Lately, I've been trying to figure out why I'm fat. Aside from eating bad foods occasionally, I had never been one (growing up) to gorge myself on a ton of sweets or eat a bunch of carbs. I love salad, and I love veggies, and I love chicken. Sounds like a healthy recipe, right?
It has just started donning on me that maybe part of the reason my body responds so slowly and/or not at all to healthy eating and exercise is because of all the negativity in my head.
http://www.webmd.com/depression/features/depression-and-weight-connection
http://www.webmd.com/diet/features/can-stress-cause-weight-gain
Just a few articles about the connection between depression/stress and how our body responds to it. If I am truly, 100% truthful with myself, I've been depressed and stressed for a long, long time. This starts years and years ago-- even back to elementary school.
Have you ever sat down at a cafeteria table just to have everyone jump up and pretend that your weight made their end of the table go up (even if it's 4 of them and only 1 of you)?
I don't remember how much I weighed growing up. The earliest weight I can remember was in elementary school (maybe 5th grade? maybe earlier?), back when teachers weighed you in front of everyone in your class. This chunky boy and I decided to have a contest-- who weighed more? I won. I was 131 pounds in elementary school.
A good friend across the alley from me, someone whom I spent a lot of time with and trusted, ended our friendship by calling me a fatty. I was heartbroken. I came home and cried on my star-shaped Little Mermaid bean bag chair for hours.
My grandma would make comments when I was young (and she even still does this): "Erica, you'd be so pretty if you only lost a few pounds."
I remember another incident in elementary school where I locked myself in a dressing room and cried and cried to my mother when nothing I tried on fit. I couldn't find one outfit in Sears (I believe?) that would fit my protruding belly and thick thighs.
Playing summer softball league in elementary school, I remember it was always troublesome finding softball pants that fit me. I remember one particular instance where I had a pair of pants that were too small for me (but it was all we could find). I was on the pitcher's mound trying to pitch a game, and my pant buttons kept popping open. I was mortified.
My first best friend in elementary school, the person I rode bikes with and had sleepovers with and hung out with every free second of everyday and trusted with my life, called me a "pig" after years of friendship.
In middle school, I "dated" this boy for a minute (really, like a week) until he left a message on my home phone machine saying something like, "I'm dumping you. I never liked you. Did you really think that I could like someone as fat as you? (laughter) Go eat something, you fat bi*ch." (hangs up)
I remember wearing guys' jeans and sweaters for a long time because I couldn't find any girly things in my size.
The next weight-related issue I remember was buying jeans for my first year of high school. I was a size 18 and struggled to find "cool" jeans at Fashion Bug.
I remember buying a pair of jeans at Goody's in high school, and I quickly grew out of them. Not wanting to admit it, I continued to wear them to school until one day, in 11th grade English, the button popped off and everyone saw.
This is when it started becoming difficult to fit into the classroom desks.
I was the queen of Weight Watchers and Smart Ones meals. I lost 25 pounds in high school on this program, only to gain it back (and then some) when it got too expensive.
My senior prom dress was a size 30. It was taken in quite a bit, but do you know how it feels to see "30" on the tag?
I was a size 22 when I started college. My freshman 15 turned in the freshman 45. I briefly dated a guy who attended a Bible college during the summer after my junior year. He was cute and charming, and he was supposedly a man after the Lord's own heart. He took me to Kennywood (where I sat down in a ride and had to get up when the attendant couldn't buckle my belt). When I finally asked what exactly we were a few weeks later, he responded with, "I can't tell anyone you're my girlfriend until you lose weight. It's for your own good, really. You really need to lose weight."
That following school year, I wrote and performed a satirical speech on Being Fat. It won first place everywhere I competed. It was the fat, funny girl--- a position I held dear to my heart for many years, because at least I was something.
During those speech competitions, I was always nervous. What if the desks in the room aren't big enough? I was queen of turning a desk sideways to sit in it. Very distracting and sad.
The summer after my first senior year, I started seeing a nutritionist and working out at a local gym. The whole thing cost my parents close to $100 a month, and I lost 18 pounds and and a ton of inches. I remember looking down and being able to see my belt (a belt?! I hadn't owned a belt EVER because I could never find one that fit). Then the nutritionist told me I was failing because I wasn't losing enough weight. I stalled for three weeks, and she told me that I obviously didn't want this for myself. I was trying-- very hard-- to lose the weight. I was doing everything she told me to do. I quit seeing her after that, gaining the 18 pounds back, plus another 15 or so.
