Being the Fat Girl

 I've been all over the scale, really, but something has been on my mind for a while that I feel like I need to express. So, here goes.

I hit 125 lbs at age 13. I was probably about 5'4", so it definitely wasn't my thinnest but it was hardly overweight. This picture is of me at age 16. I'd hit 5'8" and was pretty sure that was how tall I'd be for good. The scale didn't move from 125, unless it went up to 129--which is pretty much where I hovered, between those two weights. I walked and swam whenever possible and I had a pretty good arm (and muscle definition) from throwing newspapers (paper route) for four years. That was basically my fitness plan. But, hey, I was 16 and knew I was benefiting from a great metabolism. One that I also knew would change, so why not enjoy it why I could?
This picture was taken of me shortly after my wedding. I'd hit 5'9" but had no idea. Still 125. That didn't change until November of that year when I got pregnant. My first trimester was a killer. I could hardly eat anything and by December I had gotten sick with the flu and and ear infection. I lost 10 lbs between my first and second OB appointments. 119 was my weight in December 1996. In January we moved to Oklahoma and I can remember Bryan taking me to the shores of Waurika Lake only to have the wind off the water blow me back. I couldn't stand in one place and had to use him as my wind buffer.

But here's the thing: I never felt thin. My stomach was never flat and my thighs were always bigger than I liked. From the moment I started caring about that stuff those were my problem areas. That's what I didn't like about myself. And nothing anybody else said could change it.
This picture was taken in my second trimester. The whole picture is really cute. It's me, Sissy, and Bryan all lined up showing off our bellies. I had to pull the shirt in so you could even see the baby bump. I was maybe 135 lbs in this picture. Not that I didn't regain the weight I'd lost and then some on my almost-nothing-but-ice-cream diet, but at this time I really wasn't very big. As you can see. Cute, but not very big. ;) This is our glorious Disneyland Vacation. I put this in here because it's a decent picture of me having fun, and it's also a picture taken after I've had all my kids. At the time this was taken I'd had some stress related health issues and lost some weight, so I was probably around 160 lbs. Not bad for 5'9". In fact, it's within the range of healthy for my height.

This picture is closer to 169 lbs. We were in Manhattan and it's one of my favorite pictures of me. As you can see there's more definition to my curves but I still look pretty healthy, right?

This pic on the right (blue shirt) is the first indication that things were starting to go downhill. See, I've never blamed having my kids for my weight gain. Sure, after having kids I was bigger than I wanted to be, but I was still (barely) in the healthy weight ranges for my height. But this is when life took a turn.

This was when we lost our house. I was a mess. In the same month I signed a contract with a publisher for my first book and got a letter in the mail saying we were in foreclosure. There wasn't anything we could do, but we tried. Finally we just had to bow out, pack up our stuff, and move our 5 kids to a 3 bedroom upstairs duplex.

The duplex of Hell. No, my sis Jen is not the duplex of Hell. This is another shot and I remember seeing it and instead of going "Oh, how sweet" I went "my arms are horrible!" The happiest day of her life and I'm all feeling fat and slobbish about my arms. Yes, I know I still looked okay. And everyone is going to look at this picture differently, but this was the start of my fat girl journey.

In that duplex I struggled with horrible feelings of guilt for letting my kids down and having to move them out of their home and making them suffer in that horrible tiny space. So I ate. I ate to mask the hurt. I've always been an emotional eater. This wasn't a discovery I had to make. Only this time I just let go. I stopped worrying about the results. I stopped caring how I'd work those calories off later. I stopped caring about a lot of things.
Except, I also hit my mid 30's. And as we all know, this is about the time that a person's metabolism slows down. So while I was eating, my body was storing. And storing. And storing some more.
 This is me at my heaviest. 235.6 lbs. I can tell you that a lot of things change when you gain weight but I think you know this.

But this is what I experienced. I actually used to get fairly regular complements on my outfit, my shirt, my hair, whatever, by friends and random kind people at church. That well dried up pretty fast the bigger I got. The only person who complemented me was my husband, and even that had changed.

I was so tired. I had no energy to do anything. It was ridiculous. And I was so down about it all. I looked awful and I knew it. I felt awful about it. I knew I had to do something about it. So I tried. Weight Watchers, but the meetings were over an hour away and I didn't feel like I could keep up with the plan. I tried self control, but I'd lose a little and then regain it and then a bit more.

