baggage

i've been on the heavier side for most of my life so am pretty defensive when the subject of my weight, or really weight in general, comes up.  growing up like this always meant there were brazen comments (i heard them even though i pretended not to), outright teasing and taunting, and even an unsolicited nickname from my dad.  (this is not meant to put my dad on blast -- he is the most loving, amazing father a girl could ask for, and i believe he only meant it in a joking manner).  but this means that the smallest gesture could trigger a reaction... looking chubby in a picture, being unable to fit into my smaller clothes, a suggestive remark from my parents that maybe i should join the gym.  even when my husband states that both of us should eat better and exercise more (primarily for our long-term health), i'll take that as a way to tell me that i need to shed a few pounds.

this type of junk seriously swims around in my head all the time.  it's enough to make a person go crazy.  or crawl into a black hole of self-loathing.

over the years, i've consistently gone up and down in weight along my rollercoaster of emotion.  some days i will find myself considerably unhappy about carrying the excess baggage around and other days i'll feel completely fine.  sometimes my OCD kicks in and i'll count every calorie (including my gum or drink mix or for the number of carrots i've consumed) and restrict myself from any kind of crap.  my most extreme was probably in high school.  i measured out the same thing every day for months one year -- cereal for breakfast, a plain bagel for lunch, chicken soup for dinner.  the results were quick.  i dropped so much in just a few short weeks that my dad even testified about this in church as inspirational.  me, inspirational?  i could probably be on the verge of an eating disorder but that was okay, since being thinner was basically better.

and then of course, there was my wedding.  i dropped a ton of weight, gradually though, and by doing it the right way -- portion control and regular exercise.  it was only a matter of time before i gained some back (ahem, 12-night honeymoon in europe), and with the additional weight came the poisonous thoughts again... especially because i couldn't maintain the skinnier side of me.

these days, my diet is healthier than it's been in years, even though i'm chunkier than i want to be.  no matter what i do, my body usually hovers around the same number on the scale.  it makes me think, am i just built this way?  and although i'm in good health according to my doctor, but when i look in the mirror, why is it still not enough?

there are times i wonder why the world seen through a slimmer lens is "better."  why battling this every day, expending time and energy and even some tears is what it takes.  because if i had anything to say about it, it really shouldn't be.