Out of Context: A 24 Day Journey: 24 inches Closer

You have to keep reading to see all the before and after pictures. 

I share my struggles with my weight and body image in the hopes that it helps someone somewhere. It isn't always easy to be so transparent and to put personal things about myself in print, but I am a teacher by trade and our nature is to help people.

This was during my Wanna-be Barbie phase that I discuss in
How Blondes Made Me Fat

            When I physically looked my best, I was extremely unhealthy. My size was not earned through proper nutrition, exercise, and dedication. I loved junk and I hated exercise and in reality, I did not like myself.

            As I matured, I thought that I had overcome being so self-destructive. I didn’t. I just change my modus operandi (method of operation). I was still consuming processed junk and was still leading a very sedentary life. Although I thought that I was doing less harm to myself, I was becoming more and more unhealthy. With a Body Mass Index (BMI) of 38.4, I was at risk for an array of things that I was already genetically predisposed to having, specifically diabetes and heart disease.

            From 2001 to 2014, I tried a plethora of diets and fads. The specific ones are not important because the issue was me and my relationship with my food and my health. Most of the things that I tried had made me feel sluggish or jittery. I found ways to cheat around the restrictions or guidelines of other ones.

            The only “diet” that had worked in all those years was the dreaded “Divorce Diet.” I lost 47 lbs. In 2009 while going through my divorce and I can assure you that the weight loss from that was not healthy at all. Anyone who has been through a divorce knows the illness that comes with that much of a life change. I was deteriorating physically, as well as mentally.

            Fast forward to six months post-divorce and I was right back to my BMI of 38.4.

            I had fallen in love with someone who truly loved who I was and thought that I was beautiful no matter what size I was, what I wore, or how my make-up looked. He loved my heart. Yet, I looked at myself and was disgusted. I was uncomfortable and ashamed.

The picture that hurt me. 

            My middle sister got married in September of 2013. It was this picture that made me decide that something was going to have to change. I had honestly believed that I looked cute that day; the pictures showed otherwise. My features were getting lost to the roundness of my face!!!!

            In January of this year, a hot, new gym was opening down the road. When I went to cancel an existing membership, the rep said, “Oh! I see it has been 453 days since you last came to the gym and it doesn’t look like you came but a couple of times during your three years as a member. How is this new gym going to change your desire to get fit?” I hated that I couldn’t hide the red that was rising from my neck to my cheeks and tears rolled down my face as I cancelled the membership. He actively tried to apologize and explain that it was a mentality and not a station. I wasn’t hearing it! Obviously, it was the place, right?

            I started the hot, new gym with full gusto. Yet, I wasn’t focusing on myself. I was focusing on the thin girl who looked adorable in her workout clothes and the woman that was much larger than me, but was actually running on the treadmill. I tucked my tail and cancelled my membership because I chose to compare myself to others, not knowing their journey, instead of giving myself the gift of health.

Excuses I found at the gym included a jealousy and a feeling of inferiority of women shaped like this. 

            In February, I was told that my blood pressure was getting dangerously high and that I needed to make drastic changes or I was going to have to start taking medicine. My blood sugar was also higher than it should be for the first time in my life. Knowing that my grandmother died of heart disease at the age of 64, I got scared. I looked at my 7 year old son and thought, “What am I teaching him?”

            I went back to the old gym. The same guy was there and he was so eager to talk to me and explain himself once again. I simply nodded, but I knew that this time was going to be different because that doctor’s warning and those numbers were what I saw now in place of the thin young lady in spandex and the bigger person running.

            I began consuming less junk and giving way to the gym. I couldn’t do much at first and sometimes I would cry in the parking lot because I felt like such a failure. On days that I couldn’t emotionally face the gym, I went for walks in the park with my son instead. I just knew that I had to keep moving.

What I didn’t know was that all of the diet cokes and the processed foods that I thought were acceptable were still causing me troubles. I had managed to lose just about weight and throw off my BMI down to 33.8, but it wasn’t enough to begin lifting the blood pressure and blood sugar problems. Plus, my weight had plateaued. I was stuck and I needed to do something different.