Six months ago I finally just said that was it. I'd had enough. I contacted a friend who had been sharing her and friends' weight loss success stories with me via email (with my permission of course). I knew it was a huge financial commitment but I figured that was part of my penance for losing so much control of myself for so long. I needed to feel the price, feel the sacrifice. I needed for it to hurt a little.

I needed it to have significance.

So far I've lost 67 lbs. I feel so good. My insomnia, something that has plagued me since that first picture of me at 16, has almost completely vanished. Instead of it being a regular nightly issue I actually have to be incredibly stressed out to have trouble sleeping. Like last night, but I digress. And once people started noticing the pounds come off, the complements have started rolling in. Again. And while I don't doubt their sincerity they still make me uncomfortable.
Was I really not pretty at 235 lbs? Or are we just so constrained by societal prejudices that a person can't look "nice" if they're overweight? I can tell you I felt ugly. I felt hideous. I felt unworthy.
And probably that heavy person you pass in the street feels some or all of what I felt. But does that mean they don't look nice? It's hard enough to have a decent view of your own self worth without people around you ignoring you because you're fat and they don't have anything nice to say. Or why-ever they ignore you. Because they do. They ignored me.

Motherhood

My brother sent me an email yesterday. He's speaking about mothers and motherhood in church for Mother's Day, and wants to know the good side of being a mother.

I haven't answered him, yet.

It's not that I don't know what the good things about being a mother are, it's just that I struggle to express them properly.

This is what he wants: Can you each email me with a description of the benefits of
motherhood? What are the good things you, personally, have enjoyed
from being a mom?

His goal is to get his mom, grandma and sister (me) to weigh in on this, so he has a multi-generational picture to share with the congregation.

I feel a responsibility to show motherhood in it's proper light, but he only wants the good stuff (kidding, lol). How do I properly portray how I've always wanted to be a mommy, but how I didn't want to have as many kids as my mom because she never seemed to have time for us all? And then, how it ended up not mattering anyway because God has his own ideas about things like that. :)

What about how it feels to feel the first flutterings of life inside you? Or the bond that forms when you hold your child close, whether you can nurse them or not? Or the amazing feeling of giving birth (or at least the aftermath), when they put that squalling, wriggly baby on your belly and you've never seen anything so beautiful in your entire life (even though it's a gooey mess lol)? Or the heart-stopping moments after they take the baby out and before you hear his or her first sounds?

How about the ways you find to relate to each child individually, because they are each so unique? And yet, you still subject them to the same house rules and guidelines, because everyone has to learn to get along in this world.

Sigh. I'd better get started. Mother's Day is only 2 Sundays away.

How Big is your Box?

(image courtesy of legacytrunks.com)
My husband and I have been talking quite a bit about the growth and change I've gone through the last few years. And, subsequently, the growth and change my changes have put the family through. Don't get me wrong; he's nothing but supportive. Sometimes I think he wants this more than I do.

Because I asked him, "When do I get to crawl back into my box?"

And he said, "You don't." Gotta love him.

Before I accepted my other role in life, that of being an author, I was a mostly-contented wife and mother. The discontent came in the form of work. I hated my job, and always felt there was something "more" I should be doing. Don't get me wrong--I had a dream job, but it didn't satisfy me. If fact, over the years, it drained me of creativity and left me frustrated and angry. Mostly the frustration stemmed from why I couldn't just be satisfied by this dream job. I mean, I got to work in my pj's, didn't have to interact with customers, was highly respected and earned an incredible wage for a person with no college education.

Looking back, so much makes sense. The times I'd spend in the shower imagining what I'd say in front of large groups of people. I didn't dream of the public life--the part of my life I most enjoyed was being anonymous. But, in direct contrast with that, I'd practice what to say in front of crowds.

Then someone said to me (and the rest of the congregation), "Life's too short to not do what you love."

The timing was perfect. I'd just begun my journey of self-discovery. And this really hit me, hard. I knew what I loved--my family and writing. But, it was another year or so before I sighed, looked heavenward and said, "Okay. If this is what You want me to do, then I'll do the very best I can. You've got me."

The learning curve is sharp. Sometimes I feel overwhelmed. Sometimes I feel like I should be doing so much more, working so much harder, moving so much faster.

And, sometimes, I just want to crawl back into my box and be the invisible one again.

The problem? I think I outgrew my box.

