When I was a girl, probably around 5 or 6, I was made aware of my size. When I sat in the back seat of my parent's car, I always sat in the middle between my sisters. They were both what mom called "small," "slim"or even "petite" while I was called "regular." I would look at our legs sitting back there and my thighs were bigger than theirs. "Regular" was not something I wanted to be. When I heard the word I automatically heard "Fat." My older sister was always slim and didn't have to work at it. She was 4 years older and I would often wear her cool cordory pants-- she always had the cool artsy clothes.
While I was more of an athlete than my 2 sisters, they seemingly always stayed slim. I envied them and when we sat in the back seat, I would lift up my legs so my thighs looked smaller, constantly comparing them to my sisters' relaxed legs.
As I grew up I remember mom saying I should never wear white because it makes you look big.
I didn't even wear white to my own wedding.
I took it upon myself to lose all the weight and then some. In high school and college, I deprived myself of food, counted every calorie, including chewing gum, ate in secret and would take scalding hot showers just to pee out anything I drank. It's a wonder I made it through my freshman year of college, where I was down to 92 pounds.
I would have bouts with aneorixia over the decades, but when menopause hit, I ballooned up to a weight that was more than I was at full term pregnancy.
I look at pictures of myself even one year ago and don't recognize the woman in the photograph.
I am glad I finally figured out how to lose it-- because, well, I don't want anyone calling me 'Regular' ever again.
No comments:
Post a Comment