(Happy Galentine's/Palentine's Day btw)
196. BMI: 32
That's what the scale said this morning during my check-up. That's more than I weighed while pregnant.
Blood pressure = normal.
Cholesterol = normal.
Blood sugar = normal.
Which I was happy to hear. I had been avoiding that scale for months.I stand at 5’5 and the doctor voiced her concern. And today I had to face it.
They say black people don't do eating disorders. That’s some white people shit. But here I am, a whole black, confronting both sides of disordered eating. It started when I was a kid, in reverse. When stressed/scared/depressed, I would stop eating. It wasn’t on purpose, more so an unconscious reaction my body took to stress. I would lose the urge to eat, even if I was hungry. My stomach would completely empty out. In my teens during my junior year of high school, my boyfriend cheated and I broke up with him. After that happened, I lost 20 pounds in mere weeks (peaking around 135). Friends noticed. Family noticed. I didn't, instead nursing my wounds until someone brought it to my attention. During college, I gained that #FreshmanFifteen. Family noticed, deciding then to tell me to do something about that “bootydo”.
Family sucks, man.
After my daughter was born in 2009, my eating habits changed from involuntary restriction to comfort eating - eating to fill a void. I was neck-deep in PPD. By 2010, my marriage was ending. By 2012, I was sitting in the 160s. By 2019, two emotionally abusive relationships later, I was in the 200s.
Size 16. Waist: 40+ inches. Struggling to breathe. Thighs rubbing together in the worst way. Up to this point, I'd yet to come to terms with why. My relationship to food was trash, yes, even as a vegetarian. My relationship to myself was even worse. Here is where accountability comes into play.
The term Learned Helplessness is centered most often on DV/IP abuse scenarios. It's the thought that after long-term abuse, the thought of escape and/or reaching for help becomes unbearable; the consequences of trying to escape becoming far worse than the actual abuse. During this time, abuse or the negative outcomes become normal, if not expected. It comes with the territory of being alive, so you begin to see anything outside of that abuse as abnormal. That hit home. I had to sit with myself and those abusive relationships. Why I turned to eating for comfort. Why I stayed longer than I should have. Why I explained away holes punched in walls, angry outbursts, sexual abuse. Why out of everyone to blame, I blamed me most.
Me after being told to step on the scale.
I stood on that scale in fear of whatever number popped up across that screen. I knew what had happened in the past: I sunk lower into despair, said “fuck it” and made it my new normal. I had the ability to change it but I opted not to. Not if it meant more abuse, more teardowns, more belittling comments. Today, while still in recovery from my normalization of disordered eating and fucked-up relationships, I felt something I didn’t expect: pride.
Actual footage of my ass in the gym..
Since mid-January 2020, I’ve been in the gym. It started at home with weights, resistance bands and shaky planks. It grew to an actual plan, one where I carved out room for me to exist and evolve. 3 days a week doing cardio and bodyweight exercises became 5 days with HIIT and actual dumbbells. I went by how I felt and the tape measure. I challenged myself to radical acceptance of whatever I put out. If I got to ten, I celebrated. If I didn’t, I told myself, “next time.” That made me push harder. In 4 weeks time, my waist has shrunk by 6-7 inches. I can breathe properly. My clothes are fitting more loosely on my body. Which actually points to 196 being my middle point, not my starting point, as I've made more progress and released weight I was too afraid to see. (Note: remember, this is my first time stepping on a scale in MONTHS. I do not know my accurate weight before starting my “Release dis Weight” regimen. Be it that I’m now in a size 10/12 and my waist is roughly 38 in, we'll square it around 205-210).
My goal is 175, a comfortable number as I've grown to enjoy my grown woman weight while releasing and letting go of the abused emotional/mental/physical weight I've lugged around as insulation for years.
Today is my cheat day. It's fitting as Thursdays are my favorite day of the week. It’s also Valentine's Day eve. And I'm single. Single and grateful to be on this path to better health, inside and out. So with that, I bought something pink to go with my veggie ramen.
I stared at roses. I ate chocolate covered strawberries because why not. Today I got my numbers and I didn’t fall to pieces. Instead, I felt myself sow me more tightly together. But listen, the gym is where I live now. For now I know what it feels like to be the change you want to see in youself. And you absolutely cannot beat that feeling.
Now & forever