Secrets From A Fat.. SO?!

Archive for the category “Guilty Pleasures”

Story of a Girl

Once upon a time, there was a girl. And she was fat. She didn’t like being fat either. She thought everywhere she went people were judging her on her fatness because as life experience had taught her, they were. But this girl kept her head high, ruthlessly resilient and determined to prove to others that she was more than she appeared. For years she shouted from rooftops, preaching her differences, her ideas and ideals, believing that they made her special. The people around her would shake their heads and chuckle, sometimes even giving a small patronizing pat on the head, before shuffling along. It wasn’t that they didn’t believe her, they just never once took her seriously. She was of course, the girl with a million and one dreams. And she was lonely.

 Then this girl met a boy. She had met boys before. But the boys of Before either couldn’t see past her fatness or they tried to hold her back. The boys of Before were like statues, perfectly content where they were in life, and the girl wanted more. She wanted more, much more, only she wasn’t sure how to get it. And this boy, the boy of Now, was on a similar journey. The boy of Now understood how she felt about her body. He didn’t try to fix her but never the less, he was always there to help. He didn’t just listen with interest to every one of her million inane plans or her body concerns, he selflessly jumped in with both feet to help her. And befuddling to the girl, he found her beautiful. The boy shared his life with her. And so this girl and this boy became fast friends and helped support each one another.

For a few months, this boy and this girl lived in a bubble built for two. They shut the rest of the world out of their lives and for a while, that was enough. Months passed by and suddenly, the girl became restless. Through the bubble, she began watching the world move around without her. The life of two was just no longer good enough for her, and again she began to crave something more. Part of the void inside of her had been filled but it was like watching carbonation bubbles deflate after it reaches the top of a glass. Her cup had not yet runneth over. It wasn’t enough that the girl had found someone who loved her completely, she wanted the relationships she idolized that were cultivated on television. She wanted a Kramer and a Carrie and a Lorelei and a Phoebe in her life. In her own way, this girl wanted to create her own family.

“Suddenly I realized – two people isn’t enough. You need backup. If you’re only two people, and someone drops off the edge, then you’re on your own. Two isn’t a large enough number. You need three at least.” – About A Boy

But like any illusionist would have you to believe, such things are often much harder to come by than they appear. The thing was, the girl was lucky. Like all human beings, she had the tools to accomplish anything she ever wanted but, she just didn’t know how to use them. And so she went through life constantly asking the imaginary audience, “is this your card” until this girl finally had an epiphany. The truth is, the answer has always been there, had always been there and always will be. It was a simple question really: How could you really comprehend another’s love for you when you cannot understand what it is to love about yourself. Most know what it is to unconditionally love another soul but cannot comprehend what the other see’s in return. Or at the very least, I didn’t.

And so, a little over a year ago I went on a journey to change myself. I may not have understood what I was getting into when I started it all, and my attempts certainly didn’t intentionally begin that way but never the less, it’s where my feet, and heart, ended up. I don’t have all the answer’s yet, and I doubt I ever will. There are days when I feel like I am little more than an annoyance to be tolerated by all those around me and then other days that are full of such joy that words could not even put justice too. I understand now what it’s like to completely surrender one’s will to thyself, not to a god or any one person, and to love what they see. It’s more than not feeling guilty over eating a whole box of cookies. I don’t have to love the parts of me I deem as flaws, but I do accept that, as a whole, it doesn’t make me an ugly person.

It’s a journey of just letting yourself be happy, even when the world around you is constantly trying to rain on your parade. And it’s time to move on to the next chapter, I guess. If the first stage, or chapter, is just loving yourself, then the next is letting people in. That in itself is a scary thought. There are too many fears to simply relay in an already long-ish entry. Fears that are common that almost every single person has ever had like, what if I get hurt? If I can forgive, how do you trust again? How can I communicate well to others? How can I make others understand how I feel?

And the truth is like before, I don’t know. I don’t know how this next chapter will play out but, I can make the same promise as I did when I started out last year, to just keep trying.


Don’t Think About Pink Elephants

First off, I can’t believe this is my thirtieth entry! I know thirty entries is not that many in the retrospect of blog entries, it’s roughly a month’s worth of entries, but it means something to me. It means that I have stuck with writing for four months instead of writing for a few weeks and giving up. What’s mostly been keeping me writing lately is not having the pressure to write everyday and writing when I feel inspired.