My final year of the college, I was asked to go to Tampa, FL for a training and interview process for the company I interned with. When I got on the plane, I couldn't buckle the seat belt. I was alone and had never been in that situation before. I discreetly asked the flight attendant what to do, and she (loudly) proclaimed that she would get me an extender. Embarrassing.
I was a size 26/28 when I graduated. I had to re-order my graduation gown in a "big & tall" size because the normal-sized gowns didn't fit me.
Finding clothes for a job interview was awful. Thankfully, stores began carrying larger sizes in the years since elementary and middle school, but I couldn't find much. I wore the crap out of the one black suit I owned.
I've never owned jeans I didn't wear the inner-thighs out of. It has never been easy finding bras wide enough to go around me. I've always lived in hoodies because I think they cover up my stomach. I've just recently started wearing shorts in the summer, let's face it, it's hot in WV in the summer.
There's all that, but then there's so much more.
My sister came out to my parents when I was in 8th grade (I believe). It took my parents a LONG TIME (I mean years) before they adjusted to that news. My sister went through a lot of personal stuff in the coming years, as well, but I felt like I had to do everything I could to make my parents proud. I loved my sister then, and I love her now. Her sexual orientation didn't matter to me, EVER. However, my parents were disappointed for a long time, and for some crazy reason, I thought I had to be the source of their happiness. So I played all the musical instruments and joined all the school activities and performed in all the school plays and went to all the summer camps and did all the things. Always. I always felt like my parents' happiness rested on my shoulders.
Then it became apparent that my father had a drinking problem. Praise the Lord he has successfully fought that battle, but the tension in the household was unbearable. Alcohol makes people do and say terrible, terrible things. My dad missed many concerts of mine in college because of this. He ruined relationships because of this. He almost ruined his marriage because of this. So I became my mom's best friend-- the friend she needed to get through this. I sent myself into a whirlwind of emotions: I hate my dad, I love my mom, I hate my family, I need my family-- why can't I fix this?!
With each passing year and incident, I gained weight. I became depressed. I found solace in humor, and I tucked myself into that pocket of identification for years: I'm the fat, funny girl. I'll be funny to you so you don't notice how fat I am. Then you'll like me because I'm funny and be my friend even though I'm fat... because I make you laugh. And who doesn't like a funny person?
Until one day, I got sick of it. I got sick of making everyone else happy. I got sick of spilling out of my clothes. Sick of wondering if I'd fit in a restaurant booth or car seat or whatever.
So I declared July 1, 2011-July 1, 2012 the Year of Erica. I joined a gym, got hooked up with a trainer, and learned what "eating healthy" really means. I was the happiest I had been in a very, very long time... truly happy. I lost 60 lbs. between July 1, 2011 and May 2012. Then I met someone that made me feel beautiful (like truly beautiful... something no one has ever done) and started a relationship with him. Two days later, I broke my foot and ended that particular journey.
By the time my doctor cleared me to exercise (the week of Thanksgiving!!!), I had lost motivation. I gained a lot of the weight back (like 45 lbs) between June 2012 and May 2013. My life became very stressful during and after that (for reasons I won't go into here). I tried dieting, but I failed. Stress caused me to lose 29 pounds between May 2013 and May 2014 (I didn't even notice until I went to the doctor). Then I hopped back on the exercise train mid-May of this year, and I fell off mid-August. I did more than just fall off the train, I jumped and skidded every part of my body on rocky pavement. Between May 14 and August 18, I lost 18 pounds and was kicking butt at the gym. Now, I've gained 10 back.
So what does all this say?
I have terrible motivation, self-esteem, and self-image issues. I'm beginning to come to terms with the fact that I short-change myself a LOT. I don't set the bar higher for myself because I don't believe I'm worth the fight to climb up there and grab it. I do this in many, many aspects of my life.
I find it hard to find the worth in the fat, funny friend. I came to the realization that I associate a lot of people in my life with my weight, in one way or another. Whether it was the friend that let me down by calling me a hurtful fat name, or a loved one that broke the trust by doing the same.
This isn't a woe-is-me post. This is a post of self-realization and speaking it into existence. I'm not sure how long the journey will be that will get me right again and fix the constant negative noise inside my head, but I know it's a journey I have to take. I have to find a way to make myself realize that I'm worth every ounce of effort I put into other people--- and that effort has to be directed at me now. No one else but me.
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