            At the same time that I was getting annoyed with all my friends for posting about weight-loss on social media, I was researching every item they were discussing. I had to find an answer. A good friend of mine had found a product that she said was changing her life. “Isn’t that what they always say?” is what I thought.

            Two days later, a science instructor at my school spoke to me about the same matter. She even said the same thing, but she had a slightly more scientific perspective on it. I looked at her and said, “There is no way that I can live with coffee and cokes for over a 24 hour period.” She simply articulated, “Yes, you can.”

            I researched the information on my own and decided to try this one last thing before talking to my doctor about weight-loss surgery, which I did qualify for at the time. I thought that it would be better to invest in myself a little bit before taking out a loan for surgery.

            IT WAS THE BEST DECISION THAT I EVER MADE FOR MYSELF!!!!

24 Day Challenge Kit

            I started Advocare on May 1, 2014. My two friends were not lying or seeking personal gain when they shared that Advocare had changed their lives. In four days, I began to feel better. It is difficult to explain, but I physically felt a calmness in body, nevertheless I had energy. I had no jitters and no periods of being sluggish. That was definitely a first.

            The difference was that I wasn’t simply on some diet plan. I was on the path to a lifestyle change. I was discovering how to feed my body the nutrients that it needed and breaking away from the processed and carbonated junk that had ruined my self-confidence and body for so long. I liked how I felt and that was plenty for me. I couldn’t possibly imagine the changes that were waiting for me 20 days down the road.

This was my little guy's first belt testing a few years ago. He still loves it and he motivates me. 

            About a week after starting Advocare, my 7 year old said, “Mommy, when are we going to stop eating healthy? I want to start having McDonald’s all the time again.” I had not put my son on a diet, then don’t imagine that. However, because I was cooking for myself, I started to incorporate “clean eating” at the family table. My heart immediately dropped. I had done a great disservice to my child. My son is slim because he is very active (like all boys are at all times) and he takes Taekwondo. Yet, I had allowed him to indulge on fast food and processed to the point that it was all he wanted. My lesson on Day 7 was that it was my job to model proper nutrition and exercise for my son. I was further motivated.

            Let’s take a time out to talk numbers because that is what everyone really wants to know.

	Day 1	Day 10	Difference	Day 24	Total Difference
Weight	216 pounds	208 pounds	-8 pounds	202 pounds	-14 pounds
Neck	15 inches	14.5 inches	-.5	14 inches	-1 inches
Chest	48 inches	45.5 inches	-2.5	44 inches	-4 inches
Bra Size	42DDD	N/A	N/A	38DD	N/A
Waist	42 inches	37 inches	-2	35 inches	-7 inches
Hips	49 inches	47 inches	-2	45 inches	-2 inches
R Thigh	28.5 inches	27 inches	-1.5	24.5 inches	-4 inches
L Thigh	28 inches	27 inches	-1	24 inches	-4 inches
R Arm	15 inches	14 inches	-1	13 inches	-1 inches
L Arm	15.5 inches	14 inches	-1.5	13.75 inches	-1.25 inches
Total Lost					-24.25 Inches

                I have gone from a 20W to something smaller than a 16W (I wear dresses all the time now because I don’t want to buy new dress pants until I absolutely have to for the next school year). I am still a plus-size woman and I still have a couple of rolls from my 4^th Trimester body (Okay, my unhealthy eating body). I did notice little things on the latter part of my 24 Day Challenge: my coworkers (and students) were commenting on my noticeable change in shape and energy, sitting in the swing at the playground was more comfortable, and I could wrap a regular size towel around my whole body for the first time in 15 years.

Advocare was not about achieving a miracle and becoming the Barbie that I used to crave being; it was about changing my life and becoming healthy. I will continue this journey for the rest of my life, but the difference is that I now have support and guidance from fellow Advocare Advocates and the knowledge to fuel my body with what it needs. Most importantly, I have the ability to teach my son a way to love himself through nurturing his heart, mind, and body. 

Until next time, LIVE LOUDLY!!!! 

P.S. I still have the awesome Dr. Who shirt, but I have to wear a tank top under it now because it hangs on me so differently now. 

