Sunday, March 24, 2013
Knowing all the recent events in my life, I have every reason to be happy. I turned 22 last month and got a 2nd tattoo; earned my blue belt in Gensei-Ryu karate; earned A's on most of my school work in every subject; and celebrated my 7-month anniversary with my partner, Josh, two days ago.
Events such as these are typically commemorated with pictures, but I've purposely posted very few of them since November. I've gained 10 pounds and feel, as I put it melodramatically, "like a fatty." Yeah, I know. "Whatever, Christi, 10 pounds."
My insecurity stems from the harassment I endured through elementary and middle school for being fat, until I joined Weight Watchers at the age of 13 and lost 35 pounds. My mind has been stuck in the distant past, wishing it were realistic for my body to be back to the slim 106 pounds I once was. I know a healthy weight for a young teenage girl does not correspond with that of a young adult woman, but I've grown maybe an inch since then. Because of this, I kept telling myself, "my body couldn't have changed THAT much," even though that's a lie. I have hips and thighs that my 13 year-old self did not.
The BMI scale's generalized measurements leered at me, reminding me that I'm teetering on the upper end of the "Normal" range for a 5'0 woman, at 127 pounds. I want desperately not to cross that threshold into "Overweight" again. I've went through the weight loss process a second time already, after my first two years of college. I've been beating myself up mentally these past few months, asking myself condescendingly why two times wasn't enough to teach me how to manage my weight.
It didn't matter who told me "you look fine." It didn't matter that I've known for ages that the BMI scale is not right for everyone. All I could think about is "my waist has no business being 30 inches," "my belly is pooching out of this t-shirt," and "look at this porky-ass face," and "most petite women are like 100 pounds and I'm built like a fucking tank. What's wrong with me?" It was shit like this that clogged my mind and still does at times, taking enjoyment away from all the wonderful things going on in my life that I ought to pay more attention to.
I'm more than a quantity of pounds. I'm currently taking care of what I perceive to be my "weight problem." I've never turned to starving myself or purging and never have, so please don't worry. I know what I need to do and I'll do it. A realistic goal and time frame has been set (7 pounds less in 2 months). The only thing that's going to get purged is my defeatist mindset...and maybe the sweets sitting in my cabinet.