I was born hating how I looked. I don’t know why. Maybe it was because it was the 80’s, and everyone was crazy anyways. I had freckles, and was chubby, and when I was 4 I cut my head open so I had a scar right on the back of my head so my hair kind of puffed up over it…oh, how I hated that cowlick! I would spend HOURS with gel trying to get it to stay down. My dad weighed at least 300 pounds from the time I was born, (he is now in the 600s) and his family had a cute way of saying to me “Don’t let people call you fat. You are pleasantly plump, just like your dad”. Who in the HELL would say that to a kid? I mean, seriously? My mom, on the other hand, was on every single diet you could think of. She brought her own salad dressing with her everywhere, and if you look at the span of family pictures, it is hard to pick her out because she never looks the same…thin, not-thin, brunette, blonde, just trying to find the right look to make her feel “pretty”.
When I was six, I was eating a bag of doritos when my grandma (who I loved so much, and just didn’t have tact) said, “Don’t eat those, do you want to be fat like your dad?” That was enough for me. I made a connection: no Doritos, no fat. So, did that mean no food, no fat? That is when the weird cycle of binging, purging, and starving started for me. By the time I was 10, I was 120 pounds. It was horrific. I remember walking in a restaurant and seeing a really fat, ugly chick. She was hiding behind her hair and Sally Jesse Raphael glasses. I thought to myself, at least I am prettier than her. I realized it was a mirror. It was a terrible moment in my life. Weight Watchers, Jenny Craig, Atkins…I did okay, but when the weight would start to come off, insecurity would set in. In college, I finally hit my goal weight, but had a realization one day when my leader said “Now that you are at your goal weight, maintenaince is going to be a life-long struggle”. I was shocked. Who was I if I wasn’t a life-long Weight Watcher? I then made a conscious decison to become anorexic. This might sound stupid, but that is exactly what it was. Basically, if I wasn’t the girl who was too fat, I was going to be the girl who was too skinny. That way, I still didn’t have other things to worry about.
My life is much different now. I did the whole eating disorder clinic thing, and my body rebelled. I am now at my highest weight ever, and when I walk down that aisle in a few weeks, I won’t be a size 4. But recently, I have realized something that is making a difference in how I am thinking. All of my friends talk the same “fat talk”. But yet, they are all gorgeous. Seriously. Some are bigger than others, but that doesn’t make them any less stunning. The same measuring stick that I hate for measuring me all of my life is the same one that I need to break over my knee and throw away. When D. sees me for the first time in the dress, I know he will think I look good because I will be smiling with a face full of love (and, lets face it, tears) and most likely, thighs full of french bread. But that isn’t going to stop him from loving me. So I want and I need to relax a little, because the constant need to stare at my old size 4 jeans in the closet is getting a little weird. The excercise I get from running up the stairs to confirm that they still don’t fit, however, is probably still okay.