I have had a nagging sense for over a year that writing honestly about my struggle with weight would be helpful to me, but I have hesitated because I don’t really want to admit publicly that I have this problem. Anyone following my blog Golden Years Revisited who does not know me personally would not be aware of this issue. But most of my readers are friends and family. I am pretty sure they have already figured it out, even though most of them are too kind and polite to mention it. Do I really think that I am protecting myself from public ridicule? Or am I indulging in a child’s game of covering my eyes and believing that if I can’t see you, then you can’t see me either. Doesn’t work.
So here goes: I am overweight, obese, fat, and a compulsive eater. While this has always affected my self esteem, at the age of 71, I have to admit that it also impacts my joints, blood pressure and heart in ways that become more serious by the day.
Where do I start? I guess I can just jump in anywhere with memories, false concepts that were given to me by well-meaning but clueless people, and the difficulty meeting social expectations that are unrealistic.
When I was about ten years old I remember my grandmother taking me shopping and buying me several new outfits. My family didn’t have a great deal of money and this was quite an event for me. But…….
I’ve been asking myself this question forever. “How happy can a chubby girl be?” Not very, is the implication, the unspoken answer. My brain knows that isn’t true, but my heart still needs convincing.