As a 12 year old kid, I tipped the scales at 238 pounds. I don’t think I’ll ever forget that number. It was after I saw that number on the scale that I told myself I’d never see it again. As a preteen in middle school, I hated myself. Kids were ruthless. I proudly wore my soccer jersey to school once, and was told that I was probably the goalie since the ball couldn’t even fit past me. It crushed me. I fell apart. I excused myself to the bathroom about five minutes later and I cried. I cried and I cried and I cried. I cried until there was nothing left in me. I went to the nurses office and told them I was sick. The assistant got my stuff from class and my mom picked me up and took me home.
I decided at that moment that I couldn’t stay as big as I was and still live. I won’t go into details, but I will suffice it to say that I didn’t value my life at all, and was suicidal. It wasn’t pretty.
I tore through a bunch of diet pills in the medicine cabinet: laxatives, fat burners, appetite suppressants. I honestly went through probably a dozen bottles in about a weeks’ time. I’m honestly surprised I’m still functioning at least somewhat normally.
It wasn’t until I was a freshman in high school that I realized that the only thing I hadn’t tried was the right way; the healthy way. So I got a food journal, and I logged every morsel that went into my mouth. I exercised for sometimes a total of four hours a day. In a little over a years’ time, I lost over 60 pounds. For the first time in my life, I felt worth something. People were coming up to me at school and at the gym, asking me to give them tips or just my story of how I did it. I had purpose.
Once I felt confident enough, I walked into the weight room and the rest is history. I loved lifting. It became the most important thing to me. I would get my 30-60 minutes of cardio in, and then another hour or two was spent lifting. I felt so strong, and so beautiful.
Well, I hit a plateau. For two or so years I hadn’t lost anything. It made me so mad. No matter how hard I worked, it couldn’t get below 180. I think the lowest I got was 175.2, but it never lasted long. Now that I look back, I realize it’s because I paid too much attention to calories and not enough attention to ingredients, but that’s a rant for a later time.
All of my life I wanted a guy to care about me. I’m going to be completely honest with you here. Looking back, I realize that that was the only reason I lost weight. I wanted attention. It wasn’t about how I felt, but it was about the response I got from the opposite sex. Well, losing weight brought me that attention. The first real relationship I fell into was not a healthy one. I’ll suffice it to say that it was both mentally and physically abusive and leave it at that.
I thank God every day that it didn’t last very long. I think maybe four or five months, six at the most. I couldn’t even tell you why I stuck around that long, but oh well. You live and you learn.
After that I kind of bounced around relationships. I was never happy; I never felt fully connected with anyone, which I’m realizing now is because I hated myself. Yea, I lost weight and I got a lot of attention, but I still wasn’t happy with who I was. Fast forward to New Years’ Eve of 2011. This is the day that I met my husband, and the day that I fell in love. Now, I know that sounds super cheesy, but work with me here.
For the first time in my life, I felt an intimate type of love, and I’m not talking about sex. My husband cared about me for me. Yea, being attractive is what got his attention, but it’s not what kept him around. He didn’t care if I hit my goal of 145 pounds, or if I was 400 pounds; he loved me for who I was. I didn’t know how to handle it; the gym wasn’t the only thing that was there for me. So instead of finding a healthy balance between my new man and the gym, I fell into a downward spiral. My husband (boyfriend at the time) wanted me to be happy. He knew what I had gone through, and he wanted to make it right. So he did what he thought was right; he made me happy. If I even mentioned that pizza sounded remotely delicious, he would show up at my door with pizza within the hour. He constantly took me out for dates at my favorite restaurants. He’d surprise me at work with whatever sweet treat he knew I liked.
So, I ate. I stopped spending time working out, and I ate. Fast forward 3 years and a baby later, here I am. After many unsuccessful attempts at losing weight, I’ve gained a hundred pounds. I’m not happy where I am, and that’s why I started this blog. I know how to lose weight. I know what it takes to eat right and work out. I did all that legwork already. Now it’s just applying it to my life now. I wanted a place that I could go and share my knowledge, and hope that someone out there who is struggling just like I am finds it. I want this to document, not just my journey, but the information I learn along the way.
As you can see, I’m far from perfect. I have a long way to go. But I know that I will get there; I know that we will get there, and we can do it together.
Stay in touch.