This is going to come off as totally, awfully rude, but are you guys not disturbed by how much weight you’ve gained over the years? Seriously. Just scroll down “over the years” and it looks like you are being inflated.
First let me thank you for reading my blog. I am glad you have popped in for a visit. I do have start off by saying that I think it was mighty cowardly of you to not sign your real name. If I have the courage to show pictures of myself “inflated” then perhaps you should have the courage to sign your name. I’m just saying. But let’s get to the point shall we? Our weight, or more specifically my weight (I am not going to speak for Sweet Man. My story is not his and vice versa. How he feels about his body is up to him, not me, so I will not address it further.) When I was little, say perhaps 4 years old, I was already aware that I was not small or petite or skinny like other little girls. I knew that my tummy stuck out too far and that my thighs were too wide and that this set me apart from others. How I know these things I have no idea, but maybe when you are from the South it is just part of your DNA. So from the age of 4 I was aware. Very aware of my inflated size, to the point that when I was 10 I joined Weight Watchers for the first time. 10 years old. Got that? A little girl and I was already obsessing about my weight. And so the battle began. The battle against what I saw in the mirror and what I saw in the magazines. The battle against what size I wore and what size my friends wore. The battle to be thin enough.
And so I fought the fight: I lost weight and I gained weight. Up and down, up and down. Never really successful in my own mirror. I was never a waif or a rail. My thighs have always touched. My middle has always pouched. My chin, always on the verge of more than one.
Fast forward to college. I dated some boys, I fell in love with a couple. One of these love boys told me I was the biggest girl he ever had dated. I was 5’5″ and weight about 150lbs. I was flat chested and bottom heavy. He thought I was “cute” but not beautiful. And so the battled raged on, only more intense than ever. I walked miles upon miles each day, I ate dry tuna on plain low- fat bagels or ate angel hair pasta with canned tomatoes and canned corn, no fat. And that was it. For months and months until I weighed a whopping 135 lbs. And still it wasn’t enough. He didn’t find me beautiful then either. When I look back on pictures of that time I do not see a healthy girl, I see a girl who was completely starving and out of her mind. I see a girl who thought she looked like the girl I look like now. I look sick. I look funny. I do not look healthy. Jump ahead a couple of years, I have gained some of the weight back, and suddenly Sweet Man comes into the picture. And he loves me. He thinks I am beautiful. Just like I am. Flat chested, bottom heavy, soft middle. And he means it. There are no “buts” attached to his proclamations of love. He loves me. Period. He never turns away from me, he never acts embarrassed by my size. Never compares me to other girls or hints that I should cut back. And this love he gives me, this delight he finds in me, it gives me the courage to believe what I have always secretly suspected, but have never had the courage to truly live out. The courage to believe that I am enough. Period. Not good enough until… But enough as I am. All that I am. Thighs and all.
That is Part 1 of the story. Part 2 is this: Yes, it concerns me. Yes, it is something I think about. Do I want to be 135lbs again? Nope. Would I like to be 175lbs again? Yes. That was the best weight for me. I was full but happy. Healthy and energetic.
And I honestly hope that I can get there again in the next few years.
But am I going to let it shame me that I am not there now? No. Am I going to hide my pictures and pretend that this is not who we are now? No. I believe that the best policy is honesty. It is looking your reality straight in the face and saying “this is what it is. now, what do I think about that?“
And so here it is: I weigh 25 more lbs than my ideal weight.
I want to lose those 25 lbs.
But the fact is that my life is really full at the moment, and as it so happens, so are my pants.
But I am trying to have grace for myself and remember that I am still enough. I am loved. I am happy. I open my hands to grace as best as I can, as often as I can, and I try to remember that Rome wasn’t built in a day.
Weight will always be on my radar. And it may always be on yours. But I hope you know that you are enough as well. Just as you are, whoever you are, however big or small.
And on the off chance that this applies (and seeing how you are human too it probably will) I hope that whatever fight you have been fighting since you were 4 years old, that somehow you find the courage inside to put down your sword and open your hands and let the grace flow in. Because really, that is the whole ballgame.
Be who you are and say what you feel, because those who mind don’t matter and those who matter don’t mind. ~Dr. Seuss