Some days I find myself thinking about how I managed to get to 220 lbs. I remember weighing somewhere around 175 before graduating from High School. I started High School somewhere in the 150-160 range and gained after my father passed away my Sophomore year. Then, I remember getting ready for class my Freshman year of college and seeing serious weight gain staring back at me from a cheap mirror hung on the backside of my dorm room door. That mirror showed me something I didn't think was possible unless I were pregnant. I had denied the fact that my pants were feeling tighter, but I couldn't deny the dark purple stretch marks that started to surround my belly button like a series of hideous parentheses.
I spent the rest of my time in college fearing that if I raised both arms in the air, my shirt may creep up and show the dark marks of my poor decisions. After all, I wasn't creating a safe home to nourish and grow another human life -- I was simply shoving my face full of college buffet grilled cheese, delicious college town pub grub and greasy, well-known college town pizza. My belly was showing me that I'd had one too many cheap vodka drinks and spent too much time partying and not enough time getting good sleep. Those stretch marks slapped me across my face and for the first time, I was thoroughly disappointed in myself.
Like many young people, I checked out fad diets and dropped some weight in unhealthy ways. Once Charlie and become more than just friends, I felt like it was even more important to lose weight. I grew to a size 18 Freshman year and was a size 16 when I graduated. Charlie and I were happy and comfortable together. We moved to Texas, got settled in, and I gained the weight and the pants size back. In fact, the size 18's started to feel tight. The purple marks had faded to white, but I was so tired all of the time. This constant lethargy paired with some pretty nasty mood swings made me think more about health issues and a little less about the need to buy a new pair of jeans.
My family history is riddled with a medical rainbow of health issues and causes of death. Cancers, diabetes, heart disease...obesity. I had never thought of it until then (you know, the kind of deep thought that comes over you like a wave) but obesity was something I was suffering from. A mix of genetics and poor choices were making me fat, and let's face it -- only one of those things is something we have control over.
It's difficult to share some things. The marks on my belly have faded and my strength has gotten bolder. They remind me of a time when I lost myself, a time when I was uncomfortable and self-conscious. It's rare that I focus on them at all anymore. I just don't see them. I see happiness. Healthiness. Comfort. Love. Respect for myself.
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