And yet, I am still obsessed with my weight. I'm going to guess that if I were to add up all the minutes when I thought about my weight on a daily basis, it would average about 45 minutes. This is a total guess but I think a lot days it may be more than 45 minutes. For a while I thought about keeping a record and making a notation every time I thought about my weight, but in addition to it being really depressing, if I decided to do this I would skew the results because I'd be conscious about how often I obsess on my weight and would think even more about my weight.
I know in my head that it's only a number on a scale and that I have a very distorted image of myself. But most of the time, knowing that in my head has no effect on how I see myself, how I've always seen myself. Since I was eight years old, I've been chunky, overweight, fat, whatever you want to call it. I kind of remember it starting around 3rd grade. There was a really extended period that year where my mom had a hard time getting up and dealing with the world, so my dad fixed my lunches. Dad would pack me the most fantastic of lunches: bags and bags of Cheetos, Ding Dongs, candy bars, those crackers with the red spatula and a well of cheez. You name it, if it was junky and delicious it was in my lunch box and there was usually enough for 2 or 3 kids. And I loved it.
Of course, these dangerously wondrous meals were not the only factor of my increased weight and the fact that it stayed like that for 2/3 of my life. I was never an athletically inclined kid which is a roundabout way of saying that I was crap at sports and humiliated by/terrified of gym class. To say that I was a geek is a bit of an understatement. I was that kid, you know, the one who takes extra math and science classes on the weekends and in the summer. Once upon a time, I was actually pretty smart until the omniscience of the Internet and the presence of calculators on my cell phone meant that I spent less and less time thinking about problems and finding ways to solve them.
So I was that kid. The nerdy one, who was in honors classes, band (and yes even summer band camp), drama, etc. It was great. I wouldn't have changed it for the world. I accept and even embrace my dorkdom. Except there was always something that diminished my love of life and self-confidence: my weight. I had this idea that when I was thin, everything would be better. This idea has stuck with me pretty much to this day. Once I hit puberty, I became convinced that as soon as I became THIN all of the guys that I had crushes on would regret how they ignored me and ask me to go out with them. I saw the word THIN in these big, hazy, glowing letters, as if they were bathed in a heavenly light. Something highly desirable and seemingly unattainable.
The thing is, I actually did have more guys interested in me once I started to drop some lbs. Its not like they were lining up around the block, but I had a period where guys who hadn't noticed me before, did. This was even before I had turned to dating websites. These guys from "the real world" were pursuing me. Me. Can you believe it? I couldn't. Now I don't know if it was solely due to the weight loss, or if because I was feeling better about myself, I went out more so I met more guys, or if my increased self-confidence drew them in and made them LIKE like me, not just like me. Maybe it was a bit of all of those things.
But even when I got to my slimmest, I believed I needed to lose more. I still think that now. When I enter a room, I look to see if I'm the biggest person there. It's automatic; I've tried to stop it and while I don't obsess about it all day long, the idea of my weight in comparison to others--that idea persists.
I have accepted that I just like food too much to ever be thin. I mean, food is great. There are so many wonderful dishes out there to try, I don't know how skinny minnies can resist. And I really enjoy cooking, particularly baking. I feel calmer when I'm in the kitchen. Ideas come to me a little more freely. I don't want to give that up even if I were to become a size 6. Plus, my food can make other people happy, which is a really great feeling. A while ago, I made pots de creme for a friend and she was so enthused that she said she would leave her husband, move in with me immediately, and become my minion if I agreed to make the dessert every day. I have always wanted minions. But I digress.
You may be wondering, what is my point? Why am I blathering on and on about my now-not-so-secret obsession with my weight? There is an idea, or rather the nugget of an idea, that popped into my head. If I admitted this obsession--this fear that people thought I was fat and that who I am is related to how much I weigh-- if I admitted this, I could move the hell on.
Am I afraid that my friends and family, at least the ones who read this blog, will think I'm crazier than they already thought? Maybe a little. But sitting here now, just a few minutes after getting all of this out there, I feel freer. I feel as if a weight has been lifted off my shoulders even if it hasn't been lifted off my thighs. My new goal is for every time my brain goes back to that place and I think negatively about the junk in my trunk, I will stop and think of one thing about myself that I like.
I'll try not to take this too far in the other direction to the point where the main thing that's fat is my head as I become so convinced of my awesomeness that I am unbearable to be around. Honestly, I think almost everyone out there could do with a little more self-confidence, a little less focusing on our flaws. At least once a day, look in the mirror and like what you see. Not what you would look like if you worked out a little bit more, or looked more like you did when you were younger; like what you see here and now. Maybe doing this will make it a little bit easier to go out in the world and see the beauty in someone else, in everyone else.
