Ah, size 8. My hand lingers for a moment when I reach the size 8 section of my closet. I start to move away, but not before I hear, “Hey, Sweetheart, remember me?” sneers my size 8 jeans. “Yea, it’s been a while since you’ve taken me out. Not that you ever appreciated me, though, always pining away for your old size 6s. Well, where’s that size 6 now, huh? Bet I’m looking pretty good compared to your new size. Not that you’re likely to be seeing me again any time to soon, heh, heh.”
I move quickly away from the size 8s. Past the giggling 10s, 12s and 14s to my new friend, the only one that understands me now, my size 16s. I take my size 16 jeans out of the closet and pull them on, okay, tug them on. “You now, hon, that 8 is right, don’t you?” my size 16s startle me. “I know you and I have gotten awfully comfortable with each other over these past two years but it’s time for you to be headed back now.”
I sigh. I guess I can’t ignore it any longer. My doctors have told me. My kids have told me. My camera has told. My mirror tells me every day…but now my clothes. It is time for me to start taking my weight and my health more seriously.
I’ve known it for a while but can’t seem to get myself motivated. I have a million reasons for the weight gain …stress, fatigue, stress, menopause, stress, approaching 50, stress. You get the picture. A doctor told me that my cortisol levels are very high and will make losing weight difficult. Somehow, I think this gave me permission to not try to lose weight. My mind conveniently forgot that I was also told that I am sitting on diabetes’ doorstep, my cholesterol is about to set new records, and nearly every health issue I have could be improved by a better diet, exercise and weight loss. Hear I am knowing that if I don’t change, I will die, well, younger that an otherwise healthy adult woman ought to.
I’m not ready to die. I mean, sure, I could use the rest but I don’t want to miss my kids growing up. I need to know how this story turns out. So, what is one to do?
Well, I have decided to use my greatest motivator to help me: FEAR. Not fear of death (I would have already lost the weight if that worked, silly!), but the two fears that motivate me more than anything. Fear of disappointing someone and fear of humiliating myself. So, here goes.
Hi, everyone. I’m Marie and I’m fat. I want to return to a size 8 – before I turn 50. I am too embarrassed to let you see me now, so I’ll show you my pants.
Where I am and where I want to be. I won’t bore you with the details on how I will do this, but I will check in from time to time to let you know how I’m doing. My goals are to be in a size 14 by Nic’s birthday in March, a size 12 by Aaron’s birthday in May, a size 10 by the new school year in September, and a size 8 by my 50th birthday in January 2014. I’m counting on you to chide me if I am falling short…sadly, it will motivate me. But we can worry about my emotional health later. Right now, I just want to show my size 8s what I can do.