Tonight at my Weight Watchers meeting I lost 2 kilograms--about 4.4 pounds! This was the first time since I've been back from winter break that I've lost this much in a week. I have to say that it feels AMAZING to have done this, to feel like I'm back on track and back in the program.
One would think I would be celebrating with a salad and some celery sticks or something. HA! How did I celebrate? By eating whole wheat bread with enough garlic herb butter for the entire loaf and 4 (!) Tim-Tam chocolate cookies with tea. Not to mention my homemade butternut squash soup (which is actually very healthy and low in WW points) and the salad that my friend brought over (with no oil, therefore, besides the almonds on top, it was practically points free.)
I wish I didn't love food so much. I wish the cooking and eating of food didn't bring me so much pleasure. I wish I had a normal relationship with the food I eat. I wish I could eat whatever I want whenever I want it without feeling guilt or shame. I wish I was one of those people with metabolisms that run at the speed of light. I wish I was just born skinny.
But, I'm down 4.4 lbs, 66.4 lbs since I started the program. That has to count for something, right?
Tomorrow is another day.
Monday, March 31, 2008
Thursday, March 27, 2008
Grandpa Sidney
My grandpa Sidney was a character. He was definitely one-of-a-kind; a wonderful businessman, a good provider, a strong-willed, successful and respected person in St Louis and around the United States. He loved being a grandfather and was proud of his grandchildren. Grandpa Sid was not the monster that this post will make him out to be; he is a part of my history and my family, and while I am still learning how to love him and accept that he loved me the best way he knew how, I can not tell my story without talking about our relationship. It wasn't pretty and he is the cause of a lot of the issues I struggle with everyday. But, I am ready to forgive--and to move on--and to try as hard as I can to remember the times where I felt that he loved me.
My grandpa hated having a fat granddaughter, and he wasn't afraid to hide it. He himself struggled with a weight problem for several years, and managed to lose 60lbs before I was born and keep it off for the remainder of his life. To him, being overweight meant you were weak and undisciplined, and far be it for him to have a member of his family who was anything like that. From the time I was 3 years old, he made comments about my weight and how ugly it was; he would poke me in the stomach with the ends of cooking utensils and would repeatedly tell me that I would be better off if I was skinny. There were times when I would bring him straight-A report cards and he would tell me that good grades don't matter when you're fat. He would shake his head when I walked into the room, asking me why I wasn't beautiful like my other cousins. There were multiple times when he would beg and bribe me to lose weight, offering toys, new clothes, money, cars, etc., saying it was best for me and my health, and telling me how proud he would be WHEN I LOST WEIGHT.
It didn't seem to matter what I did, or how hard I tried; I could never make him happy. Every time I tried a diet program he was involved; the worst times were when I had to call and report how I did at Weight Watchers every week. He would expect my phone call, and couldn't hide his disappointment whenever I gained instead of lost. He would ask me what I ate that week and told me that desserts and treats weren't allowed in the week to come, because he didn't want any more phone calls like this. He also put me on any new diet plan he could find. I still remember the taste of the chalky "chocolate" flavored meal replacement pills he made me eat in the 3rd grade, and his excitement when explaining that I could drink "milkshakes" (i.e. Slim Fast) for breakfast and lunch a few years before.
I tried and tried, and yet NOTHING seemed to work. He seemed to enjoy putting me through this vicious cycle, making me promise this diet will work, and clearly expressing his disappointment whenever it didn't. I tried and tried, and nothing worked, and the numbers on the scale kept going up and up and up. The older I got, the more he tried, the more disappointed he became, the more he seemed to be ashamed of me. All I wanted was to please him, and in turn I consistently disappointed myself and grew to hate myself more and more.
Grandpa Sid died when I was 17. I remember being at the hospice the day he died as we were all saying our final goodbyes. I stood next to him silently, cursing him inside my head, not mourning HIM, but mourning the fact that he never cared to know me as anything other than a body. He never cared about my singing, my passion. He never cared about the activities I was involved in or the good grades I brought home. All he cared about was the number that was always too high, and I was furious that I never told him how angry I was. I was upset that I never stood up for myself or forced him to hear the voice that was raging inside of me. I couldn't bring myself to throw dirt on his coffin at the funeral, which I don't regret today even though it is seen as incredibly disrespectful, especially for your own grandfather.
There were plenty of other instances I could talk about, and maybe I will sometime. I sometimes wonder what would have happened if he hadn't tried so hard. Would I view myself differently now had he told me I was beautiful and special and talented and wonderful as I was growing up? Would my issues with men be what they are today had he treated me more like a treasure and less like a number? Or maybe, just maybe, would I have outgrown my weight problems as a child had they been handled differently? Maybe not, but I can't help but think about it sometimes.
