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When The Spanx Stop Working

Most know me as a fairly positive person.  That is until I step onto the scale. Or into my pants. When the Spanx stop working, well then I turn into a mix between Regina George and Cruella de Ville.  You get the picture?!

I weigh myself every day.  I hear you saying, "obsessed much?!" - I'm not obsessed, I just prefer to be in control.  I will be honest, I have always had a very love-hate relationship with my weight.  And unfortunately at 1.61m even the slightest bit of weight gain takes me from wow, to Michelin man, faster than you can gobble down the Krispy Kreme donut on national doughnut day. 

So this brings me to the point of this blog.  An unhealthy relationship with food, is almost as detrimental as one with a man.  It is abusive, and trust me outright exhausting.  Last Monday morning I bawled like a baby.  My day couldn't get any bluer. The scale tipped at 77.4kg.  What the actual fuck!!!!

I had a wee, and even removed the hairband from my hair. I step back on. Nope, there it is. Staring back at me. Big and clear, and suddenly I wish I was hungover or something.

It is as if everything suddenly is just too much. I climb in to an extra hot shower. The scorching hot water, will hopefully melt the fat. This will hopefully run down the drain together with my snot and tears and very expensive facewash. At least I have very good skin, I think in between my Claire Danes ugly cry. I mean people see my good skin before my fat ass right?

This is the heaviest I have ever been in my whole entire life. That is 39 years of life for me. And the only person that I have to blame for this is, wait for it, is ME! As much I would like to blame it on lockdown, no one tied me down and shoved the food down my throat. On the contrary, I did a damn good job of eating as if Armageddon was hitting. And the sad thing, I was fully aware that I was doing it. I cannot even plead insanity. I am not sure what I am feeling more. Anger or disgust. Angry because I allowed myself to get to this point or disgusted that I allowed myself to get here.

I am the only person that is to blame for the demise of my waistline.

I often speak out about my three chins or the weight I have gained on social media, and trust me, it is not because I am looking for validation. I could care less for the “oh no you don’t look bad” comments.

I do it because I want people to realise that we all battle, and unlike the #bodypositive model out there, it is actually ok, to not be ok with your body, and still like yourself as a person. I mean, I think I’m a pretty awesome person, even if it feels like I’m carrying a 3.5 year old on my thighs.

I do also appreciate it when people tell me that they don’t think there’s anything wrong with how I look. I have learnt to dress in a manner to accentuate the good parts and hide the scary parts. Problem is when those scary parts come out of hiding things get hairy.

I am all for body positivity, but here's the catch!  It's a little bit hard to be all positive about the body, when said body is all over the place.  When even the Spanx isn't keeping it in place, and your ass is, well the size of a baby donkey's.  When no amount of FaceTune, contouring or fancy angles can get rid of the third chin that has suddenly made its appearance.  And the excuse of it is water retention, really only goes that far.

I am also not going to now be posting photos all over Instagram hashtagging #bodypositivity, when I am everything but that about my body. I am not negative about myself as a person, but I am not liking the fat me. I need to lose the extra kgs, and the reasons are apparent. I want to look better, feel better, fit into the huge cupboard of very nice clothing that I have. And if anything be healthier. I am asthmatic for one, so the extra kgs, is like having Hagrid live in my chest. I have Rheumatoid Arthritis, so my joints are sore all the time with the extra weight. I have a family history of diabetes, so yay me. And I am short, so if I want to resemble a dumpling, then sure, if not, then close jaw and move ass.

And then there is Instagram. Riddled with the plus size models. Honey if you are 1.7m or taller and size 12, with a normal BMI. Take your matcha latte and go sit in the corner. You are not plus size. Until you have walked out of a changeroom looking like you did a 60 minute sweat class trying to get out of a piece of clothing you know nothing of real life struggles.

With your waif long legs up to here, like Rebecca Gillies and your perfectly in proportion pear shaped body, you may think you are plus sized, but until you have only smelt the air down here, you have no idea.  Women like Sarah Nicole Landry, the only real instagram account worth mentioning, can preach body positivity.  From stretch marks to bulging bellies, I relate to her.  But at least she has kids to show for her weight fluctuations, mine is just food.  And for that, I have no one to blame except myself. 

So, you ask what am I going to do about it, this time around? 

Yes, this time!  Because let's be honest, I have been around this block, many a times.  

I have a miserable self-loathing relationship with food, and my weight.  I am fat, but not fat enough for weight loss surgery unfortunately.

There's an idea, can I eat myself fat enough, so that I can have the surgery to stop myself from eating? Brain, the intelligent part of me, only part still in working order, not covered in fat, sounds a resounding loud NO!!

I have decided to go back to the only thing that worked for me. Back in the day where I was in fact skinny. Where I didn’t worry about my weight, food or anything as such. Where I ate only when I was in fact hungry. Where I didn’t calorie count, I exercised for the love of it. Yes I was many years younger, but I will test this theory and should it work. Then maybe 16 year old me, was actually the clever one.

It has been 14 days since I resorted back to the ways of my teenage years. I don’t eat breakfast. I was never a breakfast kid. I now eat when I’m hungry, like I did back then. I drink lots of water. I move a lot. In any way and form I feel like. Walking with my boy, running after him on his bike, jumping on the trampoline. None of these 3 sets of 15 repetitions. I squat while making dinner, and I snack on fruit. I drink coffee, and I suddenly don’t crave chocolate.

I still weigh myself every day, and the weight has been coming down. Slowly and surely and this morning, the scale showed 75.3kg. It’s 2.1kg down in 2 weeks. My jeans close again, which is a win.

You might read this and think, what a negative person. And actually I’m not, I’m just negative about my weight.

They say it takes 21 days to form a habit and 90 days to form a lifestyle, well I call bullshit.

It takes YOU 1 second to make the decision to change whatever it is that is bothering you. To take the reins, take control, and make the change. The catch is, the change has to be for you. No one else. If you are losing weight, stopping smoking, drinking, starting exercising etc. for anyone but you, be ready to fail.

So here’s to ME, my fat ass and kissing it good bye!

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