I have been thinking a lot lately about reasons why I may have become obese. I have come up with several but even after I think to myself, yeah maybe that’s why I do this, I then think to myself, why am I blaming someone else for MY problem?
I can’t put my finger on one particular moment when I looked in the mirror as a child and said OHMYGOD I’M HUGE. Nevertheless, I always thought I was fat and I don’t know why. One of my earlier childhood memories was putting on a pair of yellow pants and being so mad that my mom or gramma was making me wear them because they showed my lower belly pooch. I was, what? All of maybe 5 or 6 and I was worried about belly pooch. I remember wearing shirts under dresses that were too small for me and the frustration of pulling them down so that the hem of the shirt didn’t peak over the armhole of the dress. I remember as I got older looking at my legs and being appalled by the fact that my thighs touched. This was when I was all of 10 or 11. I remember standing in front of the mirror naked and being appalled that I could see my butt cheeks from the front. (Please don’t make me explain this) I thought all of this was because I was fat. I wish someone had told me I wasn’t fat. However, I also specifically remember my gramma coercing me to do workout videos with her. I remember my grandpa offering me sips of his morning protein shake. I remember being forced to go on walks that I didn’t want to go on.
I also explicitly remember the taste of Fruity Pebbles with 2% milk. I remember sitting in front of the television with Ranch Doritos (I don’t think they were yet ‘cool ranch’). I remember my great grandparents loading me up on Eggo waffles, Top Ramen, Corned Beef Hash and Mother’s Taffy Cookies (of which I had to dunk in my great grandpa’s black coffee)
But when did food take on a life of its own in my life? When did I start living to eat and not eating to live? The answer is, I have no idea.
One could argue that I always overate. I was always fed large portions and indulged with sweets and snacks and with my genetics, it just wasn’t the smart thing for my family to do.
One could argue that I felt neglected, unwanted and different because not only was I the bastard child of a 16 year old girl but my biological father had very little to do with me. EVER! And thus, I was raised by my mom and my grandparents.
One could argue that I ate from stress and anger when my mom married my stepfather when I was 6 and ½ years old. He was verbally abusive and I was not always blocked from his ugliness. Sometimes I was even the focal point of it. I have a few very distinct memories when my mom and step dad were fighting and I sadly got adrenaline rushes whenever that would occur. It actually made me happy in some sick sort of way. Maybe I subconsciously thought the more they fought, the more likely my mom would leave him. In any case, in these very distinct memories of their loud verbal battles I remember listening and running throughout the house, from my bedroom to the kitchen. First popsicles. I’d eat them and listen. Then if they weren’t done, I would move onto something else. Cookies, chips, whatever. It was like my own private drama theater with snacks. Now that I look back on it though, it makes me very sad.
One could argue that when we moved to Washington State from California for the first time when I was 9 pushed me over the edge. In my new school, I was introduced to snacks I had never had before such as dry Top Ramen. It quickly became a daily staple. Maybe it was the weather. It always rained. Maybe it was the continuous battle between my mom and my step-dad who not only fought over the move, but over my little sister and eventually it moved to divorce proceedings. I remember my step dad came once from California to visit my sister. I don’t remember the details but it got loud and scary and my sister and I ended up at my Aunt’s apartment. And as we sat on the floor, what was I doing? Eating. In this particular instance, I don’t remember what. But eating is what I was doing.
There are so many more instances I could argue caused my turn to food and my eventual obesity. But perhaps to list them all would only be in vain. The facts stand clear.
I have low self-esteem.
I am an emotional eater.
I am a bored eater.
I am a social eater.
Food tries to control me and often succeeds.
The questions now are,
Am I willing to change? Yes.
Am I willing to be open to the new things change may bring? Yes
Then what am I waiting for? I’m not waiting anymore.
Today was only a stumbling block. All journeys regardless of destinations have stumbling blocks. EVERY JOURNEY. Mine is no different. Today was ONLY a stumbling block. I must GET UP. Dust myself off and move forward. Because there will be more trials. I WILL stumble again. But stumbling and falling does not equal failure. Only stumbling, falling, and refusing to get back up is when you have failed.
I weighed myself tonight. You know, to assess the damage. Honestly, I weighed myself this morning. The scale said 289. That’s 3lbs up from last Friday. I expected as much being I had two awful days this week. Tonight the scale said 292. But that was clothed and in the evening. Tomorrow is a new day and though it is weigh in day and I am 99% positive I will be adding a gain to my list, next week will be different. VERY DIFFERENT. Because I won’t know again what I weigh until May 1st. Please keep the advice, suggestions, encouragement and random comments coming. I can use all the support I can get.
The Fat Chick