For purposes of this post, I am going to use fat instead of the word obese. I am going to use the definition of obese though, which according to the National Institutes of Health is:
"Obesity means having too much body fat. It is not the same as being
overweight, which means weighing too much. A person may be overweight
from extra muscle, bone, or water, as well as from having too much fat."
I honestly don't remember when I actually became fat. I look back at pictures of my younger self, including when I was a size 10 in High School and thought I was a blimp, and think, "Wow. I would love to look like that now."
You see, I wasn't fat. But I thought I was.
I remember hearing the words somewhere around third grade. I was 7.
"Overweight."
"Heavy."
It didn't take long for me to believe I was. I looked at the big girl in my class and thought, "Is that what I look like?"
It must be true. I looked at myself in the mirror and I don't remember what I looked like. ALL I SAW WAS WHAT I WAS TOLD.
I didn't hear it from my classmates.
I heard it at home.
"You don't need another helping."
"You don't need the sugar."
All
I knew was that I was hungry and that I wasn't allowed to eat more. I
would sometimes sneak food because I was legitimately hungry. We didn't
have candy or processed food in the house. My Mom baked with honey and
whole wheat flour. She made our yogurt and bread from scratch. We ate
fresh vegetables and fruits every day.
My brothers and I ate the
same foods. We played outside together. We all played soccer. So why
was I the one singled out? Commented on? Because I wasn't skinny like the boys?
Because I was a girl?
Look at this picture:
It was taken sometime in the late 1980s. I was about ten. I am not fat. None of us are fat. I can't even call myself pudgy here, but I was well into self-loathing by this point. I felt my fat thighs exposed in those shorts. I didn't like wearing shorts above my knees because I was trying to hide
my fat. I intentionally wore clothing too big for me, again so I could
hide my ugly body.
My older brother had started in on it too. He used to sing lines from "Baby Got Back" at me in a cruel and nasty voice.
"I like big butts and I can not lie"
"Red beans and rice didn't miss her"
He did this without punishment. He did this because he heard how my parents talked to me. One parent said to me in front of my siblings I could win Miss Universe because I was so large.
I'm about 11 here. See that sweatshirt? I'm using it to cover my enormous rear end. I wished the arms could cover my thighs better. They're practically bursting out the seams of those jeans.
I'm about 12 here. This is when I really started to wear clothing that was too big for me.
I didn't want to wear a bra when the time came. It meant I was fatter, not that I was female. I was filling out and was still only 5 feet tall. I wasn't curvy. I was fat. And I was ashamed. I wore baggy sweatshirts so much that my best friend thought I was wearing them to hide being flat. Oh how I wished!!! She told me her theory was wrong though, because she could tell I wasn't flat whenever the wind blew. I was mortified. Someone else had noticed my flab and pointed it out.
I remember when I hit 100 pounds on the scale. It was in Junior High, 7th grade. It destroyed me. I sobbed in the empty locker room. I heard voices in my head, mocking me and saying, "Well it's finally happened. She weighs 100 pounds. Let's have a party and celebrate our disappointment. We'll do this again every 100 pounds. It's inevitable."
I tried out for the soccer team and didn't make it. My neighbor then convinced me to try out for Drill Team because I had some dance training. I never thought I'd make it. I wasn't popular. I wasn't pretty. I wasn't skinny. But I had rhythm. I made the team. I was still fat though. I chose an XL skirt to wear. It was huge. I had to fold it over and pin it. It looked funny but I dealt with it because there was no way I could fit in anything smaller. That's what I get for being fat.
When we moved to a new state in the middle of my 9th grade year I was relieved. I was determined to make a fresh start with people that hadn't seen me blob out. These people were nice! They liked me! I wanted to try out for soccer again! I missed try-outs, but the coach was kind enough to let me practice with the team every day. He just didn't have the heart to tell me I sucked and that's why I was never officially on the team. I didn't even make first cut the next year.
