I've thought about this a great deal as of late, this being "fat" thing. And let me just preface this by saying that no, I don't think I'm less valuable as a person because I'm overweight (or "obese" by half of one BMI point, as my Wii Balance Board tells me not-so-apologetically each morning); I don't hate me because I'm overweight, none of that. This is just about being the actual state of "fat". Bear with me.
As it says in my profile, I used to be skinny. Not that I ever was smart enough to have enjoyed being skinny; I constantly plagued myself with the idea that I was "fat", with my 28-inch waist and my 127 pounds on the scale. Meanwhile I was a SMOKING size 6-8, with a rack that could stop traffic, and a tight little butt that was attached to legs of which I should have been pretty darn proud. If Current Me could go back in time and share some facts with New Hotness Me, oh the things I would share with her. (First and foremost I would tell her and my friend Back-Then E to stop the joking about how "if I ever weigh 185 pounds I hope someone harpoons my huge whale ass". SO funny back then, as E can attest to...not so funny when it actually happened and there was no harpoon in sight.)
I am not skinny, frankly, anymore. Again, don't hate myself, don't loathe who I am, just don't enjoy being this overweight. Can I still fit on bus seats? Sure. Can I sit in a theatre seat without the armrests digging into my hips? No sweat. But that doesn't mean I'm at a healthy weight or that I feel comfortable with the body I currently have to show to the world.
And here's why. (This will sound like vanity, and frankly I don't really give a rat's ass.)
People who knew me back then know that I was thin and (mostly) pretty fit. People I meet now just see a pudgy girl.
I think I would rather face people who've known me since "the good old days", who may very well behind my back say "Damn, Cathy porked up, didn't she?", but who at least recognize that I wasn't always this way.
I want to wear a sign on my forehead...maybe even wear a sandwich board...whatever, something that does well to make sure that everyone knows I wasn't always the portly middle-aged mom they see before them.
I used to be 100% stretch mark-free. I used to wear string bikinis - and stop traffic at the lake. I used to have cleavage that was no joke, a body that loved fitted clothes and gave a nice silouhette in moonlight. There are folks out there who know that (some better than others - thank god my husband is one of them!) and who, when they think of me, possibly see the not-so-chubbo version of me.
I'm not even sure why I worry about the new folks in my life (who've never known me when my jean size only had one number in it), because nearly all of the friends I've gained since my "expansion" are some of the truest, most genuine, non-judgemental people on the planet. I do not have any delusions that any of them think less of me than they would if I was a size 8. So I know it's all in my head. It's intirely about me, and not at all about anyone else. My issue, my care, my concern. Check-aroonie-in-a-bananica.
But that doesn't make me like feeling like "The Fat Girl" any better.
I know I'll find a way to get there again. I haven't figured out a way, as of yet, to consistently do what I need to do, to combat my age, my damaged metabolism, and my love of all foods nasty. But I will. Don't you worry about that.