A little housekeeping first. I’ve decided to resurrect the Fat Heffalump Facebook Page. Come on over and “like” it, and I’ll share interesting links and stuff there that feed into the fat acceptance message.
I had a bit of an epiphany early this morning. I had been reading a few blog posts about weight loss, dieting and exercise last night and had been talking about my own experiences with trying to lose weight and the whole diet/exercise thing. I was mulling it all over this morning when I woke up before the alarm went off, when I realised something.
I think I mentioned in an earlier post that I was at a friend’s place recently and they had a scale in their bathroom, which I just couldn’t resist, and weighed myself, for the first time in about 2 years.
At my most crazy starvation and exercise binge kick (between 4 and 6 hours exercise per day, I shit you not), I was exactly 7.4kg lighter than I am now. That was at my lowest adult weight.
When I was constantly dieting and going to the gym, which I hated with a passion (not necessarily to the starvation and exercise insanity levels I call my worst), I was 16kg heavier than I am now.
Today, I no longer diet and refuse to exercise, but only engage in activity for the love of it, not to “exercise”, I am 16kg lighter than regular diet and exercise! And only 7.4kg heavier than at my most extreme desperation of dieting and working out.
How fucking insane is that? All those years of starving myself and working myself into the ground with ridiculous levels of exercise out of desperation to lose weight, and for what?? SEVEN POINT FOUR FUCKING KILOGRAMS!!
And yet the real insanity? When I was in that completely manic phase, I got stuck at my lowest weight, and after two months stuck there I went to my then doctor, and cried my eyes out, telling her how I had no life and I was exercising up to six hours per day, that my friends didn’t want anything to do with me and that I couldn’t keep up with work. I cried that I couldn’t move off that weight (which was still fat) even after two months of working my arse off.
Her response? “If you just ramped it up a notch, you’ll lose some more weight.”
Yep, between four and six hours per day of manic exercising wasn’t quite enough for this doctor. She wanted me to add more. More than power walking before work, two sessions at the gym, two hours of swimming of an evening and then yoga before bed.
Which goes to show, even doing what they tell you to do and diet and exercise, isn’t enough. It’s never fucking enough, unless you’re one of the miracle few that get thin, and can stay thin. Even then they constantly berate you not to “fall off the wagon” or “slip up”.
Thankfully I stopped going to that doctor.
I get so angry when I think that not only doctors, but society at large expects fat women to practically kill themselves, or at least live in misery, to try to reach a goal that matters to them – not to the woman in question. It busts my arse when I think that I fought so hard for a shitty 7.4kg, and that wasn’t good enough. It was everything that I had to give, and it wasn’t enough, because I was STILL FAT.
So screw you calories in and energy out – you’re a complete lie. I’m going to eat however I feel like eating, and move my fat body in whatever ways I enjoy, but I’m not playing the “Get thin” game any more.
I’m still fat today. A mere 7.4kg fatter than my thinnest, but 16kg lighter than my very fattest. I’m happy. I don’t hate myself. I’m healthier than I’ve ever been.
Life is good.