But today represents thirty entries of thoughts, ideas and most importantly, confessions I’m releasing. I’ve talked about my weight, boys, spilt guilty secrets, talked about my family, my not so impressive cooking skills, alter ego’s but, most of the time talked a lot of silly nonsense. And that’s only the gist of what’s been said in thirty entries! I just want to thank all the reader’s who have stuck with me so far and read all the entries but also welcome to the reader’s just tuning in. It really means so much that your here. I know not all my words have been pretty, or confessions people wanted to read, but I try to make up for it with my silliness. Thank you for those that stuck with me and watched me grow. I still have a lot of learning to do. So, with that being said, today’s blog entry.


In the movies, when one actor yells to another not to look down while crossing some dangerously high cliff or bridge, the immediate effect for the other actor is to look down and freak out. Donkey shrieked in fear, “Shrek, I’m looking down!”Well, that’s how I feel about food, particularly soda. I don’t know why I am so addicted to this particularly drink, but I suspect it has to do with the sugar. Because I don’t really like the taste of carbonation in any drink besides Coke, Pepsi and Apple Cider. I know, I’m weird, so sue me.

Drinking soda has gotten to be a problem. I crave it everyday. I don’t get headaches like I hear other people do when they cut the caffeine out of their diet but, I do feel a drain on my energy. I feel tired all the time. I feel sad, like I’m one of those girlfriend’s who abandon’s her best friend for her new boyfriend. I don’t think that thought can truly be felt by anyone except by those who have felt addiction. I start to miss soda and let it fill my every thought till I finally cave and tell myself ‘Oh just one won’t hurt.’

But,  it does hurt and it hurts because instead of letting the addiction fade out of my system, I reintroduce it and setup the cycle for addiction all over again. And it’s hard. It’s hard not to think about soda. It’s hard not to think about food. But like I promised myself last entry, I would talk when I was going through cravings. Although I don’t have much of a support system yet (I’m working on building that), I am letting myself feel the urges instead of repressing them. I am asking myself “why do I want this” and I am expressing the urge when I want to throw in the towel, with Chris.

And do you know what Chris tells me every time I tell him I want a soda?Don’t think about pink elephants.

“Huh?” I asked, not comprehending the first time.

“Don’t think about pink elephants,” he plainly tells me. “Now you can’t stop thinking about pink elephants.”

This wasn’t exactly true, I was thinking about pink elephants drinking soda, but his logic clicked. I still had the craving for forbidden food, but I was thinking about pink elephants. The point is, when you tell yourself not to do something, whether it’s not looking down or not thinking about pink elephants, it’s almost impossible to stop yourself.

Today I put this logic into practice when I almost bought myself a coke slurpee. I wanted that slurpee. I could feel my body tense in anticipation at the first cold caffeinated sweet sip and the sigh of relief afterwards. No, I did not just pull a Meg Ryan. But I let myself feel the craving and how badly I wanted it. Then I gave myself choices. What about orange juice? No, too expensive. What about apple juice? Same sugar quality as drinking a soda and twice the price at a convince store. Milk? Not while I have a cold. Water? Not in the mood. I told myself that I didn’t have the money to be spending almost three dollars on a drink I could get for half the price from a slurpee.

So, using the logic of not having something because it was too expensive or too much sugar, I walked past the soda section of 7-11 and to the juices, just to be proven wrong about what I told myself I couldn’t have. And lo and behold, there was an apple juice for cheaper than a slurpee would have been and made with real sugar and not high fructose corn syrup. Sure, it was in a much smaller quantity and not really that much cheaper, but it was good enough logic for me. I knew I didn’t need the massive size a slurpee would have brought, and for me, that was enough. It was enough of a reason to stick with my choice of apple juice.

Sure, it was sugar. But the point is, it wasn’t soda. It made it easier to resist the single can of Diet Pepsi I saw floating around for grabs in the break room at work. It made it easier to try to apply this logic to other parts of my life, and job. It made it easier when I get that craving again, I can ask myself why do I want this? How can I substitute this for a healthier choice? Then most importantly, think about pink elephants.

Weight Wait, Don’t Tell Me!

