Mirror Mirror

 This morning, I was in the shower when my daughter came into the bathroom to ask a question.  When she left and the door closed, I looked up to see ME.  I don’t remember seeing my whole body in the mirror in a long time.  We have not had a full-length mirror in the house for years.  Add that to the missing scale (so that I didn’t encourage body image issues in my children) and you have a real case of, I didn’t know it had gotten to that point.  Now, let me reiterate that I do not think negatively of myself.  I  know that I am beautiful, curvy, intelligent and hilarious.  At some earlier point in my life, I would not have been brave enough to share my true perception of myself and my fitness journey.  Hey, we are all here to learn from and help each other through life, so I disclose.  

I have been told that my body is not for me to enjoy, but for those who look at me.  Therefore, if the one or ones who look at me find me attractive, then I am AY OKAY.  Let’s break that down because there are so very many things off about that statement.  My body is for me.  My body is for me to know, to nurture, to correct and to love.  In the same way that I would not tolerate another person telling me that they like me skinny if I was underweight and unhealthy, I do not want others convincing me that because of my curves, I am where I need to be when I know that I am not.  

It is so strange to be at a place where I am excited for this journey, well, I’ve been on the journey forever, but I mean this part of the journey.  I want to figure out what works for me.  How much do I need to eat in order to be satisfied?  What helps me drink more water?  What kind of exercise do I really enjoy?  Today, I was dancing to Beyonce’ “Who Runs the World” and I was loving it.  So I gave myself permission to let dance be my daily activity.  I want to get to a point where I am active 10-15 for minutes three times per day.  That means I can dance while I get dressed, dance between counseling sessions and then dance with my kids or the whole family in the evening.  For now, I want to make sure I can sustain this goal.  I’ll try… no, I will dance for 10 minutes once a day for a week.  Let’s see how much fun I can have!  

Mirror mirror on the wall, I see you girl!

Original Sin

 So, you know the story of Adam and Eve in the garden, right? Well, in my mind, Lucifer was a hot baker kneading yeast rolls over in the corner of the garden near the stone oven.  Eve smelled the yeast as soon as the packet was opened.  She followed her nose, ignored the baker and inquired about the bread.  While the rolls were rising, resting and rising again Lu and Eve chatted about the ins and outs, the rules and regulations of the garden.  When the golden bread of the gods was brought out of the fire, Eve devoured half the pan.  And women were doomed to pain and pap smears ever after… or something like that.

As Oprah says in the Weight Watchers commercial, “I love bread!”  It might be from years of deprivation, shame or sneaking, but I just can’t stop myself from eating fresh bread, old bread, fresh cookies, stale cookies, cookie dough (yeah, I know, raw eggs…).  I would never have admitted that I have a sugar addiction, but I think I might!  

I called myself keeping snacks in the house so that the kids have fun things to eat after school and learn to eat sugar in moderation.   While they are in school, after looking at the serving size, (3) I am taking one, two, three, four fudge striped or vanilla wafer cookies.  I feel like, because I am starting this journey to break up with half myself, I want to have all the things “I will never be able to have again whaaaaaaa.”  I know that sugar and gluten do not agree with my body.  These things contribute to a complex and chronic condition known as ‘morbid obesity.’  Each weekend, I say, “Starting Monday, I will remove sugar and carbs from my diet.”  Nope, it don’t happen.  

When I think about it, I have the best outcome when I plan my meals for the day in the morning.  When I know what to have for each meal and for snacks, I am able to resist the tempting dry cookies in my pantry.  Why do I find comfort in these things?  Can I find comfort in lettuce or turkey?  This is going to be a complete overhaul of my mental approach to food and eating.  Dang it!  Imma need some help.

Morbidly Obese

Who?  What?!  What does that mean?  Let’s break it down. 

The easily accessible online dictionary gives this definition:

Morbid - characterized by or appealing to an abnormal and unhealthy interest in disturbing and unpleasant subjects, especially death and disease.

Obese - grossly fat or overweight. 

Well, damn.

My definition states that "Morbidly = could lead to death." 

According to Cleveland Clinic, Morbidly Obese means “Class III obesity, formerly known as morbid obesity, is a complex chronic condition in which a person has a body mass index of 40 or higher.” At what point did it become complex? or chronic?  To me, that means there is no easy way to reverse this condition.

