Fat, Skinny; I am Just Fine

I am in my 40’s now. And for the first time in my life, I don’t really care that I have gained a few pounds. I am up approximately 15 pounds, and it doesn’t bother me. Because for once, I am content with myself!

I have struggled with weight and self-esteem issues since childhood. I was a “fat kid”. Then in fifth grade, I had chronic tonsillitis, and I lost a lot of weight.

You see, I had received so much negative attention regarding my weight prior to getting sick. It took the form of bullying by peers, well-meaning advice from adults, as well as condescending comments. I hated eating in front of people. I had low self-esteem. It really took a toll on me while growing up. I internalized everything.

But when I lost weight, I received so much praise, or liposuction jokes, it was equally embarrassing to me. I was just a kid. I wasn’t exactly responsible for my weight gain nor loss. I’d always had a little extra baby fat. I didn’t make my own meals. And getting so sick that I could barely swallow food, also wasn’t something I’d opted for. Life just was the way it was- I had very little control.

Therefore, I have always been sensitive about my weight, which clearly stems from my childhood. Since then, I have been able to maintain a healthy weight. I became more cognizant of diet and exercise measures being necessary. I was very careful and conscientious about food and exercise.

Growing up, I could never really accept myself the way I was. I always wanted to lose 5–10 pounds. I always wanted some part of my body to be “better”. Looking back at old photos, I should have been happy with the way I looked; I was thin and healthy- just right. But I would never have believed that back then.

I would always feel ‘not good enough’. I needed to be thinner, tanner, or more toned. In my late teen years, I turned to diet pills, cigarettes, laxatives, teas, etc. to “make sure”.

It was like I had this one job and that was to make sure that I was thin, so that I had a right to exist.

In my twenties, I would have many bouts of depression and anxiety, which caused me to lose my appetite. I lost more weight and became downright skinny. Some people would make fun of my waif-like frame. That kind of mockery never bothered me nearly as much as it did when I was chubby.

Both as a chubby child and a scrawny twenty-something-year-old, I was clinically depressed. But I had not looked at it that way. I thought my problems were on the outside, the size and shape of my body. If I was thinner, I’d be worthy, and then I’d be happy.

I had not considered the relationship between my mental and my physical. They go hand in hand. One affects the other. When we look good, we feel good. When we feel good, we look good. But with my background experiences, I just felt ‘bad’ more often than not. And to me, that was more of a physical problem.

My self-worth depended on what I saw in the mirror, no matter if my perception was accurate or not. I felt if I was pretty and skinny, I would be happy, and life would be roses. It turned out I was wrong.

In my twenties, I was that pretty and skinny girl by society’s standards. And I still had no self-esteem. I let people walk all over me. I had gotten into an abusive relationship. I was a nervous wreck, trying to tip-toe through life without getting hurt, without causing a fuss, trying to stay under the radar. I wanted to blend into the background most of the time. I wanted to disappear. Because I felt I couldn’t be loveable. I had felt unacceptable by most of society since I was a small child. Those wounds don’t just go away.

I found the practice of yoga, and that would slowly be the catalyst for my change in self-perception. I didn’t get into yoga for exercise. I did it to ease my depression and anxiety. And it worked miracles. Sometimes, I would practice 3 times a day. Because I felt I would self-destruct if I didn’t.

I wasn’t out of the woods yet though. I continued to go back and forth with my abusive relationship and became pregnant. That relationship only got worse. I was physically and mentally battered regularly.

I had my baby. But because I hadn’t cut off my ex yet, I was an emotional mess in the throes of single motherhood and malignant narcissistic abuse. Eventually, I had a nervous breakdown and ended up in therapy. I went no-contact with my ex after that.

Before going no-contact, I struggled to eat, to sleep, to quit smoking, to maintain friendships; everything. Which goes to show that the mental affects the physical and vice-versa.

I began taking much better care of myself, once my ex evaporated from my life. I went back to school, quit smoking, and got back into yoga. Things went well for a while. But as I said earlier, those deep wounds don’t just go away. In fact, my terrible relationship with my ex began to illuminate the deeper issues that were already present throughout my life and within my family. And my yoga practice was gradually teaching me to become more self-aware.

All of these forces were coming together to show me what I needed to see so that I could help myself up from the hole into which I’d sank. Eliminating toxic people from my life was a huge step, to have the peace of mind for deeper introspection. Without being distracted by or enmeshed in the painful web of narcissists, I was able to see what part of me was left. What could I fix, within my capability, to live well? How could I heal these scars?

I self-studied by journaling, meditating, and spending time alone in nature. I began to recognize that my monthly menstrual cycle was creating misery for me. I went to the doctor and asked to be put on seasonal birth-control pills. That didn’t go well at first, due to side effects, but I kept on the course, and I am glad I did.

Shortly after that, the pandemic hit. Suddenly, all the businesses and schools shut down and masks were mandated. I became terribly anxious and agoraphobic. I had panic attacks over leaving the house for groceries. I was alone, a single mom, and a nervous wreck. Once again, unsure of who I could trust or if we were safe. I went back to the doctor, who then prescribed prozac.

Between these factors of new medications and a more stagnant homebound lifestyle, I began to put on some weight. I have gained approximately 15 pounds in the last year and a half.

Because I started my medications a month apart, I can’t say which one is the culprit for my weight gain. I can say, I don’t really care. Because I feel much better!

I am finally content with myself. I feel an inner calm; an acceptance, an okayness with myself, at last- even being a 41-year-old single mom, with a few extra pounds on her!

I actually feel healthy! I feel whole. I’m fine. I’m calm. I’m happy. I sleep well. I eat mostly organic plant-based food. I practice and teach yoga several times per week. I stay away from drama. Overall, I really feel good!

I have begun to realize that I am not my body or what people see when they look at me. I am not anyone else’s perception. I am far more than that. I don’t need to starve, strive, or cry over how my body looks. I can be happy with myself.

If advancing to middle-age, or taking medications that help me, are to blame for my newfound extra padding, I am okay with that. Life is too short to be miserable, anxious, or sad. We can’t take any of the material stuff with us anyway. So, we may as well enjoy the experience of just being alive!

We are children only once- I was a sad, shy, fat kid. We are teenagers and young adults only once- I was anxious, depressed, and trying to escape myself.

When I became a parent, a part of me grew spiritually. I recognized the need for healing and holistic self-care. At 40, I am proud of who I am. Not because I am pretty or thin or life is perfect.

On the contrary. I am an average middle-aged woman in decently good health. Being pretty and thin is no longer the focus of my self-worth. I am so much more than my physical exterior- whether it be pretty and thin or old and withering! That was never who I am. Similarly, I am not my depression, my anxiety, or any other ailment. These things might affect my experience, but they are not me.

I no longer let others tell me who I am, be it positive or negative. I have to stay true to myself. Other people’s opinions are none of my business. I no longer let them affect me so much that they determine how I feel about myself. No one should have control over how I see and feel about myself.

I am happy and at peace with who I am as a whole. I don’t disregard or hate any single piece of myself anymore. This freedom and self-love that I have now was a war won. The more toxic BS I leave behind, the more I find my own flow and become the person I always was, buried underneath all the sadness and madness I’ve endured.

In conclusion, I am more content than ever with my imperfect self and my imperfect life; for it is not over. I am uncovering and healing pieces of me from the wreckage of the past. While simultaneously building a new me. Happy, hopeful, and alive; no matter what size.

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