I’ve been extremely open and honest about my struggle with The Fat.
In doing so, I’ve recieved a tremendous amount of support. I feel like I have my own cheerleading team, rooting me on every step of the way. And when I fail, or hit a bump in the road, people here “pick me up” and help me find my way again. It’s been an awesome experience.
But, with the good, there’s been some bad. Some very VERY bad. People have said cruel, horrificly mean things to me.
Things like “your husband just wanted to get laid, why else would he say you are beautiful? your stretchmarks are hideous”.
And “Go on a freakin diet already and quit bithin about it. I am a lurker. You have done nothing to control the problem. DO somethin and if it doesn’t work, then gripe. Geez Louise Otherwise Just accept it. Quit tryin to get attention about it. It’s your choice. BE FAT or NOT BE FAT. Everyone has a little control of their own destiny.”
And then there was the time someone left a comment on Flickr about my 11 month old daughter that say “She’s going to grow up to have a fat ass just like her mother.”
There are quite a few more that I have saved in my “inbox”, and not all of them are as “nice”. I save all of them because they give me fuel. Fuel to lose this damn weight. Fuel to give a big ol’ “Fuck you” to the mean and nasty people who hate me because of the size of my ass.
However, there are days where I read those things, where I read other things that people say about fat people and I cry like a BIG FAT BABY.
And I ask myself “Don’t people realise WHY I call myself a HIPPO?? Don’t they understand it has absolutely nothing to do with “how I feel about fat people in general” and EVERYTHING to do with me wanting to “beat people to the punch.”
See, if I say I’m a big fat hippo, then what can the mean, cruel people say to me that can hurt me? I BEAT THEM TO IT! I hurt me first and so, when they send me emails, or leave me comments trying to insult or injure me, I can point and say “Ha! That didn’t hurt! I already KNOW I’m a disgusting, fat, ugly, repulsive HIPPO! SO TAKE THAT, ASSHOLE!”
Even though the truth is that deep down inside? It does hurt knowing that people hate me, or that I disgust people, or that people think I’m nothing more than a lazy pig, or that when I walk in front of people, they shake their heads in disgust and wish they could tell me to “put down the chips and hit the gym, you fat pig!”
Even after losing a big chunk of weight and a few dress sizes, I know that there are people out there who still view me as all of the horrible things I just said. And that makes me sad. Not just for myself, but for the millions of other women just like me. Incredibly beautiful, amazing, kind, funny, selfless, strong women with so many things to offer the world are viewed as nothing more than “The Fat Girl” by a great deal of people.
I don’t even know where I’m going with this anymore.
A hundred thoughts are swirling through my head right now. When I read the thread about Liv Tyler and all of the horribly mean, cruel things people were saying about her BASED ON HER WEIGHT, I broke down. And yes, I broke down because I’M FAT and? Because I have to make everything about ME.
I already know people are going to take this post out of context, tell me to quit bitching, tell me to quit looking for approval on the internet, tell me that “I’m not fat!”, tell me to love myself no matter what, tell me “who cares what other people think!”, tell me “I thought you didn’t CARE what people think about you!” and so on and so forth.
Fine. Whatever. So be it.
This is such a complex, emotional, frustrating issue for me and sometimes, the best way for me to deal is to write it, to blabber on and on about it, to cry about it, to get pissed about it, to feel sorry for myself about it, but ultimately, to DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT.
Unfortunately, there’s nothing I can do about the Dickheads who judge people solely on how fat/thin they are and whether or not “they’d hit it”.
Category Archives: Weight/body image
And… AND? If I hear one more skinny girl complain about “how fat she is and like, omg, how her size 5 jeans are like so tight on her” someone is going to get sliced in half.
I’ve added yet another photo to the The Shrinking Woman set on Flickr.
I should shutup about my weight already, but it’s such a huge part of my life and what I’m dealing with right now, that I can’t. Having this public forum to write about it, to post pictures of it and yes, to get encouragement and feedback about it has been insturmental in keeping me from giving up.
And trust me, I want to give up. Especially after last night.
