I would like to begin my blogging adventure with a short introduction and intent for what I will be sharing with whoever stumbles across my ramblings. My name is Stephanie and I am 33 year old woman from New York City. Like so many people I have had a life long struggle with allowing others to shape my opinions of myself. Over the past year my life has changed in so many profound ways that I have had this nagging feeling to write about it. That is why I have begun this blog. I am blogging publicly because I want to join in the body positive revolution by contributing my story and journey in hopes of helping others. I also want to contribute to the fight to end emotional, mental, and physical abuse. I hope to inspire others to do the same because no two peoples’ stories are the similar. We may share in the struggle but we each handle them in our own unique ways. We can learn from one another. Form a community with a stronghold of support. It took me decades to finally get a grip on myself and now I want to extend the invitation to join me on my journey to sustainable happiness and self-acceptance.
The title of this blog, “When I thought I was fat,” was born from my constant complaining about how “I wish I was the weight I was when I thought I was fat.” A mouth full I know, hence the shorter title, but for me, there is no truer statement. Ever since I was around six years old I believed myself to look like a “rollie pollie.” This was a result of how adults spoke to me and how it made me feel. From my cheerleading coaches to family members, no one was exempt from my overpowering abilities to let the words of others shape my self-esteem as I grew up.
Yet now when I look at old photographs of myself I do not see a “rollie pollie.” I see an active child. An athletic child. A child capable of doing all the same things, and sometimes even more, than children that were considered “thin” or “light.” I see a young high school girl that wore clothes that were entirely too big to hide this hideous thing people called “fat.” Yet I sit here now typing my first blog 70 pounds away from my high school weight wishing so bad to get that number back.
I began diets every Monday. Meal skipped. Joined a gym. Began weight watchers. Gave up. Rejoined a gym. Rejoined weight watchers. Starved myself. I was stressed and living in an unhealthy environment where I was made to feel worthless by a man who claimed to care for me. I wasn’t good enough as I was. I wasn’t pretty until I was thin. I didn’t deserve the respect of a man until I was thin. Everything was just on the other side of the “until I was thin.” All this accumulated to my highest weight of 338 lbs. Last June I joined weight watchers for the last time. Ditched the gym because I discovered long walks worked best for me. Through the support of my family, friends, weight watchers groups, and therapy, I have learned to take things day by day. I learned that I am more than just a number on a scale. I learned to be happy with myself as I am now. I have not mastered self-acceptance perfectly but I am so much stronger than I was two years ago.