TW: Touches on eating disorders and holiday food guilt.
The above photo of my boyfriend and I was taken Christmas Eve and shows me true to size, at my absolute heaviest - fat rolls, fat arms, chubby fingers - full fat to the max.
I made the mistake of weighing myself at my mother’s house Christmas day after stuffing my face full of twice baked potatoes, beef brisket, green been casserole, fresh baguettes slathered in butter and pecan pie with eggnog ice cream for dessert (omfg so good you have no idea).
Before that point I hadn’t weighed myself in probably half a year.
I stepped on the scale and watched as it crawled up to 230.
I stepped off and promptly found myself stuck in my own head, hating myself again, for the remainder of the evening - Doing that thing I do where I immediately think “Okay I need to stop eating this, stop eating that, start going to the gym more regularly, maybe starve myself tomorrow and see what happens.”
Having these thoughts creep back into my skull after keeping them at bay for so long was the scariest thing.
I’ve steadily been gaining weight since graduating high school, going from 180 to 230 in 5 years. I have fought hard to remain sane, to stop the self hate, to embrace my fat - as this blog is a testament to - because I know it isn’t going to go anywhere no matter how much I think I dislike my body and feel I need to change it. I know this because I’ve tried. I know the dieting and self hate won’t help. I know this because I’ve gone through it over and over again.
Stepping on that scale didn’t change anything. I knew the number would be high and I knew it would bring me down, but I did it anyway.
There is no point to this post other than to say it out loud - As hard as I try, bad days are inescapable. They happen and we move past them. But I won’t let them fuck me over.