Last night, I was “re-measured” at the gym and it wasn’t good. She took away the three and a half inches I was originally told I lost, because it was only showing as 3 inches and then, she decided that she was only going to give me ONE INCH. She says I have a “natural curve” (see :”spare tire“) and it’s hard to get an accurate measurement. Talk about a let down. And talk about wanting to say “fuck it all to hell I’m eating a cinnabon and refuse to spend another fucking minute at the stupid, worthless gym!”
In the past? When I was “skinny” and when I would lose lots of weight in short amounts of time? I would do it the unhealthy way. I’d take buttloads of diet pills. I’d starve myself. I’d take boxes of laxatives. I’d do whatever it took to get skinny.
I don’t want to do that this time because I don’t want to die at 40. I want to be thin and attractive, but, at the same time, I don’t want to die or get sick trying to achieve that goal.
However, after a year of trying, I’m getting pissed off to the point of wanting to just stop. I’m crying as I type this, that’s how pissed off I am. I look at the pictures and I know that it definitely is coming off, but IT’S TAKING SO DAMN LONG AND I DON’T THINK I CAN KEEP DOING THIS ANYMORE.
I won’t give up. I refuse to give up, but I WANT TO. I’m sick of being the fat girl. I’m sick of being ashamed. I’m sick of my thighs rub together. I’m sick of a roll of fat jiggling up and down when I walk. I’m sick of telling my husband “HELL NO I won’t take a shower with you because I’m so embarrassed and so ugly and I’ll cry the whole time because of how ugly my body is and HOW DO YOU NOT THROW UP WHEN YOU LOOK AT ME?”
And? I’m sick of working my ass off and seeing such SLOW results.
I’m pissed off today and not feeling very positive about this whole weight loss journey.
Sand in my ‘giney
I’m conflicted on which direction to take this post. My heart wants to go with The Cheese. My mind wants to go in a completely different direction.
Let’s start with The Cheese, shall we?
I love that picture.
I’ll cherish that picture and the memories that go with it for as long as I live. The memories of my children laughing as the waves crashed onto their backs, of Gabby holding me tightly as the water crashed onto the shore, of yelling at my son for walking on the sheet with his sand soaked feet and then laughing as he walked away because a)I’m a psycho mom b) he is a big, adorable dork…
Now, let’s go with what my mind is begging me to say.
“Dear Internet, I’d like you to meet My Arms. Don’t be scared to say hi, they may not be as friendly as Sunshine, and I realize they’re size might be a bit intimidating, but seriously? They’re harmless and just want someone to love them.”
See how I can ruin such a beautiful thing with my negative attitude?
But seriously? Did you see My Arms?!
Hey, at least I don’t have a Hairy Mole on my back. That would have totally ruined the picture.
How’s that for looking at “the bright side.”?
I’m glad I didn’t let My Issues keep me from going, because, the kids loved it and I had a good time.
Notice I didn’t say a “great time?” It’s difficult to go to the beach with a baby.
Difficult, but totally worth it once you get home, upload the photos and realize just how lucky you are to have such beautiful children who enjoy every minute of the life you helped give to them.
Taking “stepping out of my comfort zone” to an entirely new level
My anxiety level tonight is EXTREMELY HIGH.
You know how I’m trying really hard to ““Step out of my comfort zone? Remember how I was all
“I’m no longer letting The Fat win” and I was all “This is about me living my life no matter WHAT size I am! Life is too short for that nonsense!”.
But then I was all “but if we’re talking about going to the beach, or any place where a swimsuit must be worn, that’s not considered “nonsense” because HELL NO am I ready to display my ass at the beach yet.”
Well, guess where I told my sister I would go with her tomorrow?
I’ll give you a hint.
It rhymes with “peach”.
WHAT WAS I THINKING WHEN I AGREED TO THIS?
I called my sister tonight to tell her that I am “totally freaking out about going and Oh my God, what am I going to wear because I am NOT wearing a bathing suit of anykind in public!”
“What do you want me to say?” She asked.
“Nothing,” I replied, “I just needed you to know that I’m on the verge of a panic attack here and I really do NOT want to go, but I am GOING TO GO.”
