Bigger

Being a bigger person is not a fun situation to find yourself in.  I know, I’m a bigger person.  Well, let’s call it like it is.  I’m fat.  Diagnosed obese.  Yeah, not a fun diagnosis, not a fun word, not a fun life.  It took me years to get here and it’s going to take me awhile to reverse it.  I hate being fat.  I hate shopping.  The only things available for heavy women are clothes even my grandmother wouldn’t wear.  Who in their right minds would believe that heavy women want to walk around looking like they’re wearing a tablecloth or a shower curtain?  And that’s not the end of the issues. 

When I first started my latest job I had to travel for training for the internship I was in.  Traveling was fine.  It was worrying whether or not I would fit in the seat on the plane.  And if I did fit, would I have to ask for the seatbelt extender?  I ended up being able to fit, not comfortably, but I fit.  No seatbelt extender but I was not comfortable wearing the seatbelt and feeling squished in my seat.  I’m glad we only had to fly a couple of times, all the other trips, I got to drive.  

Being bigger means you stand behind people in photos, that’s if you even let people take pictures with you in them.  Going to crowded restaurants is a nightmare.  Trying to squeeze between seats at tables without making people move or squishing them.  Keeping your back to the room so you don’t see the looks of disgust or pity but still hearing the whispers directed at you.  Grocery shopping and knowing that people are judging everything you put in your cart without realizing that you have other people in your home that aren’t fat.  Fighting your demons every single day and hating yourself because you can’t seem to get the scale to drop instead of inching up.  Wondering if you’re ever going to live a healthy life. 

I’ve been heavy most of my adult life.  I’ve lived with these thoughts and feelings almost all that time too.  It used to be I didn’t want to talk to my parents because I knew that my mom would ask, “so, how’s your diet going?  Losing any weight?”  Her lectures on eating better, eating less, not eating at all, exercise more, get out there and walk.  Why can’t you do better?  My dad offering to pay for diet pills, cigarettes, anything that would keep me from putting food in my mouth.  Telling me that my husband was going to leave me because I was fat.  Well, my dad got that one right, at least for the first marriage.  I still get the same questions and the same lectures.  Just to spice things up a bit, now I get the “you need to change doctors because they’re aren’t doing enough for you”.  I understand their concern, I really do.  I get it.  But the nagging me isn’t helping.  It hurts.  It makes me hate myself more and feel even more defeated than I already do.  I’ve tried to gently tell my mom this because, as much as she’s hurting me, I don’t want to hurt her. 

I don’t want to be fat mom, fat Nana, fat friend, fat wife anymore.  I want to healthy.  My journey starts soon and I can’t wait.  I just need to remember to be patient with myself.  It took me years to get here, it’s going to take some time to get it off.  At least I have a supportive family at home and a best friend who’s already gone down this path to show me the way.   I’m not going to post my pictures yet, but maybe soon.  I am going to document my journey of weight loss so other older, fluffy women out there can learn that they can do it too.  Here’s to a better life.