamed. Having lost a great deal of weight and documenting it for the internet was a wonderful, mostly positive experience for me. But having gained the weight back, I feel like both a fraud and a failure.
I realize that there is an explanation for the weight gain. There’s a “condition” that I can blame it on, but the truth is that had I continued to eat right and work out, the gain wouldn’t be so severe. But the truth of the matter is that I couldn’t work out. I have been so tired, so overwhelmingly tired, that it’s a struggle to get out of bed most days and even THINKING about getting on the treadmill or lifting weights makes me weep. Literally weep.
I certainly could have made better choices with food, but the truth is that I was trying to make myself feel better with food.
I’m not blaming the entire weight gain on My Thyroid. I mean, my thyroid didn’t force me to eat BBQ chips at midnight. My thyroid didn’t make me eat sugar cookies with chocolate frosting. I take full responsibility for making bad choices. That said, I now know that my thyroid was the reason I hit a wall with the weight loss and the reason, no matter how hard I worked out, I couldn’t lose a single pound. I know that it’s the reason I gained 3 pounds after doing the Atkins diet for 2 weeks without cheating one bit. And so, I’m trying to be kind to myself in that regard. I’m trying really fucking hard to not completely fall apart and hide from the world because I know that to a certain degree, it was out of my control. (Again, I KNOW THAT I HAD SOME CONTROL AND THAT NOT ALL PEOPLE WITH MY CONDITION ALLOW THEMSELVES TO GET THIS FAT SO SAVE YOUR ENERGY, OH HATERS AND DON’T WASTE YOUR TIME CREATING FAKE EMAIL ACCOUNTS TO TELL ME THIS, OK?! OK!)
It’s not easy. I AM ashamed. I DO feel disgusted with myself, with the way that I look and feel, but I’m trying with everything in me to not let it consume me.
I’ll never be the girl who hugs her fat rolls and tells them that I love them because they’re beautiful and precious, but I most certainly am trying to be the girl who loves her life and the people she’s been blessed to have in it more than she hates the way her body looks.
(Look! Proof that it is possible to be totally ashamed of the way that you look and yet pose, with fish lips (because fish lips TOTALLY make your face look thinner!) and pretend to be happy and comfortable showing the world how fat you are again!)
Edited to Add:
For “The Record” I have joined Weight Watchers again. Now that I know what is wrong with me, now that I have begun to take medication and am on the road to hopefully getting my thyroid levels to normal, I want to do right by my body. I want to be healthy and live a long life. For the first time in my life I can say “It’s not about losing weight, it’s about getting healthy” and mean it.