The human heart was—and remains—a mystery to me. But I’m learning. I have to. —Anthony Bourdain

Go big or go home

I come from a family of eaters. We plan our trips around food. My immediate family mostly look forward to Sunday lunch, because we know that after church, we have good food. My mom’s family and my dad’s family both have amazing cooks that love to feed people in massive amounts.

It’s no secret that I have felt the effects of a waning metabolism quite significantly. From being able to eat like a construction worker and not gaining an inch, to now having to buy clothes every few months because I can no longer fit into waistbands or armholes.

Difficult is a word that I use a lot of the time to describe this situation. I used to love buying swimsuits, and now I can’t find ones that actually fit. I used to be underweight, but now find myself usually the biggest one in a group of girls. Stress brings me to want food. Happiness makes me want food. Anger makes me want food. My basic waking life revolves around the next meal.

I miss being a sample size, and finding cheaper clothes by buying from the children’s section. I get daily digs from my mom about being larger than she is. I have friends who have told me that they weren’t sure it was me when they chance upon me in public because I had gained that much weight.But then I can’t give up pasta, or coke, or ice cream. Oatmeal actually makes me hungrier after two hours. Being hungry makes me irritable.

Food is both my comfort and my stress point. It has been a great comfort and also the cause of many internal and external issues. While getting older is not making it any easier physically, I find myself saying the words “I’ve made my peace with my size” much more often now, and 80% of the time, not being sarcastic about the statement. I am way more than what my dress size is, and the ability to earn to eat well is something I don’t take for granted. Sure, summer is coming around and it is time again to check if my bathing suits still fit, but I am finding that the small stuff, like what I look like in the mirror, compared to what I used to look like, hardly matters in the long run.  I have gone through a lot. My scars, stretch marks, incredibly expanding hips and thighs all bear witness to what I can endure. And there’s still more to get through, but I am ready to take it on.

My body is mine and we’ve got a long way to go baby, so tighten the straps, belt yourself in, because the adventure is just beginning.


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