There’s been a lot of talk about how people who are overweight are tired of being picked on. They want to be left alone. I get that. I used to be obese. I wasn’t thrilled that I couldn’t easily find clothing that fit me. My first clue that I was larger than average was when I realized I couldn’t buy underwear at Target. I didn’t think I was that big at size 22. I thought I was fine.
I remember where I was in my head four years ago before I started to take care of myself. I remember thinking “How dare they tell me I’m fat” when I’d have to go to the “large” section of the store to buy clothes. And then I remember when I went to the hospital with a racing heart, feeling sick. I remember always feeling out of sorts when I was out of shape. I remember just not feeling like I liked my body very much because it didn’t fit me very well. It never did what I needed it to do.
I started moving. I found exercises I liked to do. I started eating better. I started loving myself enough to take care of myself.
I’m glad that society didn’t tell me that everything was fine for being so overweight. I’m glad, because if I’d kept going that way I’d be immobilized. My knees were giving out. My heart was weakening. I didn’t feel comfortable with the idea of even walking up and down my street. Crime wasn’t keeping me from leaving my house; fear of my body giving out on me was. Being fat was crippling me. Eating instead of facing my problems was crippling me too.