On 11/15/2008, I weighed 169 pounds at 5'3". And while that's still considered overweight, I thought I looked fantastic. Puberty gave me all the curves, wider hips, and a larger bust. I added all the extra weight myself over the years.
On 11/15/2008, I went on a first date with a man who I thought was the bee's knees. He was everything I wanted in a guy, and guess what! We started dating right from the get-go. About a year and a half into our relationship, I got a job working in an office where my boss fed us ungodsly amounts of pizza, burgers, and fried foods. It wasn't easy to say no. I went on a downward spiral of overeating and ended up at approximately 213 pounds by November 2011. I had been to the doctors several months in a row for unrelated things, and each time they weighed me, the nurse aggressively crossed off my weight on the chart and handwrote in the new one. The straw that broke the camel's back was when the scale read 215 and not only did she scribble in the new, higher weight, but she audibly sighed as she shook her head. I was embarrassed. Her reaction to my weight gain was enough to make me finally do something about it.
The next morning, the scale read 212 or 213 (I honestly don't remember), and that's when I decided no more being lazy, no more binge-eating, no more indulging left and right. Instead of wheeling my ass around the office on my chair, I actually got up to go to the fax; I took walks on my lunch; I brought food from home, even though I was in my infancy of cooking nutritious meals successfully and often relied on a lot of frozen meals. But I still allowed myself to go out and eat or have junk food, just all in moderation. I needed to make a change in my eating habits that I could sustain. I didn't want to go on a diet, I wanted to change my diet, in a way that worked long term. I calorie counted, I portion controlled, I gained some will power.
Fast forward throughout the years: my weight went all over the place. It stagnated in the 180s for the longest time. We moved. I gained a lot of the weight back. I worked toward losing it and got down into the 170s. Stagnated. We moved again. I gained a lot of the weight back. Stuck in the 180s. It fluctuated for years. My jobs have always been so stressful and trying to incorporate any kind of meaningful exercise was difficult. My best friend through all of the journey was CICO. No matter what was going on, I could count (quite literally) on it to work every day, even when I was too tired to go for a walk after work or go hiking on the weekend. My dedication to CICO has wavered in recent years, but it taught me valuable lessons, including being mindful of the calories I'm eating and what a serving size looks like.
I cut out soda probably four and a half years ago, but have a nice cane sugar ginger beer from time to time when alcohol is present. I don't consume artificial sweeteners (not that they're bad, but they're a slippery slope for me). Two years ago, we cut out red meat from our diet for cholesterol reasons, but occasionally indulge in a burger. We started eating waaaaay more vegetables and fruit over the years, and actively eat three to four vegetarian or vegan meals a week. We still enjoy our junk food like ice cream and potato chips, and we definitely still go out to eat, though usually only once a week since we live in the boonies.
Most recently, this year, I've been stuck in the mid 170s. My goal weight of 169 was so close I could taste it. But stress at work, my anxiety, COVID, politics, the world... all these things felt like I was doomed, because I am an emotional eater and everything around me was imploding. Then, just in the last month or two, my weight was going down. Consistently in the low 170s. I knew I could do it. I was so close. I wanted to weight 169 pounds by my twelve year anniversary with my fellow. This morning, I got on the scale, feeling bloated and blah, and whaddya know? 169.4! I almost started crying. It has been a long time coming and a lot of hard work, with a lot of missteps and a lot of proud, and not so proud, moments.
My flair says I've lost forty pounds, when realistically, I've probably lost more like a hundred over the years thanks to my chaotic life I chose not to take control of.
Now here's the tricky part: for the last four to five years, I've been working in a physically demanding job that included standing for ten hours a day and carrying thirty to forty pounds at a time throughout a shift. I credit a lot of my weight loss to the job plus CICO and just generally eating healthier. Yesterday was my last day at work. After the years of retail hell and being abused so severely by customers in these current times, I finally had a mental breakdown in July and gave my notice that my very last day would be November 12th, but I couldn't guarantee my social anxiety and general malaise would let me get that far. Well, I'm proud to say I made it, and that the morning after, I also hit my weight goal. Last night was depressing for me - even though it's retail and kind of awful at times, I cultivated a family with my co-workers, and it was at least in a field that matters greatly to me and has taught me so much and made me passionate about something new. It was my last shift with my best friend and saying goodbye to her was tough. I cried the whole way home. All I wanted to do was emotional eat a bag of air fried mozzarella sticks. It was tough not to. But I told myself that if I ate sensibly last night, I could have a celebratory pig-out feast today, and that's exactly what I'm going to do. Then back to everything in moderation as I now navigate the next step of my life... unemployment by choice while I write and publish smutty romance books and take classes to become an editor.
My only regret: I wish I had taken photos of myself at my largest to compare to what I look like today. I was so disgusted with how I looked that I deleted everything I could get my hands on to hide the evidence. I don't need photos to show the progress, because it's super obvious, but it'd still be nice to have. It may have taken me twelve years to destroy my health and recoup it (blood work late last year showed I was healthy as can be besides my weight), but I did it on my terms, without depriving myself of the things I love. If my stubborn, indulgent, rewarding-with-food ass can do it, you can too. Don't let setbacks deter you. Don't let a bad day, a bad week, or a bad month stop you from working toward achieving your goals. Tomorrow is a new day. It can be done.
Now I'mma go destroy a plate of chicken katsu and a huge side salad of shredded cabbage to celebrate being free from retail and working toward a new career. Happy Friday, everyone. Thanks for reading.
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