I WAS my FAT’s B**CH…

Two things happened recently. (This is a long one - sorry!)

1) My ample muffin top(s) unveiled themselves unknowingly to my almost five year old son. He looked at them with curiosity and with a great deal of concern and then asked, “Mommy, why does your skin look like that?” at the same time reaching his small precious fingers toward my “tops” to touch this strange part of Mommy. I paused and told him a pseudo-truth, “When you slouch your skin bunches up”. He nodded but I could see the look of disbelief as he stood up a bit taller and backed up still looking at my stomach that was now covered. I can still see the look on his face.

2) When I saw the craft store’s real-time security camera feed with an older heavy-set woman pushing a shopping cart with a child in its seat I dismissed it and carried on shopping. It wasn’t until my daughter said she could see herself waving “in the camera” I realized that older, heavy-set woman was ME. Reality hit me like an 80lb brick! (If I had been in a movie the camera would have zoomed in rapidly on my face that would hold a look of absolute shock & horror – think Sixteen Candles when Molly remembers that Farmer Ted has her undies!)

I am obese and that is my reality. It has become my identity. I hide behind it. I loathe myself because of it. I’m ashamed. I feel like a lesser person because of it. I punish myself 24/7 for letting myself become my fat’s ***** yet I keep eating hoping the quick “buzz” the empty calories give me will quiet the hate. I’ve let my life pass me by in many respects because – I am overweight, heavy-set, obese – oh the excuses. I’ve failed. The 80lbs+ I carry isn’t nearly as heavy as the hate I have for what I’ve allowed myself to become. It truly is a heavy burden. I wake with it, I eat with it, I think about it and I live with it. It has consumed me for far too long. My self-loathing has affected my marriage and friendships. It is always with me. I become physically ill and emotional when I have to get my picture taken. I’ve actually started crying in front of a formal photographer more than once. I have very few pictures with my twins. (In fact, I am certain they will think they were raised by wolves from birth to 5 years. Because having my husband and me in a picture with them is an extremely rare occurrence.)

Some of you will know the drill. I have been a serial WW member since I was 14. I join, lose weight then gain it back (I end up paying this multi-million dollar company to gain weight… HELLOOOOOO!!) and I’ve done this on two continents. When I was 12 my mother put me on a “cut back”. I remember our weekly weigh-ins. At that time I was not obese but I was overweight compared to my peers.

I might be my fat’s ***** but food is my GIRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRL!!! She’s my go to. Tired, sad, hungry, pissed-off, she’s who I go to time after time even though she makes me miserable. The ultimate Mean Girl! She makes me feel better, whatever my ailment, but 2 minutes later “she” can make you feel like trash.

I am confiding in you today because I don’t want to waste any more time and I am so tired of carrying around the hate. I do not want to be my fat’s ***** any longer. I want food to be a true friend. I want to be a real part of the MFP community and take advantage of the support that is out there - and give it back too. Please message me if you want a POC (Partner in Crime). I’m in it for real this time. I want to start living to enjoy my great life, for my great husband and awesome kids (AND FOR ME!). Dani xo