If I learned anything from my grandfather, it's what I will do and say when I have children and grandchildren. Especially if I have girls. I will tell them that they're beautiful, whether they are a size 2 or a size 20. I will tell them they are completely and unconditionally loved just as they are. I will tell them that they come from a long line of strong, healthy people, including their great or great-great grandfather. I will tell them to believe in themselves and the power of their dreams, and that if they want something and work hard, they accomplish anything. I will remind them that we are all created in Gd's image and have the power to let our inner beauty shine through and count more than our outer beauty.
From this point forward, I choose to think that my grandfather would be proud to call me his granddaughter.
My grandpa hated having a fat granddaughter, and he wasn't afraid to hide it. He himself struggled with a weight problem for several years, and managed to lose 60lbs before I was born and keep it off for the remainder of his life. To him, being overweight meant you were weak and undisciplined, and far be it for him to have a member of his family who was anything like that. From the time I was 3 years old, he made comments about my weight and how ugly it was; he would poke me in the stomach with the ends of cooking utensils and would repeatedly tell me that I would be better off if I was skinny. There were times when I would bring him straight-A report cards and he would tell me that good grades don't matter when you're fat. He would shake his head when I walked into the room, asking me why I wasn't beautiful like my other cousins. There were multiple times when he would beg and bribe me to lose weight, offering toys, new clothes, money, cars, etc., saying it was best for me and my health, and telling me how proud he would be WHEN I LOST WEIGHT.
It didn't seem to matter what I did, or how hard I tried; I could never make him happy. Every time I tried a diet program he was involved; the worst times were when I had to call and report how I did at Weight Watchers every week. He would expect my phone call, and couldn't hide his disappointment whenever I gained instead of lost. He would ask me what I ate that week and told me that desserts and treats weren't allowed in the week to come, because he didn't want any more phone calls like this. He also put me on any new diet plan he could find. I still remember the taste of the chalky "chocolate" flavored meal replacement pills he made me eat in the 3rd grade, and his excitement when explaining that I could drink "milkshakes" (i.e. Slim Fast) for breakfast and lunch a few years before.
I tried and tried, and yet NOTHING seemed to work. He seemed to enjoy putting me through this vicious cycle, making me promise this diet will work, and clearly expressing his disappointment whenever it didn't. I tried and tried, and nothing worked, and the numbers on the scale kept going up and up and up. The older I got, the more he tried, the more disappointed he became, the more he seemed to be ashamed of me. All I wanted was to please him, and in turn I consistently disappointed myself and grew to hate myself more and more.
Grandpa Sid died when I was 17. I remember being at the hospice the day he died as we were all saying our final goodbyes. I stood next to him silently, cursing him inside my head, not mourning HIM, but mourning the fact that he never cared to know me as anything other than a body. He never cared about my singing, my passion. He never cared about the activities I was involved in or the good grades I brought home. All he cared about was the number that was always too high, and I was furious that I never told him how angry I was. I was upset that I never stood up for myself or forced him to hear the voice that was raging inside of me. I couldn't bring myself to throw dirt on his coffin at the funeral, which I don't regret today even though it is seen as incredibly disrespectful, especially for your own grandfather.
There were plenty of other instances I could talk about, and maybe I will sometime. I sometimes wonder what would have happened if he hadn't tried so hard. Would I view myself differently now had he told me I was beautiful and special and talented and wonderful as I was growing up? Would my issues with men be what they are today had he treated me more like a treasure and less like a number? Or maybe, just maybe, would I have outgrown my weight problems as a child had they been handled differently? Maybe not, but I can't help but think about it sometimes.
If I learned anything from my grandfather, it's what I will do and say when I have children and grandchildren. Especially if I have girls. I will tell them that they're beautiful, whether they are a size 2 or a size 20. I will tell them they are completely and unconditionally loved just as they are. I will tell them that they come from a long line of strong, healthy people, including their great or great-great grandfather. I will tell them to believe in themselves and the power of their dreams, and that if they want something and work hard, they accomplish anything. I will remind them that we are all created in Gd's image and have the power to let our inner beauty shine through and count more than our outer beauty.
From this point forward, I choose to think that my grandfather would be proud to call me his granddaughter.
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
Why this blog?
I have been heavy all my life. Heavy, fat, overweight, plus-size, voluptuous, pleasantly plump --whatever you want to call it--it's me. Always has been, and, to some extent, probably always will be. I don't think I'm ever meant to be one of those skinny girls; my body isn't built like that, which I've always accepted and appreciated. I was born weighing almost 9lbs, on the larger side of normal. And while I weigh far more than normal at this point in my life, I definitely understand that my body is not meant to weigh less than 150lbs. It's just not going to happen.
So, if I accept my current state of being, why start this blog? I've been working hard in the last 9 months to try to lose some of this weight that I've been carrying around with me the last 25 years, and while I have been successful (-63 lbs and counting!) I've hit a roadblock. Every time I get to this stage in a weight-loss program or diet I turn away and eventually fail. I am determined not to do that this time. I am determined that I will continue my healthy lifestyle and keep losing weight to make my life better for ME.