Out of Context: The Importance of Grandmothers

What children need most are the essentials that grandparents provide in abundance. They give unconditional love, kindness, patience, humor, comfort, lessons in life. And, most importantly, cookies. ~Rudy Giuliani

Grandmothers traditionally hold a very special place in the heart of a child, even after the child grows into adulthood.

My grandmothers were builders of my foundation and I was lucky enough to be close to them in my life.

MAMAW

Grandma Hammond

My maternal grandmother was Dorothy “Dot” Hammond. I knew her as Mamaw. My early childhood was spent being spoiled to perfection by her. In her home, her grandchildren could do no wrong, which gave the grandkids a safe haven from the consequences of our bratty and often outlandish behavior (for example, I set some magazines on fire and from my recollection, my grandma saved my rear from being switched beyond recognition).

My Mamaw (when using my formal register, I called her Grandma Hammond) spoiled the grandkids every chance she got, which was normally while our mothers were at work during the summer. She could not play with us in the traditional sense of playing due to various illnesses, but there was climbing on her lazy boy chair to watch Wheel of Fortune, wrestling (including The Gorgeous Ladies of Wrestling), and Days of Our Lives. I learned to spell, talk pre-fight smack, and be a drama queen all on the arm of that chair.

She took us to Vacation Bible School and was very proud of her “babies.” I do, however, wonder how she felt the day that I decided to sing “Super Freak” by Rick James when the minister asked us to “sing the praises of the Lord.” I was four, so it did not occur to me that the Lord or the Southern Baptist congregation may not have an appreciation for the line, “She’s a very kinky girl…” My mother was swift to administer the dreaded “church pinch” and evil eye, so I was never able to give the church a full performance.

Whenever we had to go to the Sunflower grocery store with Mamaw, she would always buy us a Whatchamacallit. I know that I am deeply Southern, but that isn’t just a phrase. It was the most delicious piece of chocolate covered goodness that ever existed. The best part was that it didn’t matter what our mothers had dictated to her about our diet for that day. We were going to get what we wanted because we were the grand-babies. It was that simple.

She was funny, too. She would do silly things like stick out her dentures and shake them at us. Yet, my favorite thing that she would do was an act after eating at the catfish place. My Mamaw loved to eat frog legs. Once we were home, she would call us into her room and tell us that she couldn’t sleep because the frog legs were making her jump. Then, she would jerk her body like something was trying to lunge out of her belly. I personally found this terrifying and was probably an adult before I determined that fried frog legs had no such power.

The greatest gift that I learned from my Mamaw was loyalty. She was a spit-fire, especially when holding a broom and hollering out, “Damn it all to hell!” However, she truly believed that you were to love Jesus and never turn on your family.

She passed on January 4, 1997. She was only 64 years old.

G-ma

G-ma

My paternal grandmother was a whole other breed of Southern grandma. I also spent a great deal of time with her during the weekends and summers because my father often had to work during his visitation. 

Yes, G-ma earned her moniker by acting much like this. 

Whereas my Mamaw was always having an asthma attack of sorts, my G-ma was always chain smoking.

G-ma was short for Gun-Ma due to her job as a bondsman and how her large gun looked against her 4’11” frame. It is said that she chased one of her bails down an alley when he was trying to skip out of town with her gun focused on his back. She was the grandmother that had wild stories from her past and some less-than-traditional ideas about the universe (Aliens and voodoo were real).

He is really holding a switch. 

She was the most independent, hard-headed, and hard-loving person that I had ever known. Of course she spoiled me to some degree when I was little, but she was also quick to come after me with a switch. She could yield a switch like a Samurai; she was stealth, swift, and left you begging for mercy. I had developed what I thought was a smart tactic; I began to scurry up the Magnolia tree to get away from these switchings. She would open the door, wave her twig of doom at me, and say, “You have to come down sometime.” After she tired of me hiding in the tree, she would hide her switch and come sweetly to the door offering ice cream. I fell for it every single time and as soon as I stepped over the threshold, the switching commenced. She did, however, give me my ice cream.

As an adult, my G-ma became my best friend. I called her almost every day. She was funny and never judged me; although she did gossip about me to the rest of the family because that is just what Southern women do. Whenever my life would fall apart (and that happened all too frequently in my twenties), I could go to my grandmother’s house and spend a couple of weeks getting perspective, love, sweet tea, and chocolate pie.

