I have fought with my weight my whole life. I am one of those women who moan about the way I look, who claim they have nothing to wear and how everything makes me look six months pregnant.
When I was in school I was too thin for my body. I hit 5″ 10 around fourteen and I didn’t fill out until about five years later. I was taller than everyone and my arms were too long for my body. I was gangly. I had braces and was covered in spots. I never had the right shoes or rucksack and I walked around proudly in my Gryffindor scarf. I was bullied for three years about the way I looked, the things I wore, the things I said, the things I did.
Then at nineteen my first long term relationship ended and I realised that in two years I’d gone up three dress sizes and began waddling instead of walking.
It all came off pretty quickly, as it does when you’re young. But I was never happy. My boobs were too big for strappy tops, my belly too round for fitted clothes and my shoulders were too broad for… anything. I was a comfortable size 12 for a good six years and I liked that. I liked being able to go into any clothes shop and not have to worry about whether it would fit or not.
But I still wasn’t happy.
Then I met someone else and my second long term relationship began. He was built like a rugby player and ate like one. And I did too. I didn’t stop to think that perhaps this person who was naturally twice the size of me could eat this much, and I could not. I stopped working in hospitality and sat behind desks filled with snacks.
Offices are good places to work, especially when you have good people around you. The one I’m in now is fun because of the people I work there. But they are a nightmare for someone who gains ten pounds just by looking at a cake. It’s always someones birthday or someones leaving do or a bake off day or a Tuesday.
The weight piled on. Whilst you’re in a relationship, it’s easy to forget it and put it to the back of your mind because you have someone who loves you and still wants to have sex with you. And most of the time, they’re putting on weight too. (Not in my first relationship, you bastard).
I’ve tried diets. I’ve tried shakes, I’ve tried 5:2, I’ve tried no carbs, I’ve tried no dairy. They don’t work. Not for me.
Recently I joined Slimming World with a very good friend of mine and thought that I might have finally found something that worked. But as time has progressed I’ve failed at it.
Losing weight is hard. It takes a huge commitment and it means you have to make a change to your lifestyle.
The trouble is I like eating out and I like ordering take away and I like sitting on my bed eating chocolate in my pjs whilst I watch episodes of Castle and think about Nathan Fillion in ways that aren’t PG.
And then I started to think about my weight and how much it really meant to me. I struggle a lot in my day to day. I mean, I have good days and days that aren’t so great. But the reasons for those days are nothing to do with not being able to fit in my size 12 skinny jeans anymore.
It’s a whole bunch of other things, that will be saved for another post. But they are the things I need to work on.
I’ve been thin. I’ve been curvy and I’ve been a little bit chubs. And through each of those stages, I’ve still had the troubles in my mind that are there now.
So am I using my weight as an excuse? As a scape goat? I can unload all my problems into that one category. When people ask what’s wrong I can say “I’m so fat. I’m so ugly.” instead of having to delve into the real issues.
I don’t think it matters how much I weigh, or what size clothes I wear, or that I hate clothes shopping because I don’t know what size I am because no bloody shop is the same.
I know that happiness, my happiness, will be found in my head, not my wardrobe.