Last week, Mama Kat challenged us to describe a time in our life in only 6 words.
This week, we’ve been asked to expand on those 6 words.
Sadly, the 6 words I chose, I’ve said a few times. I don’t care to expand on the who, what or when’s of it, but I will tell you a bit about why I’m so damn proud of it.
Chubby? You’re ugly. I can diet.
When I went to highschool, I was skinny. I distinctly remember in grade 9 one of the senior football players made a joke at my expense as I walked by, yapping to his friends that “I’ve got bigger tits than her!”
Like I give a shit you meatheaded half-wit.
Highschool wasn’t the fantastic place I thought it would be. I got picked on a lot and I just wanted it to be over with as quickly as possible. I wasn’t the type of person to stand up for myself, so it was open season on me when it came to insults and derogatory comments. My hair was frizzy, my teeth were crooked and I wasn’t dressed in designer clothes because my parents preferred groceries to style. Add to that the fact that I was a straight A student and it’s a perfect recipe for bully bait.
I played sports and tried to stay active, but my major outdoor activity was riding my horse, Chief. He was my refuge at the end of the day. One of the only “people” I felt comfortable talking to about my problems.
Somewhere around grade 11, my metabolism came to a screeching halt. I had immersed myself in my grades and theatre, and, having shoved sports to the wayside, my weight started to creep up, but I paid it no mind. Size is just a number after all – right?
Fastforward a few years – I’ve had 2 children and weigh 205 lbs. It wasn’t the number that hurt me. It was the way I felt. It was the fact that I never wanted to be in a picture – even with my children – because I hated the way I looked.
Hated my life.
Depression, feelings of loneliness and the desire for another life all started to creep in. I felt totally alone. Distanced from my children. From my family.
I thought about everyone that had ever called me fat. Chubby. Solid.
I channelled my anger.
I made some changes. I joined some support groups. I learned better eating habits.
I learned not to eat my feelings.
I indulged in a gym membership. I started going to martial arts.
I had some excellent support from my best friends.
I don’t remember how or when I let the anger of all of it go, but I remember when I realized it was gone. I was watching my boys play on the deck of our apartment. I was laughing at them as they raced their remote control cars when suddenly Peanut, my gentle little boy, climbed up in my lap, wrapped his long arms around my neck and hugged me. And with his little boy breath warm on my ear, whispered “I love my happy mommy”.
I love your happy mommy too.
p.s. – the ugly people? still ugly.
Maybe this doesn’t really follow the prompt quite like it should… but it’s my conscious stream of thought for the day.
And I feel better for having told it.