During that season though, I started getting comments from girls on my nice, muscular legs. I was suddenly mortified again. After all, I was still being told at home that I was fat so I still wore baggy shirts to try and hide it. It couldn't be muscle they saw. Couldn't they see how I jiggled?!
I realized that my extended family (on both sides) had
an influence on this too. I have a cousin that is obsessed with people's weight, including her own. She struggled with an eating disorder for years. Others constantly commented on everybody's weight, skinny or fat. I remember a visit to an Aunt's house when I
was 16. I had finally had grown into my current height of 5'8". She put
her hands on my hips to emphasize her point and said, "You're looking so good... and you've
slimmed down." I hadn't done anything differently except grow taller,
but I frantically racked my brain for something that I HAD done because
whatever it was it worked! They liked me now! I MUST KEEP DOING THIS
THING!!
During my Junior year I started noticing that guys were noticing me. And flirting. I was baffled. Me? Fat me?? And they wanted to kiss me?! Suddenly, my whole world had meaning. If these guys are attracted to me, that means I'm attractive right? RIGHT?! They must like me if they want to make out with me!
Thus began the horrid deception of self-esteem built upon what boys thought of me. I am still living with the consequences of that. The rest of my High School days and all of my 20s were spent caught in a vicious cycle of self-loathing. It influenced every single one of my life choices. Maybe that's when I became fat, I just couldn't admit it.
Moving to California was the best thing I could have done for myself. It took a while, and a lot of slip-ups, but I was now putting forth a concerted effort to build my self-esteem with an eternal perspective. I wasn't completely where I wanted to be, but eventually I was healthier than I had been at any other point in my life. Emotionally, physically, spiritually, and mentally. Completely independent of what ANYbody else thought of me.
I had come to grips with the fact that I would never be skinny, but I could get my weight into a healthy range. And I did. I was running 2 miles every other day. I was eating more vegetables than ever. I was limiting sugar. I was doing yoga and Pilates. It drove me nuts that my roommate ate fast food and junk constantly, never worked out, and was tiny. I will never have that luck. I will always have to work very, very hard to stay at a healthy weight.
Todd came along at the right time in my life. Any earlier and I would have been too insecure to handle our relationship. He loved me. Size 12/14 and all.
Even now after our three babies, he still loves me at a size 16/18. I can no longer deny that I am fat. I can't find pants that fit me because of my muffin top. Actually, it's more like a loaf. I have a big, squishy belly that sags and doesn't look right in anything. I have back fat. I can see the cellulite on my shins now. I hate going anywhere because that means I have to put on clothes that I look horrible in. I am heavier now than I have ever been. I hate pictures of anything but my face lately. Even that is getting fat. I am still hearing comments about my weight, but for the most
part I have a much healthier relationship with my family members now.
It would be nice if I could blame the fat on baby weight, but I actually lose weight during a pregnancy. I weigh less postpartum than I did pre-pregnancy, but for whatever reason I balloon up 20-30 pounds within a few months.
Maybe it's my thyroid. Maybe it was always my thyroid. Who knows. Who cares.
All I know is that it is something I will continue to struggle with for the rest of my life. It sucks. It's hard. I hate it. I hate the way I look. I hate my body.
But for my children's sake, I can't. No matter what I may feel about it, I can't say anything out loud. I am terrified that my negative body image will affect them. How could it not? Fortunately, Rylin doesn't even know the words "fat" and "skinny" yet. I have tried so hard to eliminate them from my everyday speech. I refuse to use them in front of her. I let her eat when she is hungry, and let her stop when she is done. We limit sugar, but don't deny it. She wants to play sports and we're going to let her do so. We're also going to check her thyroid when she's a teenager and hope she doesn't have to face the same battles I do.
She's a tiny little thing and gets comments about how petite she is all the time. It drives me crazy when it's said as a compliment. As if it's something she should always aspire to. I never want her to experience the shame I did. I'm working on how I am going to help her establish a healthy lifestyle which includes a healthy self-image.
I honestly don't remember when I became fat, because I always have been.
