Although my mom says I only started gaining a substantial amount of weight at about 12, I can’t remember a time that wasn’t on the larger side. My teen years were spent alternately cursing my weight, and stuffing my face with any sweet treat I could get my hands on.
I wanted to burn this grade 8 graduation photo of myself because I felt so big. I was probably a size 8. I had no clue what was to come.
It doesn't help that my family has a history of being plus size, and that I'm still learning to take care of myself. I try, but not usually hard enough. I REALLY like to eat and I REALLY DON’T like to exercise. It’s been a long battle of gaining and losing the same approximately 50 pounds. I spent much of my teenage years hanging out with my family, the only people who didn’t make comments about my weight. I was unaware that if I put myself out there, I could find real friends who didn’t care what size I was, who liked me for what really made me me, my personality. In fact, it wasn’t until I was in my early 20s that I met an amazing woman that I now get to call my best friend, Jesse, that I understood that there were people who weren’t related to me who loved me for me.
Headed out to have the most amazing time at Jesse's bachelorette party!
We went out shopping, and to the pub, and she even set me up with the guy who ended up being my first boyfriend. For the first time, I felt confidence, and I didn’t worry, or even think, about my weight. That friendship made me feel like I was on top of the world. Coincidentally, during that period, I actually lost about 20 pounds. I felt better than ever. But because life happened, in that way it does, leaving little time for exercise, or full healthy meals, I gained it back, and then some. Away from home, my family and best friends, dealing with the stress of my first full time job in years, where I sit at a desk every day, I hit a high of 235 pounds last year. I’ve slowly been been whittling it down (when I weight myself this morning, I was 213), but I still have to go to work, and bus to and from home, which leaves me sitting for roughly 12 hours a day. It’s not easy, but I’m working on getting more active.
In the meantime though, I’ve been left with an excess of fat that’s gotten quite comfortable hanging off of me. The other day, I was watching a YouTube video from Lucy Wood, and she talked about people telling her she’s not fat, and how she is fat, because she has fat on her. That’s exactly it. I am fat. Because I have fat. That’s not me bullying myself. It’s just fact. I’ve accepted it. I fell in love and got engaged as a fat girl. I got a promotion as a fat girl. I have friends, and I go out, and I enjoy my life as a fat girl. I'm in awe of what my body can do. My legs are super strong, and get me where I need to go, and my arms can lift a ton. I'm full of zest for life, and some fat around my stomach doesn't change that!
The love of my life, Poya, and I
My fiancé cannot understand that I say I’m ok with my fat. He thinks saying I’m ok with it means that I don’t want to lose weight. That I’ve given up. That’s not it at all. But I’ve spent years being exhausted by the thought of how much I weigh, and how I can change it. It consumes my mind. I’m over that. As long as I’m eating moderately healthy meals and going for a walk every day, then I say good riddance to worrying about it. I don’t have a goal weight any more. I just want to feel as good and full of life as I can. I’m ready to be free.
I'm still new to this loving myself thing. Let me know in the comments below if you have any tips for body acceptance!
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