Ok, so if my BMI is 55, then I’m in like, class 4 or 5 obesity?  How do I get back to class 1 or 2?  And when and how did I advance from these lower classes?  I had learned to ignore BMI after learning that it was calculated based on white bodies and cultural norms by a group of weight loss stakeholders and one physician.  I didn’t think it mattered, until it did.  Last year, my husband and I decided it was time to get our affairs in order for the sake of our children and for each other.  We decided to get life insurance.  I was denied life insurance policies five times purely because of my BMI.  I wanted to donate a kidney to my husband who is in kidney failure.  I was denied for no other reason except that my BMI was too high.  Well, hell, I guess BMI  matters.

    I remember thinking I was extremely overweight when I weighed 200 pounds.  After a lengthy toxic dating relationship where we bonded over food, 10 years later, that weight shot up to 300.  When someone gives an example of a really really big person, they use numbers like 300 or 400 pounds.  That used to seem huge, at least in my mind it was.  I remember when I got on the scale and was 320 pounds.  I was pregnant and I assumed most of the weight was baby weight.  Alas, no one has given birth to a 150 pound baby, but I digress.  It seemed like nothing I tried would lose the weight. WW, Slim fast, water pills, apple cider vinegar, phentermine, protein shakes, keto, hcg, Noom, jogging, walking, swimming, more meat, less meat, less sugar, fewer carbs, meditation, therapy, trainers and gym memberships.  I would lose inches, but the scale did not budge. 

    For ten years, my body has been happiest around 320 pounds.  I can run, dance, play with my kids, make love with my husband, and do all the things healthy adults enjoy doing.  But still, 320 pounds.  I remember when I stood on the scale, which I seldom did, and usually when invited/coerced to do so by a physician or  nurse, and the scale read 337.  The devil is a lie!  I swore that I would never ever reach 340.     I returned to my tried and true exercise, keto and getting rest and water.  I moved to a warmer climate and walked daily.  My body was happy to settle back around 320 pounds.  At this point, and I still didn’t realize the weight of the hundreds of pounds I was carrying.  I “didn’t look that heavy!”   I looked good and sexy, and confident and I could, with a tight pulling in of my tummy, look straight down and see my lady parts (that’s how I measured if my weight was still under control.)

I still did not know my BMI because it didn’t matter and I don’t voluntarily do math.  I certainly did not realize I was considered Morbidly Obese.  Just writing the words turns my stomach with shame and guilt.  Why is that, I wonder.

Breaking up with Half of Me: We are SOOOOOO OVER!

 Have you ever broken up with anyone? You know how it goes. You think about it for a long time, plan how to have “the talk,” remember the good times, and use the bad times as proof of why you need to get out. You might decide to try to work it out, then remember how toxic you are to one another. I am finally breaking up with myself, more like Half of myself. I’ve thought about it for a long time, I’ve remembered good and bad times, I see toxic patterns and I know that it is time to let go. This blog is my open conversation with myself, and you, about my journey through life and my attempt to break up with half of myself.

For generations upon generations, the women in my family have been know for our curves, especially the hips, thighs and backsides. I could take time to give historical reasons why we hold our weight, and a lot of it, in the lower halves of our bodies. Those reasons might include the scrap (intestines, feet, tongues, etc.) foods that were passed down from masters to slaves at the beginning of our country. The reasons might include the generational trauma that our bodies remember as the impacts of generations of rape, abuse and mistreatment run in our veins. But, this is not the blog for that history, yet. This is a place for me to share with you my journey through the ups and downs of weight and self-esteem.

The first time that I remember being aware of the the fact that I was fat was in the fifth grade.  I wrote an essay about feeling fat and ugly because I was so different from my peers.  I was the only black girl and one of two black kids in the class and one of two, including my sister, in the whole school.  My body was softer, my hair was harder to manage, my thighs were thunderous. I recall talking to my favorite teacher about how I felt.  I don’t remember what he said, but I remember being assured that I was beautiful and that God loved me. 

In high school, my curves busted out.  When I look back at pictures, I think Man oh Man, if I had that body now!  Back then, I thought I was fat an ugly and different.  I played every sport, basketball, volleyball, track.  And I was good at two out of three of them (never could get into track except for the shot put…the sport for the big girls).  

In college, I was one of 10 black people on campus. I don’t point out these facts for any reason than to give you and idea of the identity management I perfected at an early age. I did not have other women around who looked like me. I did not have representation in movies, products or television shows. I could only compare myself to my white friends, and we were different. Well, I was different. At this point in my life, I can say that I was different, but back then, I thought there was something wrong with me. No matter how much I worked out, ate less, drank more water, fewer carbs, more protein… I could not lose weight. By looking at those around me, it was not okay to be the weight that I was.

It would take over twenty years before I learned that I was beautiful, and healthy, and morbidly obese. Two out of three ain’t bad, until it is.  Gotta break up with that last b.