She ran her own business until she became ill.  Ann Cornelison Miller was diagnosed with stage 4 cancer (in her liver, but not liver cancer) and passed nine weeks later on January 2, 2011. Telling her goodbye before she passed (and was still lucid) was the hardest moment of my life. I cherish our last conversation greatly, but I still feel the loss of her presence daily.

She taught me the importance of being able to take care of yourself and how to love unconditionally.

My mother, step-father, and I moved six hours away when I was 9. This move brought us to our home, but took me away from regular visits with my grandmothers.

Shortly after we moved to Little Rock, my pregnant mother and I met a lovely woman who lived next door. She was a widow and had lost her only child in a plane crash. I was a rowdy tom-boy who was more than jealous about the impending life-change of a baby sister. My mother knew no-one and my dad was busy trying to start his business. She came over with some pie and that started a 26 year relationship.

Granberry

She quickly became my mother’s best friend. For over two decades, they shared wine and conversation every afternoon. My middle sister’s first outing was to her house. She became our surrogate grandmother.

She was educated, liberal, and witty beyond compare. She did spend a great deal of time with me during those years. She would walk with me in the woods behind our house, she would talk to me about Arkansas history, she let me go to her book-filled office and bang on her type-writer, and she would listen while providing subtle advice.

After about a year, she let me borrow her set of Anne of Green Gables. I read those books for so long that she eventually had to repossess them. She was an English teacher prior to retirement, so it is absolutely perfect that the woman that introduced me to my love of reading inadvertently led me down the same career path that she choose.

Choose not to focus on the '90's fashion, but rather the happy little girl in the chair at her Granberry's house. 

For my sisters, she was so much more. My sisters do not remember my maternal grandmother and their paternal grandmother, who also lived hours away, was not very involved in their upbringing. They did not have biologically what I had had.

Granberry gave them that openly and daily. There is never a time in their life that they don’t recall running to her house next door for games, conversation, ice cream, and "grandma" time.

She was very sweetly patting my angry baby sister's knee to help calm her. 

Evalena Berry passed away at the age of 93 on May 15, 2014.  

My heart ached. Still, no matter my own sadness, I hurt far more for my sisters. I knew the pain that they were feeling and what that loss meant for them.  Their grandmother was gone. That relationship will never be replicated in the same way and the lessons learned from their surrogate grandmother will stay for a life-time. I hurt for my mother, as well, because she lost the truest and dearest friend of her life.

On the day of her visitation, I signed the traditional book. This was probably the most painstaking moment for me personally. Granberry had a river house on the Little Red River. We spent many holidays there. She would always have a guest book by the door and it was required that you signed it. The significance of that was lost on me until the moment that I was signing one of her guest books for the last time.

I looked at my sisters and mother – all trying to stay composed in their own way. I had no exact comfort to offer and none of us like to be held when we are trying not to cry. I had no magic words to alleviate their pain from experiencing the grief at the loss of a grandmother. It is an individual experience and in most cases, it is not an easy one.

However, I know something that my sisters have yet to learn.

Honey

They will experience the love of a grandmother again when they see our mother with their own child. My mother and I are as different as silk and wool and we work each other’s nerves like no other. Still, she and my son have a special bond; it is a bond much like what I had with each of my grandmothers, yet unique in its own way. Their connection is strong. They share little secrets, tell jokes, and create fantasy worlds with dirt, wood, and paint. My son refers to her as, “My Honey” and is not above kicking me out of their house so that he can get properly spoiled by her, as all children should. 

This is what brings the circle to close for me and has given me peace. 

Honey and Roo 

Out of Context: My Favorite Newlyweds: Ace and Lovey

When you grow up in the Bible Belt you become well-versed in all things that could possibly be a sin. I found myself resentful towards all the fire and brimstone and judging. That attitude hurt my faith for a very long time.

My favorite Bible verse is 1 Corinthians 13:13, which states, “Three things will last forever--faith, hope, and love--and the greatest of these is love.” If you are a Christian, you will probably agree that Jesus was all about love, sharing, and accepting. Even if you are not a believer in a Christian faith, the principles of Jesus are admirable to say the least.

