Eating disorders, PTSD, two kids, and 35 pounds

I am writing this today as a testimonial. I feel like I’ve been trying to get a grip on my weight as long as I can remember! I distinctly remember stepping on the scale in fourth grade and seeing 120 pounds. The kids at school would make fun of me and call me fat. I would try to push my fat out of my belly. I would imagine cutting it off with a knife. I would try to sweat it out to my mom’s Tae Bo tapes and step on the scale obsessively. Then, I would cry and cry and devour an entire family size bag of Lays potato chips that I had hidden under my bed. My problems began there. Fast forward to ninth grade, I was 5’8 and 165 pounds. Not necessarily a huge concern, but I was still bigger than most of my classmates. I was depressed and self conscious. I always wore sweatpants and jackets so nobody could see my shape. I started smoking and drinking and starving myself. Throughout high school my weight dipped and spiked constantly because of this cycle and with each “diet” failure I felt more and more dejected and hopeless. My problems came to an apex when I was 17. I came home to find my father after he committed suicide. I was heartbroken and emotionally disturbed. I had constant night terrors, panic attacks, and what felt like nervous breakdowns. My vices followed suit. I smoked incessantly, was usually nursing a hangover, and ate constantly. My weight quickly climbed up to 205 pounds, my highest weight. At that point I could feel my body was tormented. I was constantly fatigued. I suffered with chronic headaches and heart palpitations. I was always in pain and out of breath. One night in 2014 I went to the hospital because I was having chest pains and thought I was having a heart attack, at 19. That was when I finally decided enough was enough, and I wasn’t going to let my demons take my life from me. I joined MFP. It seemed easy at first, but then I realized I knew nothing about proper nutrition. I started reading articles and books. I learned how to cook, and my slow/painful/exciting journey began there. Now, today (4 years later) I stepped on the scale and saw 170.4, five pounds away from my goal weight. Some people may find that uninspiring. After all, 35 pounds in four years isn’t much, and it’s really slow. But when I saw that number this morning, I thought about all the times I’ve messed up in the last four years. I would sabotage myself as usual. I would get careless and lazy and unmotivated. I’ve given birth twice in that time frame! But each time, instead of spiraling into a mindset of self loathing and shame, I would just keep trying. I would keep learning, keep experimenting, and trying something a little different next time. I was gracious to myself. I went to counseling. I stopped smoking and drinking. I learned what kind of healthful foods and exercise I actually liked, rather than using those things as punishment for my gluttony. And now, today, after a lifetime of shame, depression, and anxiety, after two children, after giving up and starting over ten trillion times, I am almost to my goal weight. I have almost figured this thing out, but I am not stopping there! I realize I will keep learning, keep failing and experimenting and restarting, but I look forward to my lifetime commitment I’ve made to myself and my body. I want anybody who has taken the time to read this, to understand that it doesn’t matter how many times you fail, because each breath we take is a new chance to be who we want to be. Take heart and learn from your failures. Do not be discouraged or deterred from your goals! Come back to the drawing board each time with a little more experience and knowledge, an open mind, and forgiveness for yourself. Keep on keeping on. I promise it will be worth it. In the end, my journey there has been more meaningful than my destination. It started with losing weight, but I’ve gained so much more than just a number on a scale.