I am tempted to chicken out and use My Favorite Excuse, “I have nothing to wear!” That’s a legitimate reason! But, that would be a lie because I still have this little swimsuit/hide the chunks and lumps number from a couple summers ago (and yes, I was 3 months pregnant in that picture and yes, it still fits me and YES, that means I’m still fat and yes, that’s totally the reason I’m freaking out very badly at this very moment.)
I keep telling myself things like “Go for your kids! They LOVE the beach! Do it for the Children.” “No one cares what you look like, they’re too busy caring about what THEY look like, so get over yourself (and the size of your thighs!)”
It doesn’t matter what I say, the truth is I am so terrified of going that I feel a little sick to my stomach. Pathetic? Yes, it is and I know this. I can’t control how I feel, but I sure as hell can control how I deal with these feelings and I promised myself that I would “deal” by packing up the kids, the chairs, the sunscreen and the cooler full of drinks and driving my enormously huge ass to the freaking beach.
I didn’t INTEND on turning this into a big ball of The Cheese, it just happened, man.
My First Night Out With a Friend post Gabby was awesome.
Jamie Kennedy is hilarious and I could easily fall in love with him if it weren’t for the fact that he looks EXACTLY like my littlest brother. And when I say “exactly” I mean “exactly”.
The comedian who opened the show, Tom Segura, was extremely funny. I’ve added him to the Short List of comedians I love. He should feel special.
I missed Gabby and the boys, but I didn’t call 20396 times to check on them like I thought I would. I only called ONCE! And that picture wasn’t even set up! It was completely real and sincere!
The night was not without Suckage, but nothing serious. The biggest suck of all was the second comedian. Oh, it was painful. I felt sorry for him, man. The funniest suck was what I like to call The All Time Greatest Squish The Foam moment in history. My friend who L-O-V-E-S her some hot wings, ordered a plate of hot wings for dinner. Well, imagine the HORROR when the waitress came back with the order and set THIS on the table.
ARE THEY SERIOUS? Four wings and 2 token celery strips? She was pissed. I was laughing.
“SQUISH THE FOAM! YOU KNOW YOU WANT TO!”
She didn’t “squish the foam” but she did inform the waitress that they need to “put that on the menu” (“that” meaning “$7.95 only buys you FOUR WINGS!)
I did have my first taste of Devil Water since finding out I was pregnant in 2003.
As you can see, that made me happy.
You know what else made me happy?
That I didn’t let The Fat win. That I’m no longer letting The Fat control me. The “old me” would never have left this house to go out and have fun because “I’m fat and I have nothing to wear and all the skinny hot people will throw up when they see me” (And trust me people, skinny, hot people LOVE to go to the Improv and MAN do they love to show off their fake boobs and artificial tans.) But the New and Improved me refuses to NOT LIVE MY LIFE because of my weight. Instead of being ashamed of how I look and my size, I choose to be proud of myself for how hard I’ve worked to lose 55 pounds. Yeah, I still have 50 more to go, but I choose focus on how far I’ve come rather than how far I have to go.
I realize there will still be people who look down on me because of my size, but for the first time in a long time, I also realize that they can fuck off because this isn’t about other people. This is about me living my life to the fullest, no matter what size I wear. I’m so over obsessing about what others will think about me and the size of my ass. Life is too damn short for that nonsense. (but if we’re talking about going to the beach, or any place where a swimsuit must be worn, that’s not considered “nonsense” because HELL NO am I ready to display my ass at the beach yet.)
It probably sounds stupid to most people, but to me? It’s a change of life. I’ve had such a screwed up way of thinking and I’m working hard to change it.
I’ve always believed for some fucked up reason that I can’t do things other people do. Things I want to do? I don’t even try because “I’m too fat.” “I’m too slow”. “I can’t afford it.” “I’m not good enough.”
What a sad way to go through life. Not even trying for fear of failing. For fear of “looking stupid”. For fear of “what will people think.”
To believe you can’t just because you’re you.
Well, last night really opened my eyes to so many things. I’m sick of the time I’ve wasted with that bullshit. So, in honor of trying things I’ve always wanted to do but didn’t because I think I suck too much to succeed? I called Authur Murray dance studios to get information about Salsa lessons.
That’s right, I want to learn to dance Salsa and I’m GOING to learn how to dance Salsa.
