I hate feeling fat.
When I started actively trying to take back control of my life and my eating habits, my scale informed me I was barely beneath 190 pounds.
I am 5'3″-5'4″ tall. I have a fairly bony build; by this, I mean I have a more robust bone structure than some others. I'm not nail thin, I'm not gargantuan. I'm not your rail thin model type.
When I was 12, I weighed 116 pounds. I weighed between 100 and 120 up until age 18. I consumed many, many thousands of calories per day due to a hypermetabolism issue.
That went away at 18.
I gained weight extremely fast at this point, skyrocketing to where I was when I looked at the scale a few weeks ago:
Almost 190 pounds.
A healthy weight for me would be around 120-130, depending on how much muscle I manage to add. I'm not expecting a lot in the muscular department, truth be told.
But 190 confirmed what I was feeling. Unhealthy. Fat.
No, I do not want to hear a single word about how I shouldn't be worried about my body image, and how I shouldn't worry about being fat or overweight. I feel unhealthy because I'm fat. My immune system doesn't function properly. I struggle to walk and exercise. It puts undue stress on my joints. It makes me hurt.
Being fat is not healthy, and I am going to come up front and tell the truth: I'm fat.
I don't want to be this way. I'm tired of my pants not fitting right. I'm tired of having a gut that feels uncomfortable. I am uncomfortable in my own skin.
I don't feel well. All of the time.
And it is all because I'm overweight.
Society tries to tell me that I shouldn't worry about my body image; all women, all bodies are beautiful.
Great for the self-esteem.
Terrible for my health.
What I do with my body is my choice. If others do not mind the health consequences of being overweight, that is their choice. I wish them well, and that they enjoy good health. The same applies in reverse; if they want to lose weight, as I do, because they feel unhealthy, they are unhealthy, and want to change… I wish them well. And good luck.
We'll both need it.
I think one of the hardest things I've had to face is the acceptance that I am fat and that this is unacceptable to me.
I am fat, and I don't have to be.
So I decided to change, and I have.
Today, I got on my scale, fully clothed, apprehensive.
Today, I weighed 172.6 pounds.
Today, I weighed myself after I ate lunch.
I don't weigh myself at the same time every day. I prefer to hop on the scale as I see it, staring that little number right in the eyes.
It's a number, yes, but it's also a goal. It's a motivation.
It's a reminder.
My scale is located right in front of my refrigerator. By that, I mean, I can't open it without stepping on it or around it. It's purposefully under foot–so I remember to put it under my feet and look at what I'm trying to do for myself.
Depression actually helped me lose some of this weight. It suppressed my appetite. It made it easier for me to say no to food. It wasn't a good way to start, but it was a start.
At my lowest point, I weighed 168. That was after depression had me moping around, and my willpower and motivation was so lacking I didn't eat anything for a few days. Being honest about that hurts, but it's a consequence and impact of depression.
Food and depression go hand in hand. Some people eat. Some people don't. Some people remain the same–sometimes. Some people don't eat because they feel they don't deserve basic necessities, that they aren't good enough. Some people eat, because the pleasure of their taste buds is something worth living for.
Some of us, like me, just can't bring ourselves to make the effort. It's too hard to want to be bothered. That was the worst downward spiral in my fight with depression–when I wasn't capable of fighting at all.
But I got back up, and my scale became my sword.
Today, I had a tomato for lunch, with some basil I picked from my window. I added olive oil, because I enjoy olive oil. I added a sprig of green onion, which I also grew in my window.
The tomato came from my garden.
And as a glorious reward to myself, I added some deliciously salty lemon and herb space.
I ate a single tomato, and I felt full.
Weight loss isn't just a battle with a scale. It's a changing of a lifestyle. It's breaking free from the dependency of food in volume, and enjoying food in quality.
Without guilt. Without overeating.
Yesterday, I had an entire small pizza, loaded with my favorite toppings, because I had been eating so reasonably well. It was an indulgence. A reward.
I had a grilled cheese and a small pizza the entire day.
Today, I didn't feel the need to gorge. I enjoyed my tomato, which I grew myself.
And I won. Today, the victory is mine.
My scale doesn't say 189 or 190.
It says 172 and change. The war goes on, but for once, I'm not losing. I'm holding my ground. I'm accomplishing things.
Weight loss can be done… but there are no easy ways out. It takes self control. Dedication. Desire. A will to change an entire lifestyle, not just reach a goal and relapse.
But it comes with rewards.
My knee doesn't hurt quite as much as it did a month or two ago, and while it still pains me a bit, I can move around. I ran to the door twice today.
It wasn't far, but two months ago, I couldn't run anywhere, let alone across the house in a mad dash to answer the door.
What I did before was kind of like this horrific little zombie shuffle.
Moving doesn't hurt as much now.
It may only be 18 pounds to you, but to me, it's freedom.