My relationship with food and weight has always been toxic. I'm trying to correct that now and find what true health is. (24, F, SW: 200.8, CW: 197, GW: 135) Here's my story:
When I was a teenager, I always felt as if I was chubby and unattractive. I believe this started when I was about 12. I went to a General Practitioner with my mother for a check up. That doctor told me I was on the route to being an obese adult because I was slightly overweight. That stuck with me through my preteen years. I became so paranoid of being fat. This only became worse when my family moved to a very small West Texas town. All of the girls seemed to be super athletic, fit, and trim. When I joined their athletic program, I lost about 15 lbs at the age of 13. I felt better, but I was still "bigger" than the other girls. At that age, I couldn't help but compare myself. After that, I really stayed between the 125-135 lbs range until I graduated high school.
My toxic relationship really became worse around the age of 16. I started doing a summer activity were we spend most of our time with minimal clothing. Most days, the girls wore shorts and a sports bra. My body was on total display, and I was already self conscious to begin with. The good thing is the activity made everyone super fit. (DCI if anyone here is in that community; I marched 5 seasons) But during the off season, I was constantly worrying about how my body would look during the summer in shorts and a sports bra. I started using MyFitnessPal, but in an unhealthy way. I was eating less than 1,200 a day because I wanted to be as skinny as possible. Because exercise calories were shown on this app, I started over working out. I would run a mile, walk a mile, then run another mile. I would then spend an hour in the high school's weight room. On top of that, I started purging. The only thing I would let myself keep down was a protein shake after I worked out. I would appear to be eating normally, but I would go purge right after the meal was done.
Things seemed to get slightly better when I left for college after my 4th summer of this summer activity. I still worked out, but I stopped purging. I was in a happy relationship (didn't work out, but he's still one of my favorite people) and I had a good group of friends. I went from 125 to 140 in my freshmen year. Some would say that's the freshmen 15, I say that's my bulimia coming to an end. I stayed between 140-150 lbs for a little while. In my 6th summer, I got severely injured. I basically broke both my feet at the same time. I could barely walk for about two months. That led to more weight gain. I stopped working out as it hurt and I was scared of injuring myself again. I started binge eating as my mental health started to slip a bit. I gained 35 lbs in two years. I graduated college at around 175 lbs. I wasn't healthy, I didn't like the way I looked, I tried over and over to lose weight and failed. I just kept gaining.
I then started my first real world teaching job. I work on average 65 hours a week during our busy seasons, and 50 in the off seasons. The stress/binge eating got worse. I was eating out all of the time because I was tired and overwhelmed; the last thing I want to do was cook. I found my soulmate, and he loved me for who I am. My weight was the last thing on his mind. That just made me more comfortable, and I kept eating. I basically gave up on my health. I didn't feel good, I never liked what I saw in the mirror, and I was most of all uncomfortable. A year and a half after I started the job and met my now fiance, I was 200 lbs. I never thought I would get that big. I was defeated. But I still didn't change my habits.
Then in April, my father suddenly passed away from a heart attack at 57 years old. He was one of my best friends, and I was devastated. I couldn't function normally for about a month. The worst of it was when I didn't brush my hair for four days, and I did nothing but sit at my computer and play a mindless game. I ignored my job (we were working from home), and everything seemed to sit still. I snapped out of that come the end of May. I realized that I was on the path to have a heart attack and lead my family to the same devastation my father's death had on us. I had to change.
I'm three weeks in to CICO, trying to be more active without causing my foot osteoarthritis to flair up (aftermath of my foot injury), and I'm about to start IF. I feel better, I notice less bloating. I have a long road ahead of me as losing 65 lbs is not easy. I'm scared I'm going to fail, but I'm also excited to keep it up and see the end result. I'm trying to rebuild my relationship with food. I know I should start therapy, but money is an issue. I have a good friend who started a weight loss journey at the same exact time as me, and we're checking in with each other; it helps a lot.
I just wanted to share my story and spend time self reflecting as I wrote this. I hope everyone achieves their health goals.
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