Turns out, this was so much more than “A night out” for me, it was a, how does Dr.Phil say it? “A defining moment in my life”.
Power of The Poots.
I was this close to not going to The 30 minute Workout For Wimmins tonight.
Thiiiiis close I tell you.
Because, internet? I have to be completely honest with you.
I had Serious Gas.
I wasn’t sure how my friend would take it if I called and said “Dude, I know it’s only the second day, but HOMEY, I can NOT stop farting. And these aren’t your ‘average’ farts either, these are the kind that have the potential to cause nosebleeds and I don’t want to make the wimmins bleed.”
I decided to suck it up, or in this case, squeeze REALLY HARD and just go.
I wasn’t going to let the possiblity of being SEVERELY HUMILIATED stop me.
I totally ripped a few, once in front of the GINORMOUS FAN and I’ll admit it, I got nervous for the lady across the room from me.
(That’s right, Trish, I farted on the equipment you sat on!)
I got through the workout without having to fess up to ripping ’em and without making anyone’s nose bleed.
I also got through the workout with very little booblash. I bought a new sports bra at target and I doubled it up with my old one. The result? Superb boob holdage. Jumping up and down is now really great fun!
I was so pumped up after the workout. On the way home, I ACTUALLY had this conversation in my head…”If I can workout whilst trying to clench the cheeks together to keep the gas in and save people from bleeding, NOTHING CAN STOP ME!!”
I’ll take inspiration any way I can get it,people.
Because 2 gym memberships, Billy Blanks boot camp, Walk Away the Pounds, THE GRIND WITH THE ‘NIES, 1 Body Blade isn’t enough
Yesterday, I decided to join yet ANOTHER gym.
It’s what I like to call a “Generic Curves.”
It’s called “Slim and Tone” or, like the big, red letters that light up says “30 minute workout for wimmims”.
You see, my friend “won” a “30 day free membership” in a “random drawing.” Which is SO FUNNY and totally NOT a coincidence that I had “won” a “30 day” “free” “membership” a month earlier. I didn’t “cash in” on my “prize” because I’m a “flake.”
It’s a total scam, because, you have to make an appointment with a “trainer” for your first visit, and after they teach you how everything works, some chick sits down to tell you about the program and then BAM! Out of nowhere, they’re all “Normally, we charge THIS amount, but if you join RIGHT THIS VERY MINUTE we’ll only charge you THIS much!”
Suddenly, it doesn’t feel like a “free” anything, but more like “HAHAH SUCKAAAAAAAAHHHHS, WE GOT YOU BECAUSE YOU KNOW YOU LOVED IT AND WANT TO JOIN NOW.”
Lucky for them, I’m really fat and desperate. My friend, however, is not at all fat, but she wants to tone up. If I wasn’t fat and desperate, I would have stood up and shouted “You’re all a bunch of scheming LIAAAARRSSSSS” instead of running to the car to get my checkbook and think of a way to tell Tony “Hey, guess what? I joined ANOTHER gym!” without him revoking my “get out of the house free before cooking dinner, woman” card.
Tonight we went and did our first official workout.
The first 5 minutes was all fun and games to me.
“hahaha my boobs are bouncing!”
“hahahaha MY THIGHS!”
“hahaha It’s the chicken dance song!”
“hahahhaa I’m taking my pulse!”
But DAMN. It stopped being funny real quick. I became painfully aware of the fact that “OH MY GOD, I’M GOING TO HAVE TO DO THIS FOR, LIKE, MONTHS BEFORE THERE ARE ANY RESULTS!”
I also became aware of the fact that bouncing boobs start hurting after a few trips to the face and back and? Having to HOLD THEM DOWN with your hands whilst jumping up and down is slightly humiliating.
I say “slightly” because the truth is I have no dignity. I’ve dry humped a roll of carpet in front of a group of people to get a laugh, people. Flapping tits isn’t really that big of a deal.
We’ll see how this goes, but hopefully with the support of a friend who I know will NOT LET ME FLAKE AND MAKE UP STUPID EXCUSES that I will lose this freaking weight and these excess inches. (Because HOLY SHIZNIT, they took my measurements and, well, how can I put this. Um, ok… My waist is bigger than Tony’s. I won’t tell you the number, but I’ll give you a hint. It rhymes with “shorty”.)
