The
thing I remember most about my childhood was my lack of self-esteem. I
also remember
being
quite active. I rode my bicycle everywhere, climbed trees (fell
out of them frequently too) until I was
16,
but also spent a fair amount of time
reading.
Reading was my big escape. When our mother would send us outside
to 'get
some exercise', I'd bring my biggest book and sit on the steps
and read.
My brothers and I swam in the creek, and played hide and seek in
the
bushes. I played softball, too. And tennis. I loved tennis, even if
I wasn't
good at it. I used to go on 20-mile walkathons with my friends
at least
once a year.
I
still love getting lost in a book.
Sometimes I remember
the good times of growing up.
We
had family reunions with my father's
family,
visits to my mother's sisters, and camping trips. My mother was the
pack
leader for my brothers and my girl scout leader. My father was
the boy
scout leader. We spent at least 4 summers at a boy scout camp.
I loved
that camp. Now that I think about it, it must have been a lot of
work for
my mother, but I personally remember long carefree summer days in
the lake.
It's almost as if, because my mother never really had a childhood,
she worked
extra hard to make sure we had the most carefree childhoods that
she could
make happen.
But there are times
when all I remember is
the bad times. I wish somebody, somehow, could have seen how unhappy I
was. Our mother
was abusive. She hated herself and therefore couldn't love
anybody
else. When I was a child, I remember wearing long sleeves to cover
up the belt marks on my
arms. She'd beat us until we bled. If that happened
today,
we would have been taken away and she'd be forced into treatment.
But in those days, she
was seen in public as a delightful, funny, intelligent
woman,
and only when we were alone did she go into rages and beat us for
the slightest
infraction.
I was 5
years old and my mother got me into a cheerleading squad for
Little
League. But I had to wear a tiny little girdle to fit into
my
cheerleading uniform, and my mother was so embarrassed. I couldn't do
a
cartwheel, either. Never could.
My brothers teased me,
my mother was embarrassed and critical, and my
father
loved me anyway (except that he was very quiet about it). But
it wasn't
just my weight. I was a talker, and they got more reaction by
teasing me
about my big mouth then teasing me about my weight.
I used to think a lot
that maybe my mother would love me more if I were
thinner.
I asked her once about that and she said, 'But I do love you!'
But
when I think about the past, the fact that my mother loved me doesn't
come to
mind. Especially near the end, I think she hated me.
My mother helped me
with a diet when I was about 8, and I lost some, can't
remember
how much. Then I guess I gained it back. I don't remember much
about
that.
School was miserable
for me. I have never gone back for a reunion because I want nothing
to do with
those years. I was a misfit and was treated as such. So I gathered
the rest
of the misfits around me and we made up a club of sorts. I never
realized
it, but my sister was very jealous of me for that. We were good
friends,
and my mother called my friends 'the dregs of society'.
On one hand, school
was an escape from home, but on the other hand, it
wasn't
much of an escape. I
remember getting a lot of fuss made over me when I went back
to
school at 14. That summer I'd shot up 6 inches and developed, so I was
actually relatively thin
briefly. That happens to early teenagers.
I was teased about my
weight and the usual boy/girl teasing when the boy
thinks
you're pretty but doesn't know how to approach you properly. However,
I thought
they were just picking on the fat girl, so I never did anything.
In the
pecking order of school, I was next to the lowest, and I dated the
lowest. I
remember one of the 'fringe friends', someone who was my friend
only when
her group wasn't around, pulled me aside to give me a copy of
the
"Christian diet" that she'd gotten from her summer camp. I
remember
being
grateful to her for thinking of me.
I remember being
'wrong'. Whatever happened to me was my fault, no matter
what
it was. My mother said that they wouldn't pick on me for being fat
if I
wasn't so fat. So they picked on me, teased me, pulled my hair, and
I wouldn't
do anything, because I must have deserved it. I couldn't fight
back,
ever. I never stuck up for myself.
