Setting aside many peoples’ obvious explanation of “taxpayers dollars pay for your healthcare when you choose to not take care of yourself,” why does my weight really bother you? Seriously, let’s set that aside, because not all “large” people make themselves fat, and believe it or not, many people pay for their OWN health coverage when they need the help.
Another fun little fact for you “fat shamers” out there, not all skinny people are healthy. Some eat the worst food on the planet and just metabolize it faster than others. Please, don’t ask me for research. I’ve done it but to be honest, if you’ve read any of my other blog posts, you’ll know I tend to tell you to do your own. Let’s not get things twisted here and assume I’m too lazy to post the links. I’m not. I honestly believe people learn from doing their own research. When I have a question, I look for an answer on my own. I don’t simply ask someone who might know. Sure, I talk to my friends and discuss these things, but I also do the research myself because no one knows everything. I tell my son the same thing. When he asks a question, I give him the answer if I know it but I also tell him to google it and look for reliable sources. One of the main things I did in college was research papers. That is not an exaggeration. Ninety percent of my school work required some form of research and many of it was writing papers based on that research. They will deduct points for using non-reliable sources so you learn quick to weed out the ones that are just people spouting what they think they know. I have expressed this to my son on so many occasions. You can’t believe everything you read or hear so research and decide what’s legit and what isn’t.
Enough of me pushing you to research and learn things on your own and back to my original thoughts. I am a large girl and yes, I did this to myself. Growing up, we were originally pushed, by my mother, to eat healthy. My mother battled anorexia and bulimia her entire life from high school beyond. Even after we were born, she’d either eat healthy, like a bird, or not at all. Twice a year she’d actually eat, and I mean eat, but it wasn’t necessarily healthy. These times were Christmas when she would devour box after box of chocolate covered cherries, and Girl Scout cookie time when she’d buy hundreds of dollars of Thin Mints. Just smelling peppermint patties makes me think of her and reminds me of those times. When we were born and for many years after, my mother made a relatively healthy home cooked meal every night and made sure our snacks consisted of fruit from the trees we had in our own yard or pairings like celery sticks and ranch or peanut butter but never in huge portions. We were living in two places at once at the time. We lived in one house during the week and on the weekends we came home to the place my dad grew up. When he was promoted to a higher position and relocation came with that position, we moved back to his childhood town permanently. It was around this time that my mother got tired of being a mom, for lack of better words. She became tired of cooking every night, cleaning up dishes half the night and doing everything while we did nothing and honestly, didn’t show any appreciation. Living in two homes before, we had chores and allowance. It was tough for her to keep up with two houses and it was our job to help. When we moved for good, we became lazy and when mom and dad would fight over us, dad would just buy us all off. Literally. He’d spoil us with whatever we wanted and to keep mom happy he’d do the same with her. My family kind of fell apart. Mom gave up and let us do what we wanted. This included eating what we wanted. We went from home cooked meals every night to microwave dinners or canned ravioli or whatever we chose ourselves on our weekly grocery shopping trips. For me this consisted of a lot of junk food. She didn’t feel like fighting us in the grocery store so we got what we wanted there. Of course my sister got my mother’s metabolism and can eat anything without gaining a pound. I on the other hand did not inherit that wonderful gene. If I even look at a pack of cookies, I gain five pounds. Back then I didn’t care. I was like 6 years old. Back then, 6 year olds didn’t care about their size or really how they looked. My mother didn’t like it so much. Because of her disgust with fat, she ridiculed me all the time. I was always fat and disgusting, but she never took the cookies and ice cream from me. Am I blaming her? No, not entirely, but yes, partially. Instead of calling me fat, she could’ve told me she wanted me to be healthier and she could’ve stopped buying the junk food. Instead it was easier to let me do what I want, think I was gross looking and ridicule me. I honestly believe that she thought if she said it enough, it would make me want to eat better and lose weight. Honestly, it only made me eat more. Part of it was depression and part of it was just trying to show her that I didn’t care.