Love. I could give clichés on love and I could give insight, but I am no expert. Here is what I do know: Love is something that all humans experience in one form or another, if not many.

Love is found in a wet nose nozzle from your dog (or a walk across your computer with a loud purr from your cat) after a long day. Love is found the first time your child touches your face during a feeding. Love is found when you have broken your mother’s heart, only to learn that all the things that she ever did in your life were to make you the best person possible.  Love is found in moments of silence where you find a voice of acceptance and reasoning, whether it is through prayer to a god, meditation, or experiencing nature. Love is found in a classroom when that one teacher pushes you to do your best because that teacher sees what you are capable of doing in life (Thanks, Mrs. McKinnon). Love is found in a friend who has seen you at your worst and knows when to kick your proverbial tail into shape and when to just hold you, yet always supporting you. Love is found when you find someone who takes you as you are and wants to spend their life making memories and growing with you.

Love is everywhere. Maslow has acknowledge the need for love since 1943.

There are those that will argue that a marriage between a same-sex couples is a sin. Okay. If Jesus were walking around today, he would have accepted these men and women because that is what love is about: accepting others. The Christians that I choose to surround myself do not judge others, for we know that is not our place. As a Christian, I personally look at the content of one’s heart because that is what I believe God sees. Jesus accepted, loved, and at times, humbled himself to all kinds of people despite their beliefs, status, or gender.

John Cusack gets it and he is still cute. 

Whether you believe in that theology or not, everyone deserves to experience love in all forms possible. A genuinely deep and simmering love between strong couples should be celebrated.

Considering that the divorce rate in America is approximately 50% (which Biblically is a sin), I will never understand how some people believe that allowing more people to join in marriage could be a threat to the marriage between a man and a woman. To me, this is allowing more people to experience and be fulfilled through love.

A few days ago, Pulaski Circuit Judge Chris Piazza struck down the ban on same-sex marriages in Arkansas, declaring it unconstitutional. He reminded us of Loving v. Virginia (1967), a historical case that allowed for interracial marriages to be legal and recognized.  Judge Piazza ended his ruling with the following statement, “It has been over forty years since Mildred Loving was given the right to marry the person of her choice. The hatred and fears have long since vanished and she and her husband lived full lives together; so it will be for the same-sex couples. It is time to let that beacon of freedom shine brighter on all our brothers and sisters. We will be stronger for it.

IT IS SO ORDERED this 9th day of May 2014.”

Pope Francis stated in an interview with the “Jesuit Catholic Journal”, "A person once asked me, in a provocative manner, if I approved of homosexuality. I replied with another question: ‘Tell me: when God looks at a gay person, does he endorse the existence of this person with love, or reject and condemn this person?’ We must always consider the person.”

Although the Bishop of the Little Rock Diocese is fighting the lifting of the ban, I put more weight in the words of my Pope (I am a Catholic). A statement from Bishop Taylor can be found in this article by Max Brantley of The Arkansas Times: Catholic bishop says diocese will intervene to support ban on same-sex marriage.

I do not know a single same-sex couple that is expecting every church to open their doors for a religious ceremony (the Methodist and Episcopal are completely open to same-sex marriages in the church, just so you know).  The idea that a same-sex couple is going to ruin the sanctity of a Christian marriage makes me question the strength of the marriage of those who are hollering the most. No person or couple has the power to destroy my marriage (which is Christian based) because our union is ours and ours alone. We make a choice to dedicate ourselves to making our marriage work, despite that the traditional marriage structure is currently failing in our country.

Love. Every person in this country should be given equal rights and opportunities, regardless of your personal views on same-sex marriage. Freedom of religion is a wonderful thing. Freedom from being forced to live in a society that demands you follow a specific doctrine is one of the things that keeps this country great. Sadly, the love of our freedoms are lost on those that fight so hard to deny all people equal rights, much like the similarly minded people who protested the ruling of Loving v. Virginia and protested the segregation of schools in Little Rock in 1957.

Despite an apology decades later, Hazel Massey will forever be "that" person. Don't be like Hazel Massey. 

I write this blog tonight in honor of my “Ace Boon Coon.” 

My Ace Boon Coon (the best friend that just "gets it" and would do anything for you) indulges my love of selfies. 

