Perspective

This past weekend I continued sorting through boxes of old clothes, trying to find some goal outfits that would fit me 20 pounds from now, 40 pounds from now, and so on.  I came across this:

This is a tennis skirt I wore as a senior in high school.  It has a 26" waist.  Seeing this skirt, tangible evidence that I really was that size once in my life, brought me to tears for that 17-year old girl that thought she was fat.  I had no idea how bad things would get.

I first remember becoming aware of my weight in the 5th grade.  I wasn't skinny like the other girls but I was probably a normal weight for my age.  When I was 12 years old I weighed 128 pounds at 5'2".  That's when I went on my first diet - I wanted to lose 10 pounds.  Although I knew I wasn't fat, I was becoming chubby and felt inadequate.

I also had my mom's full blessing to do this, believe it or not.  For most of her life she was very thin - before she became pregnant with me at 40 years old, she weighed 108 pounds.  Weight problems, heart disease and diabetes run on both sides of my family, my mom struggled with her weight after my birth, and she was concerned that I was beginning to develop a weight problem.  In retrospect, if she hadn't made such a big deal out of my size I probably would have outgrown it and been fine.  Unfortunately she did make a big deal out of it, year after painful year, and although my weight remained pretty stable until I went to college, as soon as I was out from under my mom's control I rebelled and gained weight.  A lot.  Every year.  I used to dread coming home because I knew I'd get a comment, or a look, or even worse - an offer to reward me with money, clothes or something else if I'd just lose 50 pounds.  When she was really desperate she'd remind me that I would never find a boyfriend if I didn't lose weight. One time she even took food out of my hands...IN PUBLIC...saying 'you don't need to eat that'.  You can imagine the amount of resentment and anger that built up inside me, not to mention the underlying feelings of 'you don't love me because I'm fat'.  Tough stuff to cope with, that's for sure.  And my coping mechanism was food, so of course I gained more weight.

I don't blame my mom for my weight problem - I take responsibility for every bite that goes into my mouth, and every hour I've spent in front of the TV instead of going for a walk.  I understand that all her criticism came from her own low self-esteem, and that she truly thought she was doing the right thing by trying to get me to lose weight.  She wanted to me to be healthy, happy and to live a long prosperous life.  She just didn't have the tools to effectively deal with my emerging weight issues, because she didn't have the tools to deal with her own issues.  She loved me very much and tried her best.  I get that.

But it has taken me many, many years to understand my mom's actions.  I think part of the reason this particular weight loss effort seems so different than every other time I've tried is that I've finally forgiven myself and my mom for everything that happened in the past, and I'm looking to what lies ahead instead of regretting the past.  I can recognize when I'm eating to dull emotional pain or cope with stress - even when the pain and stress might not be obvious.  I can also recognize when I'm eating out of rebellion - someone will make an offhand comment that will sound so much like my mom's criticisms that I feel a sudden urge to eat something in response.  40 years of patterns are hard to change, but recognizing that you are human, that you make mistakes and that you can reprogram your destiny is the first step in the journey.  I feel like I'm finally at that point.

So I cried for that girl, because she had such low self esteem, because she didn't love herself enough to take care of herself, because she had no idea how hard it would be to take off the weight in 25 years.  And I cried for myself, for all the pain I've put myself through, for all the time I've wasted looking for happiness in all the wrong places, for all my regrets.  Then I dried my eyes, put the skirt into my 'goals' pile, and forgave myself for all my mistakes. 

It's likely that I'll never fit into that skirt again (although I will keep trying).  But I'm going to hold onto it as a reminder of the girl I used to be, and the woman I am now, and how much both of us have been through.  It's been a long, painful journey but we made it, and now it's our time to shine.