...See more
This has been a night of seeking answers. I wanted to share with people who might understand.
I grew up in a middle class home. My mother ran her own small business from the time she first found out she was going to be a mother. My father had steady employment with the county that may not have paid extremely well but it was stable and provided plenty of benefits. We never had a problem with worrying about food on the table. I lived in a nice area to raise a family and went to highly-rated public schools.
I knew there was something different about me from an early age because I was so shy. I had trouble making friends. I was teased mercilessly because I had curly hair and bald patches from an anxiety disorder called Trichotillomania. I pulled my hair out. It is a chicken and egg paradox here - I was teased for my bald patches, but the teasing made me pull my hair out. Which came first? I'm honestly not sure. It was so long ago. All I know is I dealt with anxiety the only way I knew how.
It breaks my heart to think about that damaged girl who only wanted a friend. She was not mean to anybody except herself. She turned the torment inward and punished herself for being different, or too shy, or ugly.
Maybe all the reflection needs to stop here. Maybe that is where the answers are. I have a tendancy toward anxiety and my whole life I only knew how to damage myself when anxiety popped up.
It didn't get easier going into middle school. I started to get chunky. Looking back, my "chunky" was maybe 10 lbs overweight, but to a middle schooler that is enormous. The teasing switched from my hair to a much more "hilarious" target (to the bullies): my weight, and my thighs especially. I was branded Thunder Thighs.
I had no concept of self-acceptance at the time. I felt horribly ugly, unlovable, undeserving of anyone's attention.
My mother, who I now understand is a gorgeous, voluptuous woman that is capable of turning heads, had passed her thick thighs, round hips, and large breasts down to me. Only the large breasts were welcome. I recall going on my first diet and asking my mom, "If I ride my bike every morning and night, and drop 10 lbs, do you think my thighs will still be so big?"
I can only imagine how painful that question must have been to her. But she was supportive of me. She, after all, worried about my weight too.
I didn't care at the time that my father was head-over-heels in love with her, jiggly thighs and all. They had and continue to have a very affectionate, romantic relationship. Their relationship was the envy of the few friends I managed to make growing up, most of whom came from divorced homes.
In 7th grade I joined Weight Watchers for the first time. My mom and I did it together. This was back in the days of exchanges and way before we knew the dangers of processed flour. That summer I kept my commitment to ride my bike in the morning and evening. I would spring awake early, eat a slice of toast with sugary jam, ride a couple miles, then fall asleep on the couch in front of a talk show. That evening after dinner I would ride the same route. I felt great. I wanted to start the school year wearing cool, fashionable clothing and
to confidently wear a bathing suit on a family cruise planned at the end of the summer.
I did it. I lost 10 lbs and transformed! In the pictures from the cruise I looked like a happy, cute girl. I remember I spent the entire cruise gorging on whatever I could get my hands on. My father and I attended the midnight buffet every evening, much to my mother's disapproval.
Once school started up I fell back into my old habits and quickly put the weight back on and then some.
If I could rewind to any single place in my life for a do-over it would be this one. I had the chance to keep my healthy habits but I did not think twice about throwing them away. How I wish I had listened to my mother about maintaining my weight. I tried out for the softball and volleyball teams that year but was not picked for either, despite practicing. No doubt my athletic abilities were hurt by my inability to stay fit.
Despite the friends I managed to make, no friendships really stuck. Here today, gone tomorrow. We didn't have nasty break-ups, we just grew apart too quickly. I always feel a twinge of emptiness when I hear about people who have maintained relationships since childhood. How is that possible? To me, everything about childhood friendships was one painful lesson about change and letting go.
No matter who was in and out of my life food would never judge me or ditch me to hang out with someone else.
One Saturday my parents were working and my brother was with his friend next door. I did something that I didn't know at the time was another defining moment in my life. I baked brownies and ate them all by myself. It was my first secret binge.
As soon as the oven went off it was a race against the clock because my family could be home any moment. I turned on the vents, hid the pan of brownies in my room, and sprayed Febreeze all around the house. It didn't work. My brother came home and instantly smelled them. By that time they were all consumed and I was not required to share any.
The dopamine reward from that episode has always stuck with me. It made me happy.
High school came and my thighs grew larger with the rest of me. A few boys showed interest, but they were always shamed as "chubby chasers" and warned "whatever you do, don't feel up her thighs." I was a terrible mess throughout all of high school. My self-esteem was shoddy and my grades were not important to me. Thankfully I never got involved with drugs and alcohol. There was no need. All I looked forward to was a big plate of pasta when I came home from school while sitting in front of the computer.
One day, while whisking a toasted bagel with melted cheese upstairs, my mother shouted, "Do you want to be a size 4X by the time you're 40?!"