She spent her day with hundreds of other couples at the Pulaski County Courthouse. Although she and her partner had a ceremony years ago and have lived as a married couple, today she was given the legal right to have her significant other recognized as her spouse. Today, one of my best friends, got to experience the same joy of making a legal and acknowledged commitment to the person that she loves most. She could do this freely with love and support.

Regardless of what you believe personally, I will always believe that of all the things, “the greatest is love.” My Ace and her Lovey are officially my favorite newlyweds and my heart soars for them both. My heart swells with pride that my friend, who has loved and accepted me always, is finally being treated with respect and was granted one of her greatest wishes. 

Congratulations Mrs. and Mrs. Ace Boon Coon - Lovey 

Out of Context: How Being Fat Made Me a Better Friend

Fat. People do not like that word. They don’t wish to be called fat and they don’t like to hear others refer to themselves as fat. That is my word of choice. I could state that I am morbidly obese, which based on doctor’s measurements, I am. That just sounds like the creeping death and essentially it is. I could say that I am fluffy which has a bit of Southern charm. Still, that isn't an accurate description. Fluffy implies that my obesity is comparable to a kitten.

It’s not.

The first time that clothes at The Limited no longer fit me, I cried. When my friend suggested that we walk across the mall to Lane Bryant, I argued, but went out of desperation for clothes that fit. She and the sales lady were very supportive and picked out several nice things for me to try on that day. I wept in the fitting room for an hour like a baby.

I had been in full denial of what depression and binge-eating had done to me physically.

I tried to accentuate my figure, but I looked more like a stuffed sausage than a statuesque bombshell. In hindsight, it was embarrassing. After that, I hid behind clothes that were very somber with little strain. That turned to letting myself go completely because what was the purpose? I felt like I was just trying to sell a rag doll as a porcelain rarity.

I noticed that people treated me differently as time went passed.

After crossing the threshold of a plus-size woman, any attempt to buy clothing for my younger and smaller framed sisters was immediately met with a saleswoman who would say, “Clothing for full-figured women are over there.” At first, I lashed out and let them have it like I was Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman and they had just lost some great commission. Realizing that places like Dillard’s didn't make commission, I eventually started to sulk away instead of stating my purpose.

I have hidden behind these smaller beauties for years in pictures. 

I eventually began to accept that I was a big girl. I dealt with it through self-deprecating jokes and comments about how I was a real woman. I was no more a real woman than any other woman, but it was how I masked the shame of walking in my skin.

Going out with my husband presented problems as well. On three occasions, as I was much larger than The Ex Husband and The New Husband, waitresses have made flirtatious passes towards whom I was with at dinner. I know that some waitresses are a bit flirty with the man because they assume they will get a bigger tip. This is not what I am talking about in regards to the three incidences. Nope. These were outright attempts to get dates. Once I flashed my wedding ring (okay, I made a scene and cussed the girl out the first time it happened), the waitress became very sheepish. One even said, “I didn't realize that you were together.” The prevailing attitude appeared to be that a thinner guy must be with a larger woman for fetish reasons or for pity; it did not seem to occur to some that I could be loved.

I had been called many names in my life. I had even been called fat. However, when you become a teacher of teenagers, everything about your outward appearance, expressions, and mannerism can easily be turned into an insult. It isn't because teenagers are awful people who want to hurt everyone on a deeply personal level; it is that they have raging hormones and a lack of control that turns their fits of anger full into pure vitriol. Fat, ugly, and dumb seem to be the favorite adjectives to add an unflattering name when a teenager is triggered.

Teachers, avoiding this facial expression and the use of a pointer finger while explaining instructions that were plainly listed will save you from triggering a teenage tantrum. 

Yet, adults have called me worse with the same adjective, most recently a neighbor who happens to be much larger than I am.  People like my neighbor are just hateful, but some of the best meant comments hit the proverbial gut even harder. People would randomly say things to me like, “You have such a pretty face. You should try to be a plus-size model.” Plus-size models are actually the size of the average American woman and I was way larger than that.

If these models are considered Plus Size, then I must be Super-Sized.

