It's another Christmas, with another aunt, and once again I am upset because of something someone said to me over something I decided to eat. I have always been pretty happy with myself, fairly comfortable in my own skin, in almost every sphere - but not with my body. I've been told that I was fat since I was 6. It may have been true then, I hardly remember, but it certain was not 6 years later when I came home from boarding school at the first time. M weight has always yo-yoed. Plump at the beginning of the school year, not, or perhaps just less so at the end. Rock bottom, defined by my worst (heaviest) weight yet, come at the end of the summer following my freshman year of college. 180 pounds. And I was miserable.
Before that, I hit 170 during my year off after high school. I lost 20 Ibs in the months between February and June. How? I walked, and skipped meals, and never drank more than half a bottle of anything other than water at a time. I would sometimes save the same bottle of Fanta for days, only allowing myself a sip after hours of self-restraint. My mother, the one person who had supported me through puberty against the rest of the world when they told me how fat I was - I've seen pictures, I don't know who describes that as fat - was suddenly my biggest cheerleader in my weight-loss effort. I don't know if she knew for a fact that all I allowed myself to eat was a sandwich in the morning and a tiny dinner at night (never a full plate, always before 6pm). The really sad thing is that I don't know if she would have protested. I was losing weight and that was all that mattered.
I gained it all back during that first year at college. I think I lost some in the middle, I know I tried, but it was all back by the summertime, and by the time my vacation ended, I had added on 10 extra big-ones. There were crying jags, so many of them, when people commented on how much weight I had gained. Sometimes rudely, especially if they were Nigerian, other times they were just too surprised to hide their expressions. I would swear I would lose the weight, start starving myself all over again. The thing with long-time starvation though (at least as I have found) is that you can only do it once. After that it becomes frustrating, and much harder not to binge. After those 30 extra pounds caused the demise of what I think would have been a great relationship - or maybe that guy was just a douche bag and he didn't decide that the fact that I was fat eclipsed the connection we had had while talking all summer; no wait, that's the same thing - I decided I would make them disappear. I bought running shoes, went to the gym 6 days a week without fail, started lifting weights, . . . 4 months later I had lost 10 pounds, maybe 12, and I was looking pretty good. My mother seemed happier to see me than she had in a long time - "You've done so well", she said," except for this" and grabbed at my belly. It was then I realized that shopping with her still wouldn't be as fun as I imagined it could be, should be, not unless I had a washboard.
I kept the weight off for the rest of the year, but had fallen off the wagon by the following Christmas. I was depressed. Same guy, different problem. No, scratch that, same problem, just articulated differently. Again I wasn't good enough. I still suspect that I would have been, if I was just a little skinner. It bothers me that I think that, but it's true. Lost some of the weight again, maybe five pounds this time, thought I stayed stable during the summer but apparently not. Lost some at the beginning of this year. The scale upstairs says I've gained another 5. I think I will withhold judgment till I see what the scale in my dorm room has to say. Either way, I won't be happy. I try not to eat, and it doesn't work. I have made it to the gym all of one time in the last 4 months. Some of it is that I've been busy, some of it is that I've been lazy, some of it is that I think I have given up on myself. If only I had not eaten that cupcake last night, I wouldn't have had to hear that I am getting "fatter and fatter, I wouldn't have spent the whole of today fighting back tears. Something has to change - at this point I am no longer sure what.
I read an article the other day - I am always reading articles - about intuitive eating. There is only one rule - you give yourself no rules. Nothing is off limits, everything in moderation. Eat breakfast, something small if you're not hungry, and after that eat only when you are. Stop when you are satisfied, not full, just happy and make good choices. Perhaps I should try this, see what happens, and make sure no one is around to ruin my spirits when I decide to indulge in a cupcake. Maybe I've found the magic bullet - Merry Christmas to me.
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