I jumped on the scales the other day, and they actually smiled back at me. Was it the 2kgs I had lost without realising it, or was it the fact that I am now comfortable in my own skin? It’s taken a while, a colossal process of epic proportions, a decade long journey of opening and closing doors to gaining and losing weight.
It all started in my brain, the place that doesn’t actually put on weight. When I was a teen I thought I was a massive elephant that couldn’t pull off wearing a bikini. In reality I was a bean pole with a flat stomach, no cellulite nor stretch marks. I ate what I liked. I said hello to university and all of its fried, salty, sugary, alcoholicy, lazy goodness. Hello comfort eating. Goodbye exercise. Hello excess. Goodbye output. Hello freedom….. Goodbye freedom.
I told myself that I was happy, but essentially, I wasn’t. I wasn’t me. I cried when I had to buy size 18 pants. But I kept eating. It was a Christmas Day photo that got me. All of the rolls, chins, wearing men’s sized clothes and that fact that I could barely see what used to be my big eyes on my unrecognisable face on my nearing 100kg body.
It’s hard to admit to yourself that you are overweight and that you need to do something about it, especially when you shy away from anyone who cared enough to tell you that you are “getting a bit bigger”. I hid from the mirrors, photos, scales, and clothes shopping was for the absolute bare essentials.
Decision made. Strict weight loss regime underway. The overweight door closes. It takes a while to shut, but it nearly gets there.
Mind trickery. Once you are near your goal weight you can eat whatever you like. Door opens.
Moving to another country and being homesick, so eating Western food treats to compensate. Door opens.
Relenting to said weight moving in and feeling the failure. Door left wide open.
My nearest and dearest trying his best to broach me on the subject in the nicest way possible and shutting off from listening, so essentially screwing myself over with minimal self-esteem. Door unhinges.
Using asthma as an excuse to not exercise. Door stays open.
Finally realising that I should just get off my lazy arse and give it a go. Door shuts.
Still eating crappy food. Door not shut properly and squeaks open ajar.
Joining a gym and making an effort to go on a regular basis and making an effort to eat a balanced diet. Door starts closing.
Upping the exercise for an endorphin release and making balanced food choices. Door shuts.
Stress eating. Doorbell rings and I accidentally answer, then realise who it is, so I close the door.
Indulging in gastro-travelling goodness. I gladly open this door, but make sure I close it when I’ve finished visiting.
After all of the years of excuses, not being accountable to myself, over-indulging, laziness, and feeling like a failure, I’ve finally gotten it together and under control. I love food and I love enjoying food. I know my strengths and I know my weakness. I don’t deny myself, I just don’t gorge myself. And I’ve stopped feeding the feeling guilty spiral, recognised it and moved on. I am at a space where I am finally enjoying me (and a whole lotta shopping!).