I also suffered years of unsolicited dieting advice. I have even had co-workers who would make commentary on what I was eating. During a meeting a couple of years ago, one of my co-workers said, “That salad would be healthy if you didn't have cheese in it.” Maybe so, but I was so embarrassed and hurt. Meanwhile, the hypocrisy was that several of my co-workers were using fad products or starving themselves while “helping” me.

At an art show once, I noticed that a lady kept staring at me. It was a very uncomfortable stare and I could feel that this person was full of rage. When she approached me, she said, “Do you remember me?” I did not and this turned her rage into full wrath. She said, “You were the cruelest person that I ever met and you made fun of my every day in junior high and you don’t even remember me?” She was very beautiful, articulate, and fit; she shredded every ounce of dignity that I had left.

Having lost the things that allowed me to be a wannabe Barbie, I had to reevaluate who I was and who I had been in life. I had not been kind to others. I could easily find someone’s weakness or insecurity and I would use it to tear them down to somehow make myself feel better. As I mentioned in How Blondes Made Me Fat, I had no love for myself. It is easy to see and hard to accept.

Yet, this is when I stopped suppressing the things about myself that were truly valuable and could not be built from plastic. I started to allow myself to stop acting like I was a bimbo. 

I actually began to engage in intellectual conversations and to explore my options in life. Deep down, I had wanted to be an educator since I was in 2^nd grade. 

I mean it when I say that teaching is my dream job. I love it!

I was also a closet geek lover. I was not necessarily a full-blown fan girl, but I loved Sci-Fi and Fantasy. I only got to experience that through the guys in my life when I was on Mission Barbie (Fun Loud Fact: Every serious relationship that I have ever had has required frequent trips to the comic book store). I was also very serious and tried my hardest to not be goofy. In reality, I am an extremely goofy and playful soul. It wasn't until I became fat, that I allowed myself to embrace these things about myself.

It is rumored that The Honey Island Swamp Monster is my real father.

It did not bode well with me when I realized that I was a D.U.F.F. (Designated Ugly Fat Friend) that was used to enhance the attractiveness of an already beautiful friend. I became a walking character foil. Because my self-hatred was so extreme, I reverted back to using my aggressive wit and loud mouth as an endeavor to maintain value with a group of toxic people. I was proud to be “The Enforcer.” I was not permitted to be vulnerable, frail, or nice outwardly because it wasn't what the other Barbie wannabes wanted from me as I approached 250 pounds.

After a string of events that demonstrated that I had allowed my feelings of worthlessness control my life, I had to walk away from it all. I left my first marriage, as well as the other Barbie wannabes.

When you drop the things that superficial people want to use you for, you become very solitary.

This lead me to selecting actions that I needed to take in my life; I allowed myself to be loved for the things that could not be picked up in a mirror. I grew closer to my family than I had been in years. I married a man that has loved me equally regardless of my size because the things that he loves about me cannot be weighed or measured. I learned how to start loving myself because I had a child who needed me to be whole in order to be the best mom that he could have.

I hide behind him in pictures, too. He loves me all the same. 

I also became more mindful of how I talked to others who did not look like society suggested they should. I made eye contact, I made conversation, I made sincere compliments, and I made real connections with real people. Becoming fat should have been the most difficult thing for me, but the most difficult thing was actually confronting the cruel and fake person that I used to be. Becoming fat did to me was give me perspective and an acceptance of those who are different than mainstream society. In fact, I embrace different now.

A true friend is always willing to make a fool of themselves with you. 

As I am working to develop healthy eating and exercising habits, I cling to my geeky, silly, and idiot-savant (I still have some airhead moments, but they are never intentional). I am on my path of losing an excess of 80 lbs. that came from a self-hatred, but gave me a love of life and people. Part of that love of life is the excitement of giving that little boy who used to love to cuddle with his “fluffy” mommy, a mommy who can run wild with him on great imaginary adventures. 

He requires an active mom. Photo courtesy of one my sisters. 

Most importantly, being fat forced me to stop being a bully because I learned what it felt like to be treated sub-par. I do not want to raise a child to make people feel that way, so it is my job to teach him by always striving to do better. 

My next weight-related entry will be – The Gym Verse: “I don’t think you’re ready for this jelly.”

Until next time, BE LOUDER THAN MOST!!!!