(Ha! I managed that task way ahead of schedule - by 30!)
It was so insensitive. I went to my room and inhaled the bagel out of spite.
She meant well. She saw a dangerous pattern in my eating but it would have been more productive to sit me down and have a gentle heart-to-heart instead of attacking me. She has regrets about her approach. We can sit here all day and list our regrets. My mother was panicking at watching my habits get worse and she was ill-equipped to deal with it, as much as I was ill-equipped. I was sinking.
I managed to snag a boyfriend my Junior year of high school who pursued me relentlessly, giving me a boost in self-esteem. He wanted me so badly! Jorge was my first love. He made me feel beautiful and accepted. He brought me home and introduced me to his family. I brought him home as well. It wasn't long until we talked about getting married once we graduated, but our families were nervous. They thought we were too young. They were right, but there was no way we were going to see eye-to-eye on that in the midst of our
increasingly intense relationship.
What started out as an innocent romance went downhill after about a year and 1/2 together. We started shunning everyone else from our lives. We started sneaking out at night so that we could spend extra time together. We both had after school jobs and spent all the money we made eating out in restaurants. In a year I shot up to 200 lbs. He put on a good 30 lbs. We started fighting. We were becoming restless together, and I was getting anxious again. I found myself pulling my hair out one day. I would break into anxiety itchiness.
When I got my first car at 17 years old I spiralled even more out of control. For once I had the freedom to hit the drive-thrus anytime I wanted. The McDonald's around the corner from my house became my favorite spot. I would order food and eat it in the car. I would then drive home and eat whatever meal my mother prepared, or go out to dinner with Jorge. Secret binging became my favorite pastime. My second favorite pastime was eating with Jorge.
One evening we went to a popular restaurant nearby. My brother's childhood friend Zia was our waiter. I knew him growing up and considered him another brother. Jorge and I shared an appetizer, ate separate entrees, then ordered separate desserts. Zia said, "Wow. Most people share." Jorge didn't speak up that he didn't feel like his own dessert was necessary. After taking a couple bites he threw up, right there in the restaurant, on our table.
I insisted on staying and polishing off my dessert, surrounded by his vomit.
Another time we spent close to two hours at a Chinese buffet, "getting our money's worth." I walked out feeling like I could hardly breathe. Jorge took a few steps and vomited in the parking lot. We were like two drug addicts holding each other up.
It took a serious incident of us fighting in my car (I don't remember what about) that ended up with me screaming and crying in his driveway and his mother rushing out in alarm that convinced his family we needed to be separated. They arranged for him to spend six months in Peru, where he grew up and where his family's business was, apprenticing for his father. He was excited to see his childhood friends again.
I was devastated we would spend so much time apart and he seemed happy to get away from me.
We limped through with a long-distance relationship but I could tell he was letting go. We were out of high school and I was taking classes at a community college. I had a part-time job but all my free time was consumed with talking to Jorge and eating. He came back to the States at the end of those six months and broke up with me, absolutely crushing me. I later learned he reconnected with a childhood friend during that period who he ended up marrying a few years later.
It really was the right thing to do but I did not know it at the time. We have since reconciled as friends and wish each other well. He earned his Master's degree in Finance and has a successful business of his own.
I am not in love with him anymore. Any romantic feelings have long disappeared. Even though I have gone on to love again, experience hurt again, and then found the healthiest relationship of my life with my fiance Justin, something has stuck with me about Jorge. I am alarmed that it still eats away at me. The feeling like I was left behind in the dust.
I believe this is what drives my eating disorder. It began when any friendship I made fizzled and faded. It got worse when Jorge realized we weren't right for each other and I was not prepared for our relationship to end.
Because of these issues I spent my 20s eating. My habits are so much a part of me that this fight to conquer them is
literally fighting for my life. All the love and acceptance from Justin cannot magically erase so many years of self-abuse. He loves every fat roll, every dimple on my thighs. He makes me feel gorgeous and desirable. That being said, he wants me to be healthy above all and encourages me in my recovery. We are celebrating five years together soon and will be getting married December 17th.
Recovery is not about my becoming thin or wearing a bikini. I started at 405 lbs and I'm now 383. My dream is to be in the 200s again. My thin might be someone else's "before" weight. I got a clean bill of health from the doctor before I started Weight Watchers six weeks ago. No diabetes, no hypertension, nothing. Yet. This is about reclaiming my life so I can finally enjoy my life. So that I can stop my mother from crying herself to sleep. So that I can become a mom myself and show my child it is possible to have a healthy relationship with food. So that I don't wake up with heart disease in a few years.
Onward and upward!
