At least it has been with me.
If you look at pictures of me as a kid I didn’t have a weight problem. I was tall and not really comfortable being the tallest in my class. But I was average sized.
My mom battled weight loss issues and decided that I needed to lose weight. Really I think she didn’t want to go through the journey alone so as the oldest girl she decided I had a problem and brought me along for the ride. That ride included Weight Watchers, Overeaters Anonymous and Diet Center as well as starvation. I was about 12 at the time. Look at the picture of me in my dance outfit and you can decide if I was overweight.
When I write about my therapy I’ll talk more about the relationship with my mom. The reason I am writing about this piece is because these activities developed a poor self image and the ironic thing is that I turned to food for comfort.
I’ve been an emotional eater for years. It reached a crisis point as my marriage began to unravel after the birth of my son in 1999. When I got pregnant I was at a very healthy weight (for me) of 172. When I gave birth I was 260, topping out at 270 when I got divorced in 2008. I am now sitting at 250 which is where I have been for some time now.
I am not fat because of my mother. I am not fat because of my ex-husband. Nor my job or external relationships.
I am fat because I have chosen in the past to use food as a coping mechanism.
Lonely? Happy? Depressed? Anxious? Didn’t matter. Food has been my replacement for a boyfriend, women friends because I don’t have that many or any other type of companion I need. You have to understand, being fat is an incredibly isolating disease. I have hated leaving my house so therefore developing relationships is not an option.
Food is a great companion. It doesn’t reject you, talk back to you. It’s always there to comfort you day or night.
But my constant companion is killing me. I’ve just been told by my doctor that I’ve got a fasting blood sugar of 109 which is considered “Pre-Diabetes”. I have knee issues and chronic Plantar Fascitis, which is exacerbated by being fat.
As Andy Dufresne says in the Shawshank Redemption…”Get busy living or get busy dying.”