Things people have told me. Professionals. Family members. Friends.
“You’re going to lose the baby weight!” (my child is six, but this was said to me when I first said that I was going to start riding my bike)
“I got you this outfit, and you’ve lost weight so it must fit you by now!”
“We need to work on you getting healthy.”
“I’m helping you by eating your fries.”
“You need a sense of style! You can’t just wear whatever fits.”
“Why aren’t you swimming? You should be swimming.” (side note, I can’t swim right now because PCOS is a beast. Sorry if that is too much information but maybe don’t ask why I am not swimming? LOL)
“Maybe you should eat yogurt, I hear that helps because it has probiotics.”
“You don’t need to do anything, why are you so worried about your health? Just eat better, its that easy!”
“Cut back on those potato chips. No doctor will want to examine you unless you lose weight. You need to weigh 105 pounds. No, actually 100 because if you go to Cheddar’s and eat a meal, you will gain five pounds and that is the last thing YOU need!”
“You’re just obese. That’s all PCOS is, is being fat. If you lose the weight your symptoms will go away.”
“Kidney stones, huh? The doctor won’t operate on you because you’re obese and have had kidney stones before. You need to lose weight so that you don’t get them anymore. Here’s a referral to a doctor that MIGHT help you.”
I am tired.
I am war torn and beaten.
I have weighed 98 pounds before because I would exercise constantly. I still have the journals with my work out plans. 100 crunches, 25lb weight reps, push ups, 1 hour yoga, 1 hour Pilates, go running with
. Every single day.
I am told that I am beautiful, and I feel like I am for once in my life but I go to the doctor and I am told that I am anything but that coveted word. 9 vials of blood, and he scolds me because I am fat. Self loathing is a thing yet here is a man who does not care. I am disgusting to him because not only am I fat, but my results are a screaming stereotype.
I have topped 215, at five feet tall. I cried when I broke 100, can you imagine what 215 did to my psyche?
Fast forward to pain beyond pain, I can’t be in labor again can I? But everything is a mess and it hurts so badly. I have no insurance so we go to a planned parenthood where they throw words around all casual like “cervical cancer,” ” endometriosis,” “miscarriage” They don’t know what’s wrong with me. All they read is “morbidly obese patient seeking help.” Four doctor visits later and I find someone who actually will LISTEN. It’s Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome. In addition to my other rampant issues with my reproductive system, let’s add this to the list.
All the advice. All the fucking advice. Absorb the new diagnosis. Now listen closely, you must exercise for thirty minutes a day, no gluten, no cow’s dairy, no refined sugars, cut back on the sodium intake. You will probably not be able to have children anymore. You will need these vitamins, and yes they can be a bit pricey. You need to lose weight. Also, good luck because it takes everything I just told you,
plus you need to bust out the ouijia board and make a deal with the devil and sacrifice the blood from your first born son to lose 5 pounds with PCOS. I’m not saying it isn’t possible, but if you think about a scoop of ice cream, you will gain 30 pounds instantly. Hello, my middle name is Dramatic. Have we met?
Sadly, now my daughter has now noticed, and while her story is not mine to tell, it’s brutal. Painful. Raw. My reflection is a realization of my biggest fears because now it is affecting HER. At age six.
So, yes, I am tired. What has our society become? Every where we look, there is a message of shame and lies. Do they know authenticity? Sure, they have brought out new commercials and are making progress with plus size models, etc. It’s a slippery slope. We don’t want to fat-shame, but we also don’t want to teach that being unhealthy is okay, either. In any direction. Rail thin, brittle bones, hair loss, on the brink of passing out….or the polar opposite, flushed face, swollen limbs, breathlessness, constant exhaustion.
I am at the point now where I just want to be healthy. I am willing to be patient enough for that to happen. I am going to set goals quietly, and then smash the ever living SHIT out of them. Having walked on both sides of the tracks I am trying to learn how to walk down the middle path. For me, that means that I can’t weigh myself too often, or do measurements too often. I can’t count calories at all because if an apple has more than a bag of chips, I’ll choose the chips
because numbers fucking matter. Oh the cycle is awful. Even obese, it still rattles me. Food has always been really weird for me:
I was eight years old and praying to God in church that I wouldn’t gain weight. I was 11 years old at Ashley’s house learning how to do crunches to get a flat stomach. I was 13 and using my journals to work out until the point of exhaustion. I got better in high school, some. But I was surrounded by friends who also had bad relationships with food. To compensate for their pain and mine, I guess, I’d eat. Eating was comforting to me, and it still is. The strangest part? It’s hard to eat regular meals because I feel full. When I eat well, I feel full and I feel guilty because of it, because I don’t deserve to feel anything but deprivation. That is SICK.
So, plans are set. We will get through this, my little family and I.
Because we are fucking strong.
Because I have big dreams and I want to crush them.
Because I want to go back to school and pursue a goal that has been in my head for years and I’ve been too scared to express it because at this weight, I may not be taken seriously. And I need to be, to help change lives.
Because changing my life will help others change their lives, too. I just know it.
I don’t care where you fall on the scale. Embrace you. Embrace your beauty and all of it’s bounty and learn to truly love yourself. Change that self talk. Instead of “I need to lose weight,” how about “I will get healthy.” Be very careful around your little one’s. They see and hear everything. You want to teach your little’s all about how magical they truly are at their cores. That starts with you learning to love yourself. Learning to embrace the stripes, and wrinkles, and pockets and all of it and LOVING yourself for it. I didn’t say that it would be easy, but I fucking promise you it will be worth it.
Sorry for the erratic post, but some things just need to be said. Self love is super fucking important, y’all. Please be conscious before you speak. If someone comes to you with a problem, especially about weight or health, etc, you may not know the whole story. You may want to help them fix it and you may feel like that is offering support, but most of the time, people just need you to listen.
Remember to be kind to yourself and if you or someone close to you is in serious distress or simply needs to talk to someone, please call the national suicide hotline at 1-800-273-8255 or text 741741.