One week ago, (9/29/2016) I got on the scale and about shat my pants — which are beginning to get alarmingly tight, might I add.
Yeah. Really. No good. Not for me, with my super teeny 5-foot-2-inch frame. Not good for anyone, except maybe titan-sized body builders. I’m sure they could probably get away with it….
I remember being about 15, (I’m 20 now) sitting at about 185 pounds, losing my mind over the impending doom of that little one turning into a two. To me, in that moment, hitting 200 was the end of the world. I even had some – less than serious – thoughts that if I hit 200, that was it.
Mid-teens me was absolutely terrified of pushing the barrier from “pretty chunky” to “fat as fuck”. There was nothing in the world that could possibly happen to me that would be worse than that. 185 isn’t healthy for someone of my stature by any means, but the weight that little one at the front of the scale reading is incredible. 199 feels so much smaller than 200. I ended up starving myself and surviving almost exclusively on diet green tea (because antioxidants and fad dieting!) and vegetables for two weeks (not to mention slamming the gym twice a day until I passed out) until I inevitably burned out from the totally unrealistic lifestyle I was trying to force myself into.
Fast forward to last year. I knew I was at least 200 pounds, but I avoided going to the doctor like the plague because I was an adult and responsible for my own medical bills, so I didn’t know my exact weight. I noticed my clothes didn’t fit quite right, but I chalked it down to shrinkage. Shrinkage, right. I was working a really shitty retail job that paid me in middle fingers, and started noticing tons of pain in my ankles. While I won’t divulge too deeply, as it’s a sob-story for another post, it ended up losing me my job (something I am not-so-secretly overjoyed about) and landed me in surgery.
Fun thing about surgery; you actually have to see a doctor. And do you know what doctors have? Scales. It was at this point I became aware of how much weight I had put on. I believe at the date of my surgery (July 15th, 2015), I was roughly 250. The funny thing is that it didn’t even phase me. I didn’t care.
The prior year had been spent cramming spiritual self-love mumbo-jumbo down my own throat. It worked, which, in retrospect, is not such a bad thing. I was at a point where I had learned to dress for my size and flatter my shape, and learned to love myself regardless of how I looked. I got really into plus-size fashion, and debated starting a fashion blog; a plan, which, obviously, never came to fruition. I was happy with myself. I didn’t feel ashamed when I went outside with shorts, because fuck you, it’s 98 degrees and my comfort is more important than your disgust in seeing my cellulite.
I think it’s extremely important to be okay with yourself as a person before engaging in making any serious personal changes, weight loss or otherwise. It’s crucial to be able to take successes and failures gracefully and not let them ruin your drive for getting what you want. If you love yourself fat, you’ll still love yourself if you have slip ups — which you will have. For me, personally, trying to lose weight because I felt fat and ugly never worked out. When I thought I was fat and ugly, even if I lost weight, I still felt fat and ugly. I became much less perceptive of changes, and focused solely on how intensely I could hate myself and punish my body for something I did to it. I did this, not my body. My stomach did nothing wrong, I failed to take care of it. Our bodies are innocent.
It has been one week since I began my official weight loss journey, and this week has been filled with joy and successes, compromises and slip-ups. Despite fucking up a time or two, I am pleased to say a few things:
- I logged my calories every single day without fail, and did not “cheat” or lie once.
- I remained under my limit by 100-300 calories each day.
- I burned 968 calories yesterday without trying — cleaning is your friend, let it count as exercise.
- And, most importantly, I weighed in at 259.0 pounds this morning; a three pound loss.
I began noticing yesterday that eating less has provided me with so much energy and life. Typically, I’m extremely lethargic from the time I wake up until I go to bed. The littlest things will exhaust me. Getting out of bed is a chore; I’ll wake up at 11:00 am and lay in bed for an hour before I feel awake enough to get up. As of four days ago, despite not changing the time I go to bed, I have woken up naturally with no alarm at 8:30-9:00 am and been fully energized upon waking. I have had the energy to clean my entire house top to bottom, and dance while doing so.
I have smiled more this week than I ever have before.