Living Less Large

I used to be a lot bigger.
 
At my heaviest, I was carrying about sixty pounds more than I do now. (It might even have been more, but since I was at the point where stepping on the scale only added to my chronic depression, I stopped weighing myself.)
 
There are some things I should explain here: one, in the span of my life so far, the number of years I’ve been at a healthy weight far outnumber the years I was heavy, by about three to one. And two, those ten heavy years have done more psychological damage to my psyche than the positive effects of all those thin periods combined.
 
How can that be, you ask? Let me explain. There are some things that get ingrained in you when you’re a larger woman that just don’t go away once the weight is gone.
 
For example:

• You don’t stop shopping for bigger-sized clothes. I haven’t been larger than a twelve in over a decade, and probably wear a six or eight now. However, I don’t know for sure, because I still automatically pull tens, twelves, and fourteens off the rack when I shop. “Those are too big,” whomever I’m shopping with will say. “They’re comfortable,” I’ll say. But really, what I’m thinking is What if the weight comes back? I want to still be able to wear this if I pack on a few pounds over the winter.
• You’re still constantly counting calories. I don’t mean that I still order a plain salad, no dressing, every time I go out to lunch. I’ll indulge. But I can tell you exactly how many calories per mouthful every bite of the steak gorgonzola at Olive Garden comes to, and will adjust what I eat for the rest of the weekend to compensate for that. It’s a terrible habit, and exhausting. But I can’t seem to shut it off. Which sucks, because I also can’t fully enjoy a meal.
• Sometimes you feel guilty about being thin. I was already at my Weight Watchers goal weight when I got sick recently. So now I’m about ten pounds under goal. Awesome, right? Except what I have is literally the crappiest possible way to lose weight. I’ve been wearing baggy clothes—not just because I bought them too big to begin with, but also because I’m trying to hide the skinniness. I don’t identify with being a healthy weight. Inside, I’m still a larger woman, marveling at my current scale numbers, knowing I didn’t earn the loss—it’s a side effect—and wondering when it will all end. Because ultimately, what it comes down to is this:
• You no longer trust your body. It’s not like you did that much to get big to begin with. You only had one doughnut a day, not like that skinny girl Lisa who always ate three and even licked the frosting off her fingers afterward. But your body packed on the doughnut pounds like it was hoarding for winter, and Lisa never gained an ounce. Your body betrayed you. There’s a reason why the weight-loss industry is as successful as it is: because most people can’t figure how it works, and every single individual loses differently. The idea that losing weight is as “simple” (ha!) as eating less and exercising more is a myth. Yes, that should work. But there are so many other factors at play—metabolism rates, thyroids, stress levels, "starvation" mode, some cortisol crap, stages of ketosis, the cycle of the moon in relation to Mercury—that sometimes, eating less and exercising more does nothing. Let me tell you what happens when you eat leaves of iceberg lettuce and dry turkey at every meal for a week, walk every day, and don’t lose weight: you get mad. Mad at yourself. Mad that you missed out on real food. Mad at God. Because eating rabbit food and exercising is supposed to work. You no longer trust your body, because it gained so much on you to begin with, and didn’t lose weight when it was supposed to. So you buy the size twelves when you should be wearing a six. Because your own anatomy has failed you before.

 
I don’t want to sound like an ingrate. I am glad I’m much thinner than I was over ten years ago. When I was at the gastroenterologist last month, she asked me if I’d lost weight due to my illness. I answered that I had, and she said “Good.” Good? She quickly elaborated. “If you’d been going through all this and hadn’t lost weight, you’d be pretty mad.”
 
Excellent point, Dr. C. I’m not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. But it’s sooo hard to trust that it will stay this way.

Before and after. Amazing, right?