My Introduction

April 16, 2017

     When I was eight years old, my mom took me in to the doctor for a well-child check. We did the typical stuff: height, weight, temperature, blood pressure...growth chart. Ugh. The growth chart. Like standardized testing or BMI, it's supposed to predict one's growth patterns and whether or not they will be short or tall, wide or narrow, or every other category a child can be shoved into.
     Seriously, who can tell how smart your child is by making them take a test and deciding whether or not they will be able to succeed in life? Or, who can say that because they are 5'8" and 164 pounds, they are just barely on the verge of being obese, so watch it, man. No, just ignore the fact that you have 4% body fat...BMI gives you everything you need to know. You're a big, obese turd. Lose some weight.
     On this particular day at the doctor, I don't remember what my height and weight were. I'm sure they were slightly high--I was a bit of a chubby kid, but nothing alarming. I remember exactly what the doctor said, though, like he told me this morning instead of 30 years ago: "Lindsay, if you aren't careful, you are going to end up about 5'7" and around 175 pounds."
     I remember looking at my mom for reassurance, but she was looking at me, head cocked slightly, with a look of disappointment on her face. "Oh, Lindsay, my sweet little chubby girl. What ARE we going to do with you?" Ever since that day, I got it in my head that I was fat and I needed to fight my destiny with every ounce of my being. It didn't help that I was constantly bombarded with pictures of skinny women on magazine covers or in commercials and TV (but this isn't a story about the evils of society). It didn't help that I was bigger than the majority of my friends (but that certainly wasn't their fault!). Regardless of these things, what it really boiled down to was that I let something get into my head and it began to fester. "Lindsay, you are not good enough. If you are going to end up fat, you are probably fat now. Why not realize that you are ugly too, while you're at it? You may be smart, but no boy is going to want the smart girl who can't fit into anything under a size 12."
     These thoughts plagued me, but like they start, they were small and unassuming. They would only come every once in a while and I was usually able to make them go away. But, I would hear my mom talking about herself negatively and maybe I just thought I should too. She would then take sweets away from me, not really saying why, but I knew she just wanted to protect me from a sweet tooth that was constantly raging. Mind you, she was skinny and gorgeous and had nothing to worry about, yet she still did. Don't all women?
     As I entered high school, the thoughts became more controlling, leading me to attempt to binge and purge, or to not eat at all, none of which was successful, thankfully. It led me to realize that boys could never like me and I wasn't fit to live. One particular boy in my life made me feel like dirt on a regular, so one day I decided I had had enough. I went into my parents' room, tears streaming and took my dad's revolver out of his closet. There were some bullets there too and I took those to my parents' dresser along with the gun. No one was home but me. It would have been easy. I took the gun and pointed it at my head (no bullets yet--they were still on the dresser). Through great heaving sobs, I yelled at my reflection, "You're fat!!" Click. "You're ugly!" Click. "It's no wonder boys laugh at you and make fun of you!" Click. "I hate you!!!" Click, click, click. I looked down at the bullets and thought about loading them into the thingy that holds the bullets (can you tell I know nothing about guns?). Something told me not to. I know it was God, but to those who are not religious, call it conscience. Whatever you call it, something told me there was so much more to live for and if I end it now, I would end up missing so much.
     So, long story short, I let myself continue to live, and although the negative thoughts still plague me to this day, I have ended up doing some pretty amazing stuff. I have four beautiful kids, I have an amazing husband (who I actually met a few short months after that horrible day), I have my Master's degree, I work at a successful accounting firm, my family is healthy and happy, and I have had the opportunity to influence and be influenced by some pretty amazing people. Yet, I am still struggling. I think my weight will be an issue that I will struggle with for the rest of my life. But, I hope that this blog will serve as a tool for me to not only lose the weight, but go on a journey to finally accept myself the way I am and quit seeing that small eight-year-old yearning to be told that she is just fine the way she is. Every large journey has to start with a first step.
     I will be brutally honest here. I will share the embarrassing pictures and I will share the horrible stories because when we are the most honest and the most vulnerable, it helps us to be strong. It teaches us to rise above what others think and it teaches us to put ourselves out there and "get comfortable with being uncomfortable." That is the only way we can grow. So, here I go.
     The picture at the beginning shows my measurements and weight. Upper arm, chest, waist, hips, thigh, weight. It's the highest I've ever been in my life. I could blame it on so many things: stress of getting my degrees, going through tax season, depression, whatever. But, it really boils down to laziness. I just need to get up off my duff. I need to change where I'm at mentally before I can begin to change where I'm at physically. I can do this and I can show that doctor that charts don't mean a damn thing. Besides, I'm 5'8.5", Dr. S. So, suck it.