Sure, in high school I got picked on for being fat. The part I always found ironic was that most of the girls doing the picking were the same size or bigger than me. To this day I’m really not sure why they thought my fat was worse than theirs, but the beauty of it was, I quit caring early on. I had a boyfriend who loved every inch of me. It wasn’t until I found out that I was pregnant, that I really began caring. I ate somewhat better during my pregnancy and afterwards. I only gained 15lbs during my pregnancy and 7lbs11oz was baby. I was 230lbs after he was born and stayed that way for two and a half years. Mind you, I was 180lbs when I graduated high school and gave birth to my son a year and a half later. I wasn’t losing weight and didn’t try to but I wasn’t gaining and swore I never would. That never works! I should’ve known better! Setting aside his weight, I had gained pretty much 50lbs in that time frame. I went to college a year after my son was born and after a year and a half of on campus classes, I spent my summer taking hybrid courses. Instead of running back and forth on a college campus all day five days a week, I was sitting at home doing my school work on a computer. I was bored and I snacked the entire time. By the time I had my annual gynecology appointment the following April I weighed in at 330. I gained 100lbs in less than a year!!! I was actually ashamed and it didn’t help that my OB said, and I quote, “you need to lose weight no matter what. I don’t care if you have to starve yourself.” What doctor tells someone that? He’s no longer my gynecologist and to be honest, I seriously thought about starving myself just to sue his ass. I realized before I did that, that it wouldn’t help anyone and would only hurt me in the long run.
You’d think that would’ve given me motivation but no, it didn’t. I was just ashamed and felt disgusting. I was wearing clothes that were too big to hide my rolls and my huge thighs. I was still snacking on junk food and being born and raised in the south, most of our meals consisted of fried foods. I was cooking dinner for my whole family so I cooked what I liked. My family didn’t complain! Again people, we’re from the south. Fried food is a delicacy around these here parts!!! Yes, I meant to type it like that.
I was trying in some ways though. For a while I went walking every day, then I got lazy. I started eating more vegetables and having them with dinner every night but that still didn’t help. It wasn’t until I saw the weight beginning to pack on to my then 10-year-old son that I felt terrible. I hated that he would turn out like me one day. I wasn’t ashamed of how he looked and I’ve always made sure he’s known that. When we talk about food, I always tell him I want him to eat healthier because I don’t want him to have to deal with all the health risks my family lineage carries: heart attack, diabetes, stroke, cancer and so many other things. I never tell him he’s fat or gross because to me he is the most amazing child I know and I don’t want to crush his spirit like my mom crushed mine. I also don’t think he’s fat or gross but he is overweight for his age. He’s not huge, he’s only overweight by a few pounds, but I know it could only get worse if I didn’t do something. I still didn’t exercise or become physical but we did start eating better. We began pressure cooking, slow cooking, and baking most of our meals. We’d choose leaner cuts of meat and chicken and healthier types of fish. We use as little oil and grease as possible. It was a baby step for us.
It wasn’t until January 2015 when my doctor HAD to put me on blood pressure pills that reality hit. It probably doesn’t help things that I started smoking right after that too. I loved it though. The cigarettes helped calm me down and loosen my stress and they also suppressed my appetite. I lost 50lbs last year. I was at 360 when I started and I’m currently at 310. I know that’s still not great by any means, but I am more comfortable in my skin. I wear tighter clothes but not trashy. I just wear clothes that fit my shape and enhance my better areas, yes, boobs and ass! I’m a work in progress. I want to get off my meds, sleep better at night and most importantly, I want to be here for my son. I want to be able to do things physically with him, like ride bikes, play sports, practice with him without getting winded. Most importantly I want to live for him. I want to see him walk across that stage in 6 years and earn his high school diploma. I want to see him graduate college if that’s the path he chooses, and get married and have kids of his own. I want to be around for all that and healthy while I’m at it. I don’t want to lose weight to be “cute.” I’m already friggin’ adorable! I want to lose weight to be healthy.
Like I pointed out before, not all skinny people are healthy though, so I’m smart enough to know that just losing weight isn’t enough. I need to exercise to stay fit and keep my heart strong. I need to eat healthier so I’m not packing my body full of unnatural fatty toxic things that make me weaker.