Declaration

This post is more for me than any of you reading it. Not that there are a great many of you, but that's cool. Right now I don't need a huge audience. :)

I've spent the last year and a half being really, really lazy. I know I can throw out all those fun excuses like babysitting, having kids at home, spending lots of time in front of the computer. Let's face it: Being an asthmatic writer allergic to most things that grow doesn't exactly make me a prime candidate for physical fitness.

But, see, I went to the doctor a couple weeks ago and got some really disturbing news. Without going into details, here's the thing:

I weigh more now than I ever did while pregnant--and remember I had twins.

I weigh 75 lbs more than I did 20 yrs ago.

I weigh 50 lbs more than I should. Ick.

I'm not a dieter. I watched my mom diet most of my life, and it doesn't really work. This is my plan. I will eat better (not necessarily less because it's not quantity that's my issue) and move more. This is going to take time. It's not one of those commercials where you see this gorgeous woman in a bikini who says she lost 50 lbs in 12 weeks, or whatever. I'm not crash dieting, and I can't suddenly let physical fitness take over my entire schedule, or my life. At this point, I'm not even in charge of what food we have available in the house to eat. And I certainly don't have the money to purchase those meal plans.

This is a slow process. I'm only going to weigh myself when I go to the doctor, so I don't become a slave to the scale. It may be months before I post any kind of progress. I've been doing a lot of sitting and very little moving, so it's going to take some time for my body to get the idea that we're moving more. Again, it's slow going.

But I'm doing it. I'm tired of being tired all the time. I'm tired of being sick all the time. And I know the things that will drastically improve my state of being.

Now I'm committed to doing them. Wish me luck. :)

Here's to the New Year!

I have never been one for New Year's resolutions. The first time I heard about the process, I was a depressed teenager with no real view of the future. So, let's just say I didn't greet the idea warmly.

This is where I got the idea to try setting goals instead. For those of you who don't know her, Josi Kilpack is an incredibly talented Utah author with an awesome wit. She simply rocks. You can find her at josikilpack.blogspot.com

So, for my 2010 goals:

1. Lose 10-30 lbs. I realize this is ambiguous. I could lose 10 and meet my goal, but honestly I'd be happier with 30. It's difficult to admit how lazy I've been this past year, but I went to the doctor in the fall and found I'd put on almost 20 lbs since my previous visit. Ouch. Time to kick it into gear.

2. Get a publishing contract for my book. I may be excruciatingly close to this as I type. But it's happening in 2010. The book is loads better now than it was back in 2007 when it got its first contract, so it shouldn't be that hard. I mean, from this point. It's been sheer hell so far.

3. Play more with my kids. My lovely, adoring, patient children need their mom back. I've spent a lot of time and energy working on my writing, polishing my books, etc. I need to do that, but I can't neglect my kids for it. Hubby and I are working on a plan for this. His goal is to be in a position so I don't have to work. I would then just write and concentrate on my family. I'd love to help him meet that goal. :)

4. Play more in general. I have a tendency to dive completely into something and forget to recharge with play and fun. It's taken me years to figure this out.

5. Focus on and attend 3-4 writer's conferences in 2010.

6. Read 40-50 books in 2010.

A lot of this post is author related, but in talking personal goals I felt it would be best to put it here. My writing career is intertwined with my home, family and motherhood. They are forever bonded.

With pleasure, there must also be a little pain

Otherwise we wouldn't know how to appreciate what we have. If we live an easy-breezy life, how would be learn to recognize when stuff is really good?

But I'd like to caution against extremes. If you live a life of extreme hardship, you become conditioned to difficulty and you lose the simple joys that are possible every day. If you live in a life of no worries--ever--then you are painfully unprepared when something bad, even only a little bad, hits you.

I for one would very much like to experience a few ups to go with my downs. I think it would make me a better rounded person. Otherwise I'm turning to cheesecake to round me out. Kidding.

Believe it or not, there is an expectation of me in this world. I am the responsible one, the practical one, the level headed one. I'm the one someone would send in to a crisis to defuse and deflect. I don't feel particularly worthy of this label, but in moments of extreme clarity I'd have to admit its accuracy.

But get me in a group of girls and I become giggly, goofy, and loads of fun. At least that's what I'm told. Man, this is starting to sound arrogant isn't it? You can stop reading if you like.

I faced something in the past few days I did not expect. And it's what has captured my mind more than anything else that happened. Now I have to decide what, if anything, should be done about it. I'm tempted to believe this is one of those things that actually WOULD go away on it's own if I just ignored it.