I have always been BIG. Or at least bigger than the next person. So big in fact that when I was only 10 years old, I tipped the scales at 140 pounds. I remember standing in my aunt’s bathroom with my skinny cousin, getting on the scale and hearing horrified gasps from my family. I knew I was big, I just didn’t know I was obese. I started overeating when I was around seven years old. My mother used to take me with her to work on weekends and she would treat me to a hearty lunch and merienda each and every time. So I equated bonding and happiness with eating. It’s not sweets or pastries that I overindulged in though but rice and viands, vegetables to be exact. I remember in my mid teens, after having a huge dinner of rice and green beans, I tried lying down only to have to run to the bathroom to empty my too full stomach. But like every other person, stress also made me eat. My childhood wasn’t the most ideal, and after every tension-filled episode with my grandmother, I overate because I couldn’t cry. I wasn’t really allowed to. So all emotions pointed me toward food. Happiness, hate, excitement and disappointment. Everything. Food became my friend, and in other moments, food became my savior. Then eventually it became my enemy. Growing older, pressure to look good, fitting in with the right crowd and supposed love changed my relationship with food. What was once comfortable became difficult. So much so that at the age of 19, I became bulimic. And when that didn’t work too well, I stopped eating. Of course my family noticed and the more they scolded me to eat, the more I rebelled. At school my friends would follow me to the bathroom and time my stay in the stall. It wasn’t pretty but they got me through the worst. Eventually I started eating again, a lot. And so my see-saw weight battle progressed. Moments of hugeness far outweighed skinny ones. It was a vicious cycle. When I felt fat, I’d get depressed so I ate which made me fatter. Then I found the gym and started working out. But I overdid that as well, sometimes exercising myself to exhaustion for hours at a time. I couldn’t find a balance, I didn’t know how. When I entered the TV business, people thought it their prerogative to comment on my weight. I would constantly hear people say “you look better in person", “you’re bigger on TV" “wow, you’re pretty pala"… there’s no right way to react to not-so-subtle insinuations that you don’t look good at work, your bread and butter. Eventually I was less affected, leaving my friends to react for me. Not just once did my friend Suzi come to my defense when people made rude remarks about my weight (thanks Suz!). Many, many years later here I am, still bigger than the next person. But the biggest difference is that I am finally happy with myself. I can’t pinpoint when exactly my epiphany came about. I guess it was a slow progression to a realization that no matter what, I need to love WHO I am. It helps that I have a loving husband who actually appreciates me big or small. And that I have children who enjoy hugging my extra padded self. But more than that, it’s just me. Not that I think I’m perfect nor close to it. Of course not. I know that I am overweight. I know that I can look better. But more importantly I know that I can be healthier. I would like to think that one day I would again fit into a size medium dress. I would also like to believe that eventually I can join a 5k run without collapsing seven minutes into it. I have faith that I CAN look and BE better health-wise.
Right now though I am happy. I still eat a lot, especially things that are not exactly fat friendly. One may never call me a skinny witch. Maybe it will happen, maybe it won’t. I do plan to start an exercise regimen soon, with the help of my also-wannabe-healthy friends who are very supportive and encouraging. But overall satisfaction runs deep when you know you are loved. Most importantly, when you know you love yourself. And the best part is I finally, unequivocally, love ME! _______________________ Lyn's personal blog, click
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