I am coming up on my five year blog anniversary (August 16, if you're keeping track--my not-illustrious first post is here). I started the blog right after we moved to Texas. And one of the things I've been blogging about pretty regularly since the inception is my weight, and my discomfort with it. Now that I'm in a place where I am seriously working on my weight (down 5 lbs in my first two weeks of Weight Watchers), I thought it might be interesting to look back on my history of weight blogging.
The first mention I find of my own weight here is on December 8, 2003. In this post, I freak out after learning that I weigh 187 lbs:
I need to face facts. I'm overweight. First it was "no worries until I'm over 160," then "no worries until I'm over a size 12," then "no worries until my clothes don't fit." Well, all those things have happened. I'm well over 160, I'm a size 14 on a good day, and my clothes don't fit. I've gained well over 30 lbs. since high school, and probably 20 since I graduated from college. Worse yet, I've gained another 10 at least since I've been in Texas.
It's got to stop.
On February 24, 2004, I noted that I was losing weight (at that point I weighed about 175 lbs, which is my current goal weight), and it bothered me in ways I wouldn't have expected:
Even though the weight loss is intentional and I'm working really hard on it and I was in some ways happy someone noticed, it was a very strange feeling to have someone acknowledge that my body is getting smaller. Even thought I intellectually know that even if I weigh a bit less, I'm getting stronger ever day, I still very weird purposefully making myself smaller. I spent so long as a skinny, skinny kid, I still have it in my head somewhere that I should be gaining weight, not losing it.
On April 4, 2004, I talked about how very sick I was of dieting, still having lost only 10-15 lbs, and feeling stuck. In that post, still at around 175 lbs, I was questioning whether or not I should even be trying to lose any more.
On July 2, 2004, I had a rare very good body image day, and wrote the following in one of my favorite posts ever, "Thick":
I am SO beautiful. I have thick, strong legs and a big ole butt. I have wide shoulders and a strong, straight back. Even my increasingly-heavy breasts look strong and capable. I have big-ass feet, but they carry me and give me foundation. I have big-ass hands, but that just means they can hold a lot and I have a firm handshake. Even my hair looks strong.
Then I didn't talk about weight for a bit. On March 1, 2005, I was back at it, with another of my favorite ever posts, entitled "Fat":
I come from a long line of "full-figured" women. As they themselves would say it, fat women. Not fat just because they love to eat (although they do, and they eat with a voracity and lust for life that I admire and aspire to), but fat because they were meant to be that way. Fat because thousands of years of Dutch peasant stock built them sturdy; fat because they have worked for generations in fields and on concrete diner floors; fat because there is nothing waifish about their personalities; fat because when you grow up poor, you never, ever leave food on your plate. Mostly, though, they are fat because their mothers were fat, their grandmothers were fat, their aunts and cousins were fat, and fat is their way of life.
On March 31, 2005, I really let loose in a post entitled "Catharsis." I wrote:
I hate my body. I hate these breasts. Where the fuck did I get these breasts? They don't look like my breasts. My breasts are small. I hate the flaps of fat swinging under my arms like a fucking whattle. I hate my belly rolls. I hate the cellulite on the outsides of my thighs and the stretch marks on the insides of them. I hate hate hate my ass. I hate not being able to fit into any cute clothes, or even any of the clothes I wore last summer. I hate being "plus sized." I hate shopping at Lane Bryant. It doesn't make me feel like a "Real Woman (TM)," it makes me feel like a fucking manitee. I hate people saying, "you're just tall." 30 pounds ago I was just tall.
In April 2005, I asked what was worse, dieting or budgeting. I hated both.
On May 9, 2005, I had another come-to-Jesus moment, noting that my weight had ballooned to 203 lbs.
I'm paralyzed with it. I have no fucking idea how I am going to fight it. Taking off ten pounds is one thing, but I need to take off thirty to be at a reasonable weight, and I can't imagine that I am going to be able to take them off anywhere near as quickly as I put them on. If at all. This may just the beginning.
And then I stopped talking about it altogether, for quite some time. The next weight-related post is September 7, 2006, when I blogged about my 1500 calorie a day diet. Which I clearly didn't stick to, because on January 24, 2007, I posted about not being able to find pants that fit.
On October 3, 2007, I mediated on my body over the years, with photos. I tried to be positive. Looking back, though, of course I prefer the photo set's first picture, showing a 14 year old me who wears a size 8, to the last picture, showing 27 year old me wearing a size 38 jeans. On the day I made the post, I weighed somewhere between 210-215.
Two weeks ago, I weight 224 lbs. Yesterday, 219. Once again, I'm on that path. The difference is that it's going to be harder this time, because I'm fatter. And it's also going to be easier, because I can see this history clearly now, or at least more clearly, and I know that any change I make is positive, and if I get back down to that 175, or even the 187 that so bothered me in that first post, I will feel and look better.
But it's a battle.