There were a couple of
teachers who were nice, but as
a
general rule, they stayed out of the way when student teased student.
I remember
teachers who were very nice to me (because of academics), and
they
encouraged me to go to college in any way possible. I also remember
a
particular bus driver who actually told me once that I was a very
beautiful
girl. That was the first time I'd ever heard 'beautiful' applied
to me. All
I'd ever heard was the 'such a pretty face' line. As a teen,
I'd had
adult men go all gaga at me, but again, I thought they were just
picking on
the fat girl, but when I look at my pictures, I know what
happened.
In my teen years I was well-rounded. No double chin, no belly,
but I
wasn't scrawny and stick-like like the average teen. I wore a lot
of smock
tops to cover up my non-existent rolls of fat, but some older
guys saw a
very beautiful girl with clear skin and long hair. My self-esteem
was SO bad that I couldn't even be taken advantage of I simply
refused to
believe that anyone could have a passing interest in me for
any
reason. If any guy at all was interested in me, my thought processes
were 'if
I'm the best he can do, then I don't want him either'. Kind of
convoluted,
really. I wouldn't belong to a club that would have me as
a
member?
I
thought about suicide a lot. I considered many
times
jumping out of the car when we were going places. But the few times
I tried to
tell someone else, they'd say 'but your mother is a lovely person!
How could
you lie about her that way.' My counselor (from the breakdown)
was the
first (and only) person I met who believed me.
All of my teen years
my mother and I would go on brief diets, like doing a
one-day
fast after a big holiday to let the holiday food get out of our
systems.
Oddly enough, except for *trying* to cut back, I've only done a
serious
diet maybe 3 or 4 times in my life. When I was a teen I joined
TOPS with
my mother and did very badly. Anyway, then she told me that I was
encroaching
on her 'night with the girls', so I stopped that. Then I joined
OA when I
was in my 20s, and she joined the hometown group when I was
there, but
it just was uncomfortable with my mother there. I couldn't talk
about the
main reason my eating was all screwed up her without making
her all
upset and guilty and making me feel bad. That was such a washout.
Then, during the time
when NutriSystem was big, I did it the right way
and
went to a Endocrinologist and went on a starvation under his care, with
a
nutritionist. I lost 45 lbs in 3 months, then gained 90 lbs in 6 months.
After I'd
lost the 45 lbs, I had an accident at work
and
burned my whole right arm very badly. Lots of painful 2nd-degree burns.
When the
nutritionist demanded to know why I was eating again, I showed her
the burn
and told her how much it hurt, and she demanded, 'Well, does the
chocolate
HELP the pain?' and I said, 'Actually, YES, it does!', and she
said,
'Well then, I can't help you.' I left that program and that's how I
ended up
at 300 lbs.
I also had a mild
nervous breakdown around that time and spent about 4 years in
counseling. That counselor saved my life.
I
don't think I'd be the person I am today without her. I originally went
to find
out 'the psychological reasons why I couldn't keep weight off', but
she ended
up treating me for the breakdown, which I didn't even know had
been a
breakdown until she told me. She was the first real person to teach
me that
the actual numbers on the scale weren't important. Being healthy was.
I had another brief
stint with Diet Workshop in my late 20s, but then my
mother
died and I gave up that crap. That's about the time that I realized
that my
eating was all screwed up, and it was BECAUSE of those diets, not
my fault!
So I worked very hard for about 2 years to get a handle on my
own body,
learning to listen to what it wants. I didn't realize how
successful
I was until I moved back home for college for one year, and my
brother
would finish off every cookie bag that I brought home for a
treat. I'd
buy a bag, eat a couple, and he'd finish off the bag that night.
That's when I realized
that I truly had conquered my compulsive overeating.
Except
for a couple of things, like fudge, I really COULD keep a pan of
brownies
around for more than a week, eating just enough to satisfy my
chocolate
craving and leaving the rest for later. It was an amazing
revelation.
When food is no longer the enemy, the whole relationship changes.