Beauty and the beast
“Stop” he said, as I pulled my shirt down to cover my stomach. “Let me see!” He pleaded.
“No. It’s disgusting. I’m embarassed.”
He gently moved my hand away and whispered “Baby, stop saying that. You’re beautiful.”
Once again, he slowly begin to lift my shirt, exposing my belly.
Shame and disgust is what I felt as I laid there, tears running down my face.
His hands gently stroked my belly, as he looked at it. “You’re so beautiful.” He whispered. “Stop calling yourself ugly. I love your body. Those stretch marks are beautiful to me, because they remind me that you carried my children. My children grew in there and you’re beautiful.”
The tears came faster and harder. Here is this man, this wonderful, loving man, rubbing the body I hate. Looking at it, loving it. Why can’t I just accept it for what it is?
That’s why.
I know he’s being sincere, but I can’t comprehend how he can find beauty in something so horrific.
I wish that I could see myself through his eyes. I wish that as he caressed my stomach and told me how much he loved me and how beautiful I am to him, that I could have closed my eyes, smiled and taken in the love that was being lavished on my body. Instead, I cringed in shame and I cried.
I don’t want to cry about this body anymore. I want to accept it for what it has become and not long for it to look like it once did.
How do I do that? How is that possible when I am covered with stretch marks and fat and sagging skin? How can I ever look past that to see the beauty within? I try, I really do, because I’m sick of talking about myself in such a disgusting manner, but it’s hard when I look in the mirror and see what I see.
I need to make peace with this, so that I can fully accept the love from my husband that he is so willing to give, I just don’t know how to do it.
*(Campaign for REAL beauty. Thank God for this, and it’s about damn time)
Not again!
I’ve been feeling rather frustrated with my weight loss, or lack OF IT lately. (Thanks a LOT, person searching for “fat”!)
Remember my Fat Pants? They are the ones worn in this LOVELY picture.
I keep them up on my closet, and sometimes I pull them out and stare at them. I don’t want to feel that way about myself, about my appearance and I’m working on changing. Those pants remind me of the pain and being the self punisher that I am, I want to keep them as a reminder.
Tony hates them. He wants to burn them. Maybe one day I will, but I am not ready to get rid of them yet.
I decided to put them on a couple days ago. I wanted to SEE the progress I’ve made. I NEEDED to see it.
I know, I KNOW. Shutup already about my weight! I’m making myself sick, but I can’t help it. Every morning I wake up thinking about it. All day long I think about it, before I go to bed I think about it. Obsess Obsess Obsess. I wish I could make it stop.
Anyway. I took more pictures. And I should be embarrassed to show anyone, because, well, just because… but I’m not. I mean, I am, but I’m going to. So there.
“She wasn’t always like this”
Last night, I casually mentioned to Tony that I was having second thoughts about going to his company picnic.
The reason?
I don’t want to embarrass him.
“What are you talking about? Why would you embarass me?” He asked.
“Come on, I’m sure you’re going to be embarassed to introduce your coworkers to your giant, fat wife.”
Then, I started crying. And apologizing, you know, for being fat.
He got so mad. PISSED, even.
“Why do you say things like that? I love you and I’ll never be ashamed of you. You’re the mother of my children.”
I know he means it and I feel bad for upsetting him, but I honestly feel like a part of him is ashamed of me.
Not because he makes me feel that way.
Not because he’s ever given me any reason to think that way.
He hasn’t.
He’s never once told me I need to lose weight, or made comments about my weight.
So, why is there a part of me that believes he feels that way? Why am I dreading the moment he introduces me to the people he works with?
I feel like I should make a tshirt with a picture of me when we first met. “I USED TO BE CUTE!”
That way, they won’t be all “What in the hell does he see in HER.”
That’s how I feel, I’m sorry. And I’m sorry that Tony is upset that I feel that way, but I can’t change it.
I’m disgusted with myself right now. And not because I’m fat.
Because I have been given this incredible gift. A husband who loves me no matter what, and because of my own insecurities, I can’t fully accept that gift…
I know, I know, stop being emotional and drink some freaking milk already.