About a year ago, I shed around 30 pounds, marking the 17th time I’d embarked on this weight loss journey. During this period, my father came to visit and casually said something that left me feeling shocked, hurt, and honestly, a bit annoyed.
Now, let me clarify: my dad is a good guy. I love him dearly, and he has no intention of being hurtful. But when I recount what he said, you might think he’s a bit clueless or even a little unkind. Here’s how the conversation went:
Dad: “Wow! You look great! Have you lost weight?”
Me: “Yeah, I’ve been working on it. About 30 pounds.”
Dad: “Oh, fantastic! Because you’re not really a big person inside. You’re thin at heart. You’re not big. That’s not my daughter. My daughter isn’t big.”
Me: *silence.*
A. That was as confusing and painful as you might expect. B. It wasn’t completely out of the blue, as he often makes comments like this. C. To some extent, I actually agree with him.
As a child, I was always on the slender side, regardless of what I consumed (be it nothing, a whole cheesecake, or everything in between). After my second child, I noticed I’d gained about 15 pounds. I distinctly remember my boss praising my beauty but suggesting I’d be “gorgeous” if I lost ten more pounds.
Fast forward a few years, and somehow, I packed on another 20 pounds. I dieted and lost 50 pounds, started nursing school, took on night shifts, and then stepped onto the scale to see a number that nearly made my heart stop. I discovered my body fat was roughly 35% Oreos. Then, I gained 55 pounds back. It felt like living in a never-ending cycle (cue the Groundhog Day reference). I wanted to be healthy, so I started marathon training and lost 65 pounds. Life threw me some curve balls: I got divorced, remarried, gained 20 pounds because my husband thought “bones aren’t sexy,” and then got pregnant again (this makes four). I stopped running due to the pregnancy and packed on 60 pounds.
Then, poof! I became Oprah. I’ve tossed out and repurchased my entire wardrobe four times. Lost 15 pounds. Pregnant AGAIN (five now). Gained 30 back. Lost 20. Got an IUD. Gained 10.
Are you following me?
I hit the scales at 200 pounds. Dieted. Lost 35. My therapist diagnosed me with “exercise bulimia” (yes, that’s a thing). My husband feels driven nuts by my calorie counting and obsessive exercising. Six months later, I regained EVERY. SINGLE. POUND.
Now you’re up to speed.
I haven’t even touched on the emotional whirlwind that comes with losing and gaining the equivalent of six small children or two grown men. It’s a rough ride.
I hesitate to share all this because I know what most people think about bigger individuals. (I use “big” descriptively, as I am indeed a person with extra weight.) The world tends to view bigger individuals as lazy, undisciplined, slovenly, and gluttonous. While I know this isn’t true, many hold these beliefs. I don’t want to be seen as “that” person. I am not lazy. In fact, I’m one of the most active individuals you could meet. I can’t sit still during a movie, I can’t relax with laundry piled up, and I can’t breathe if the carpet isn’t clean. I promise, I’m not lazy to a fault.
Even at 200 pounds, I refuse to identify as “big.” Internally, I just don’t feel that way. Sure, I look it. I’m a size 16. After indulging in Chinese food, I might even be an 18 (hello, salt!). I doubt many women relish the idea of admitting they’re big or having to shop in the “plus-size” section of stores (if they even have one). My sweet husband will call me anything but “big.” Curvy. Voluptuous. But never “big.” He knows the term doesn’t carry a positive vibe.
I don’t think of myself as big on the inside. I’m a wife, a mother, a sister, a nurse, a friend, a writer, a knitter, a yarn enthusiast, with a sprinkle of depression and a dash of mania. I’m the adult daughter of an addict. I’m so much more than just my size.
Yet, there’s this dark cloud looming above me, ready to rain down the harsh reality that I’m not the slim person I feel like inside. Regardless of my self-perception, the truth is I am “big,” and I won’t lie—it saddens me.
It’s disheartening to wonder if my husband might find “someone else to love”—someone thinner, prettier. Do people think he’s a nice guy for sticking with a bigger woman? Or maybe I’m an incredible person and wife despite my size, and he’s not a jerk for loving me.
It’s sad that I sometimes look in the mirror and don’t see beauty. Who defines beauty? My wide hips, my rounded backside, the curve of my belly—are they not beautiful? Is beauty solely what society sells us?
It’s frustrating to be in a room full of women and immediately assess if I’m the biggest one there. Why do we reduce one another to mere physical attributes?
Honestly, I’d rather be smaller. I’ve been everything from anorexic to obese, yet I prefer the middle ground. However, research shows 95% of dieters regain lost weight (and often more). Just check out this informative post on what the IVF process is really like for more insights. Given my history, it’s evident that, despite my discipline (and I do possess it), that statistic rings true for me. I still weigh 200 pounds. Still.
But I’m not waving the white flag in defeat. I haven’t accepted being “big” forever. I’ve merely stopped viewing weight loss as a constant battle. I’m not counting calories. I’m not exercising just to justify a milkshake. I’m not trying to “get in shape.” Because I’m not out of shape—I’m a shape, and it’s round. I’m not striving to lose “extra” pounds. They aren’t extra; they’re all mine—every one of those 200 pounds.
The truth is, I’m not focusing on anything except being healthy and happy.
I want to embrace self-love so deeply that others will see my confidence in my body and feel empowered to do the same. But I can’t quite say that yet.
I believe my body is magical. It has nurtured a bunch of wonderful, kind, amazing humans. I can walk, run, and bike. Despite my size, I am healthy (so don’t even go there). I am intelligent, compassionate, and kind, qualities that have nothing to do with my appearance. I’m immensely grateful for these gifts. But when I look at my body (and I do often—it’s a mixture of immersion therapy and cognitive behavioral therapy) I still see a big person.
I don’t want to. And I don’t want anyone else to view me that way either. But here we are.
I want to shift the narrative we’re having about our identities to be about all the things we are beyond our physical forms. I am so many things beyond being big or thin. We all are.
For more on this journey and how to approach parenthood through home insemination, check out this resource that offers fantastic insights. If you’re curious about artificial insemination, this site provides an excellent home insemination kit.
Summary:
In her candid exploration of body image and identity, Lila Thompson shares her complex journey with weight loss and self-perception. Despite societal labels and fluctuating sizes, she emphasizes the importance of viewing oneself beyond physical attributes. Lila seeks to foster a dialogue that celebrates the multifaceted nature of identity and encourages self-love, regardless of size.