Except the little things keep popping up, the things that reach beyond food cravings and not wanting to work out anymore. Memories that I try like hell to block out; the kids who called me names in school, my grandparents who told me time and time again that I would never be pretty like my cousins unless I became skinny, the men who've rejected me or not even looked my way because I look the way I do, the doctor who joked about me to her nurses when she thought I couldn't hear. These things are with me everyday--they live within my brain and heart, forcing me to look at myself has some hideous monster instead of the lovely, talented person that I am.
I've always thought that everyday people go far beyond the labels society puts on them. For example, society tends to think of homosexuals simply as gay people--they easily neglect the fact that a gay man is also a son, a brother, a friend, a professional, a sports fan, a beer drinker, and the like. He has a life that does not revolve around merely his sexuality, though society sees him only as such. It's the same for fat people. I personally am more than a number on some scale and more than a disgusting piece of flesh. I'm a human being who has feelings and a heart and a good soul, and I am tired of society seeing me as a number. I am tired of watching movies that constantly turn fat people into a joke, using stereotypes to feed ideas into the minds of those who are not intelligent enough to see beyond my flesh. I am tired of being laughed at in bars, and sick of those skinny girls who laugh and stare when I walk into a gym. They don't know my story and they don't know my soul--maybe if they did they'd shut the hell up.
So, in short, that is why I'm here, writing this blog. I'm a grad student who doesn't have time for things like this, but I can't keep quiet anymore. If I can change even one person's mind about what it is really like to be a fat person in society, I will have done my job. And even if I can't, I have a place to admit all the times when it hurts to be this way; when the pain prevents me from living what others would consider a 'normal life.' I want to tell my story, to share my experiences both in my life thus far and in the future, along with the successes and frustrations of finding a healthy weight and lifestyle. I want to find peace with who I am and with my history, and to forgive those who have hurt me and to forgive MYSELF for the pain I have caused my own heart, body, and mind.
Maybe this will be the breakthrough that I need to keep going in my weight loss goals. Maybe it won't. But at least it will be honest and real, even too honest and real at times. It's ME, and I need that right now, whether or not anyone appreciates it.
For once, I want to speak up.
So, if I accept my current state of being, why start this blog? I've been working hard in the last 9 months to try to lose some of this weight that I've been carrying around with me the last 25 years, and while I have been successful (-63 lbs and counting!) I've hit a roadblock. Every time I get to this stage in a weight-loss program or diet I turn away and eventually fail. I am determined not to do that this time. I am determined that I will continue my healthy lifestyle and keep losing weight to make my life better for ME.
Except the little things keep popping up, the things that reach beyond food cravings and not wanting to work out anymore. Memories that I try like hell to block out; the kids who called me names in school, my grandparents who told me time and time again that I would never be pretty like my cousins unless I became skinny, the men who've rejected me or not even looked my way because I look the way I do, the doctor who joked about me to her nurses when she thought I couldn't hear. These things are with me everyday--they live within my brain and heart, forcing me to look at myself has some hideous monster instead of the lovely, talented person that I am.
I've always thought that everyday people go far beyond the labels society puts on them. For example, society tends to think of homosexuals simply as gay people--they easily neglect the fact that a gay man is also a son, a brother, a friend, a professional, a sports fan, a beer drinker, and the like. He has a life that does not revolve around merely his sexuality, though society sees him only as such. It's the same for fat people. I personally am more than a number on some scale and more than a disgusting piece of flesh. I'm a human being who has feelings and a heart and a good soul, and I am tired of society seeing me as a number. I am tired of watching movies that constantly turn fat people into a joke, using stereotypes to feed ideas into the minds of those who are not intelligent enough to see beyond my flesh. I am tired of being laughed at in bars, and sick of those skinny girls who laugh and stare when I walk into a gym. They don't know my story and they don't know my soul--maybe if they did they'd shut the hell up.
So, in short, that is why I'm here, writing this blog. I'm a grad student who doesn't have time for things like this, but I can't keep quiet anymore. If I can change even one person's mind about what it is really like to be a fat person in society, I will have done my job. And even if I can't, I have a place to admit all the times when it hurts to be this way; when the pain prevents me from living what others would consider a 'normal life.' I want to tell my story, to share my experiences both in my life thus far and in the future, along with the successes and frustrations of finding a healthy weight and lifestyle. I want to find peace with who I am and with my history, and to forgive those who have hurt me and to forgive MYSELF for the pain I have caused my own heart, body, and mind.
Maybe this will be the breakthrough that I need to keep going in my weight loss goals. Maybe it won't. But at least it will be honest and real, even too honest and real at times. It's ME, and I need that right now, whether or not anyone appreciates it.
For once, I want to speak up.
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