I hate this struggle...

I don't talk about this struggle publicly very often. I carry a lot of shame, embarrassment, and guilt on my shoulders because of this struggle. My closest and dearest friends know about half of how I really feel concerning this. Although it's obvious to everyone that I struggle with this, my emotions, feelings, and concerns about it are often locked away in the deepest, darkest parts of me. I saw something today (on television) that both inspired and saddened me. I watched the journey of a young woman who lost a significant amount of weight in a short amount of time. I was so inspired by her strength to acknowledge her struggle, face it dead on, take victory over it, and then shine a light on it by making it public. I was saddened firstly because I related with her on every level of her own struggle, but also because I'm exhausted. This battle with my weight has been apart of me as far back as I can remember. At the age of 6 is when I became what one would classify as "overweight." Ever sine then, the struggle and weight gain has gotten worse and worse.

I learned how to medicate myself with food at a very young age. My mom always had issues with food and body image. Looking good has always been at the top of her priority list. My grandmother was the only other female influence in my life, and her issues with food were opposite my mother's. My mom obsessed about restricting food intake while my grandmother overate. I learned how to overeat and over-enjoy food. I obsessed about it at a young age. Always wondering when the next opportunity to eat would be, and what we would be eating. I can recall, even at a very young age, my mother's disapproval of this behavior. I had no idea at the time what a hold food had over me, and I had no idea the pain it would cause me in the future.

I believe that who we are is often a result of the things that have happened to us in our past. What we go through as individuals shapes us into the people we become. However, I do not believe in continuing to live with a "victim mentality." There comes a point when we have to take responsibility for who we are- that includes the bad parts of us. Then we can either accept those things or change them. I don't blame my parents or grandparents or my pregnancy or even God for my struggle. All of these things are factors, and they have their roles in my struggle, but I'm where I am today ultimately because of my own choices. That's where the shame comes in.

Food is my drug. It's my vice. It's my best friend and worst enemy. It has more power and control over me than I care to admit. Nothing in my life has EVER made me feel more powerless or more like a failure than my addiction to food. It's like being bound from head to toe on a bed by a rope and being left there to die. DAILY, I struggle and I struggle and I fight and I claw and I kick and I scream and I flail about nearly passing out in an attempt to break free from this hold. And every single time I end up surrendering to the rope. I can't break free. The rope is too tight. I'm exhausted, I'm worn, and I don't have another breath in me to even lift a finger in the attempt to break loose. I can't. I just can't. And guess who tied that rope around me? I did. It sounds like pure foolishness. Why would anyone in their right mind ever do such a thing to themselves? It's embarrassing. It's shameful. It's MY struggle and I hate it. I can hear you (whoever you might be) saying to yourself "but didn't she have weight loss surgery?" Yes. I did. I had the lap-band in 2008. I lost 120 pounds and it was the best time of my life. Ever. I got pregnant and with a temporary reversal to allow the baby to get proper nutrients, I gained 90 of it back. Now I'm down 20, so I have 70 to lose to get back to where I was, and another 30 to get to my ultimate goal. See, the thing is that the numbers don't matter. They do, simply as a way to gage exactly how out of control my problem is, and to classify me as overweight, obese, morbidly obese, healthy, or unhealthy, etc. But the truth is that even after losing 120 pounds, the struggle in my mind never left. I was never happy. I looked better. I felt better. But it wasn't enough. In photos I still disgusted myself. I still looked nothing like all my beautifully thin friends. In dating (online) I was still terrified that I would meet someone in person and they would be highly disappointed with my appearance and have no further interest. I've learned how to be funny and outgoing and have a personality that shines to overcompensate for the unattractive nature of my physical appearance. I take pride in those things. They ARE me- fat or skinny, those things remain. So does the fact that I'm smart, compassionate, caring, kind, sincere, good at communicating, talented, etc. But all of those things take time to discover. Unravel me like a ball of yarn, and I promise you will see nothing but beauty along the way and at my core. This I know. But time after time after time those things miss an opportunity to be revealed because the truth is, few people (and let's be honest and say that I'm primarily talking about men here) look at the "fat girl" and say to themselves "I REALLY want to get to know her." And I can't blame them. I really can't. There comes a point in the dating world when you know what you want. You know what you're looking for and what you're not. Most men don't want a fat girl. I don't necessarily want a fat guy. And that's totally understandable and acceptable. Which is another reason why I HATE THAT I HAVE THIS STRUGGLE!!! It's a wall between me and the world. It keeps me from people, it keeps me from my dreams and goals, and most importantly it keeps me from loving myself completely. So I'm stuck here in this horribly painful and uncomfortable place. I'm not going to be a victim. I can't accept myself as I am and stay this way, and I'm trying to change, but it's a lonely struggle that I will most likely have the rest of my life. So I'm disgusted, ashamed, embarrassed, and guilty. I wish who I was on the inside could be the first thing people see- minus all the self loathing, pity, and insecurity. And what kind of example am I to an innocent little girl? I don't want my daughter to follow in my footsteps. Lord, help us all. Seriously.

This is all I have in me tonight. More later...