I sort of can’t believe I’m actually writing (with the intent to publish) this post.
Deep breath.
Throughout this whole life-making journey of mine, I’ve been told over and over again how brave I am. How my honesty with the process is so refreshing and appreciated. And I guess I haven’t really seen it that way just because this is me being me. Anyone who knows me will tell you that I don’t have much of a filter. I have an opinion about everything. I over share constantly.
The one aspect of my life where I’ve typically exercised a great deal of discretion, though, is when anything in relation to my weight is brought to light. Before the last year or so, I never would have felt comfortable dressing the way I do now (hello, tank tops!) or sharing the size of my clothes (XL tops and dresses, size 18-20 pants). And I especially would never, ever, ever times infinity disclose the actual amount I weigh. That not-so-little number has remained sacred between my doctor(s) and me.
I mean, when you can watch contestants on The Biggest Loser bemoan their numbers and you think, “Uh, that’s not even that bad,” you know you have a serious problem.
The significance I have given to that number is staggering. And now that I’m finally just starting to feel like I almost fit into other normal standards of society (shopping at “normal” stores, fitting into chairs, getting side-long glances from cute boys), this number is suffocating me.
It remains my biggest unflinching demon.
It hasn’t gone down in months.
It consumes my thoughts, if I let it.
It mocks me right in the middle of every new accomplishment. You can run a mile, but you can’t lose that number. Ha.
It defines me.
But no more.
My hope is that by putting this number out there in the public realm, by allowing this number to say its peace and have its moment..maybe then it will finally lose its hold on me. Maybe then I can move past. And maybe then I can get that number to shrink.
(I literally just had to stop and take two deep breaths. My heart is racing. Holy shit, I’m doing this..)
On January 17, 2012, the day I began this journey, I weighed 380 pounds.
Let that really sink in for a moment…
Today I weigh 317 pounds. Some days a few pounds less, some days a few pounds more.
My goal is to lose half my body weight, and then reevaluate from there. So, 190 is my goal weight.
Am I still embarrassed by those numbers? Absolutely! I’m mortified to share them with you now, and there’s not a day where I don’t feel some twinge of shame at how badly I let myself go. And why? How? I don’t know how I was living at that weight–that’s like scary, have to weigh you on the freight scale, nearing having to cut your out of your house living. Though, I mean, I know I wasn’t living living. I was alive–blood plumping, lungs breathing. But not LIVING! exclamation point, you know? Thank God I’m 5’11″…
Anyway, I know that in the grand scheme of things, my number is just a number. It doesn’t actually define me or encompass my self-worth. I want to lose weight for my health, for my looks, for my future, for my everything. But a large part of me also wants to lose it to distance myself as physically far as possible from that number of 380 and all it represents in my past.
I know I’ll never see that 380 pound girl again. I know she’s gone for good and thank God for that. I appreciate all she taught me, the strength she gave me that I’m just now discovering…but good effing riddance!
And so, dramatics and large integers aside, it comes down to this: own who you are—past, present and future.
Manda Kay Makes It 