Eventually these health post will go in the health section, but for right now they’re here. Why is a writer starting their writer’s site with health post? Its easy, until I figured out the relationship between my mind and body I couldn’t figure out how to write, or fully live for that matter. Here goes the first post:
I stepped on the scale. It had been nine months since I started my journey, and I was in uncharted territory. The scale read two hundred thirty nine pounds. I almost cried. I texted my best friend. For most people, two hundred thirty nine pounds would make them cry tears of desperation. For me, it was sheer joy. It gave me a level of confidence I hadn’t experienced since I was a kid.
A few years earlier, I stepped on the scale at my doctor’s office: three sixty five. I quit stepping on the scale after than, even refusing at the doctor’s office. I was in bad shape; my heart would periodically race. I wound up in the emergency room to stop it. Every time I checked my blood pressure it was high. I was always tired. I was depressed.
Even though I refused to step on the scale my pants kept getting tighter. Everything kept getting worse. I decided to change. I had to change.
I’ve been overweight since I was five years old. My parents stocked up on Ding Dongs and I found them in the freezer. In a matter of one winter, I went from being the skinny kid in kindergarten to being the fat kid. My parents did what they could. Tried to restrict my food. Tried to get rid of junk food. Tried to tell me about diets. They tried to help, to tell me to lose weight.
I was overweight, but I was healthy. I was an active kid: swam, played soccer, hiked. I was always active. I just ate too much, and as I gained weight, I ate more.
Growing up fat meant I was the butt of almost every joke. I had man boobs before the girls in my grade got theirs. Although I didn’t realize it until recently, I learned to be ashamed of my body. Between the kids’ jokes, and well-meaning parents talking about dieting, I became ashamed of my body.
When I stepped on the scale in the doctor’s office I was in my late thirties. I had spent over thirty years being ashamed of my body, being ashamed of who I was. When I stepped on the scale in the doctor’s office, I almost gave up. As my pants started getting tighter and I realized I wasn’t going to see my kids grow up — I changed.
I started walking, only a few blocks at first, but I started walking every day. I got up, fed my kids breakfast, took them to school, and then went for a walk. We were living in the Rockies and it was November. It was cold, but I walked. It snowed, and I walked. The schools closed because of the snow and ice, and I walked.
Eventually, I worked up to three miles a day every day. It took several months, but I got there. My weight went from what I suspect was three eighty to two ninety five.
Then we moved and I started a new job, and the walking stopped. Some of the weight returned. I kept my weight between three hundred and three hundred twenty for several years. I felt good, but I still wasn’t there yet. I tried dieting, I tried different workout programs, but nothing stuck until this year. It’s been nine months since my change. The last time I weighed in, I weighed two hundred thirty seven pounds. I’ve lost sixty three pounds in nine months and I’ve learned to accept my body. I’ve learned to not let other people judge me. I’ve learned to wear tank tops in public.
As silly as that sounds, wearing tank tops in public has been a revolutionary act for me. It’s hot where I live and tank tops are very comfortable. I’d wear them while working around the house or doing yard work, but every time I left the house, I’d change into a regular shirt. I thought I did this because of some fashion sense, or class.
After that weigh-in I remembered why I wore jackets, even in the summer in high school. I wore them to hide my man boobs. My T-shirts were always too tight and showed my body. I was terrified of what other people would think of my body. I knew what I thought.
At two thirty seven I am still overweight, but I am proud of my body. It’s mine and I refuse to let anyone fat shame, or to let me fat shame myself. I decided that day I would wear tank tops in public when it’s hot. The first time I felt like I was in a naked dream, you know the one where you’re giving a speech or something and you realize you don’t have any clothes on. As I walked through the store I felt nude, vulnerable. I wasn’t hiding my body. Everyone could see my body. At first I feared what the other shoppers would think. Then I started to remember all of the times someone made me feel bad about my body, then I didn’t care. I was comfortable and I looked good. Sure, I’m technically overweight, but so are most people. Besides, it doesn’t matter. I feel good and I understand myself. That’s worth more than anyone else’s opinion.
After a lifetime of struggling with my weight and self image, I was finally free.
If you’re reading this, I assume you can relate. Maybe you haven’t been overweight most of your life, like me, or maybe you have. It doesn’t matter. We are taught, from a young age, what beauty is, and almost none of us live up to that image. You don’t have to, but you do want to be healthy, both mentally and physically. You do want to get control of yourself and your body. You wouldn’t be reading this if you weren’t ready for change.
If you want to change, this might will help you. I will share my experiences with you and help you find your own path. Despite what I thought I knew, weight loss and getting healthy isn’t hard, and it isn’t expensive. It’s about you deciding to change. It’s about you understanding that real change happens slowly. It’s about you learning about yourself, and your body