You could say that I’m obsessed about my weight. I think about it… a lot.

It’s a constant conflicting battle I’m fighting with myself. On one hand I absolutely refuse to jump on any weight loss band wagon or diet trends and on the other hand I find myself in a constant war of fat. If Pat Benatar’s battlefield is love, then mine is definitely about weight. It’s a constant struggle, over the way my pants fit – or don’t fit, what or how much to eat. The angel and devil sitting on my shoulder usually have to rationalize my behavior. I am happy with the progress I’ve made so far and even more proud of myself for not gaining any weight back.

But I still unjustly and harshly over analyze every single curve, every roll and the way my butt wiggles. And it’s not fair to my body. My body didn’t just wake up one morning and decided, Hey! Let’s get really really fat! No, that was me. I put every morsel, sometimes sinfully delicious, sometimes shudderingly gross food, into my mouth. No one made me do it. There was no one holding a gun up and saying “Eat or Mr. Snuggles gets it!” Sometimes I ate because I was hungry and at other times, I ate because I was bored and thought I was hungry.

And I know I am one of those weird fat girls who likes knowing her actual weight number. I’m one of those girls who can call herself fat without meaning it in a degrading way. Some people find that sad or that I’m trying to pretend to be strong. Or saying that I’m okay with who I am, fat and all, for shock value. And I’m not. Or maybe I’m projecting those opinions onto others. Maybe it has nothing to do with what I think they’re thinking and simply they just don’t know how to react to such a bold statement like, “I’m fat. And I’m okay with that.”

A delicious grilled chicken salad Chris made from scratch

The normal response among woman is to degrade herself when she isn’t perfect and to expect sad sympathy replies and nonchalantly shrug the cries of compliments off. But when I say that I’m not purposely trying to lose weight, just eat healthier, I’m not sure people know how to respond to that except for a confused and half-hearted cheer of, “good for you.” And I wonder if they truly believe that. Because how often has that line been used before? Yes, I would like to lose weight and hope I do. But it’s not my goal.

 I’m not looking to brag about my healthy eating either. But when you shop where you work, it’s kind of hard for people not to notice what you’re buying. It’s just in our nature to be curious what the people in our life are consuming. I know I don’t have to rationalize anything to anyone, but it’s in my nature to try explain. Especially when I explain to a coworker I’m trying to eat healthier, then buy a couple greasy corn dogs a couple of days later.

I see it as, be a little bit of an angel, and be a little bit of a devil. I feel like that’s just me as a person and not just with food. I lean on the angel side a bit heavier than the devil with my personality and I lean on the devil’s side heavier than my angel side with food. And I’m learning how to balance the two out.

It’s hard to believe that as obsessed with weight that I am, I only weigh myself about once a week. I sneak onto the scale, do my secret ritual, and accept its results until I start all over again the following week. Because of course I hope to have lost weight. For as much as I want to reap the benefits of having a healthy colon and as much as I pride myself about eating less processed and chemical foods, I want some of the physical benefits. I want to be able to sit on a transit bus and only take up one seat. I want to know what it feels like to run for miles before getting winded; instead of from the mile and a half of a somewhat up hill walk to my bus stop. I want to go into a normal clothing store and know that they have something I can wear.

But it’s not about dieting. I am not looking to stay on a plan for a few weeks or a few months and then suddenly go back to old way’s. This is about learning to like myself and how to bring my alter ego Lilly out from just this idea and merge her with me. Now that it’s summer, I would love to incorporate exercise into my life. I don’t mean to become a gym rat. I like the idea of yoga, swimming and eventually running.

We hear about healthy living, from the thin. We hear it being preached by just about anyone but I wonder, how many of them are actually as virtuous as they claim? It’s hard to be around people who brag about all their diet or healthier eating tips because I wonder how often they swallow their own words. Because it’s hard to not hear the smuggness in their tone. Why do we have to change who we are? What is so wrong with just being happy with the way you look? Why do we need to let other’s constantly make us feel like we have to improve the way we are? Why can’t we just be good enough?

I am good enough. I am not looking to change myself because of what society tells me I should look like. I am trying to change myself because how I’m not living, is killing me.


While diamonds are still a girl’s best friend, for the twenty-first century woman, Spanx are a close second. For those of you unfamiliar with what Spanx actually are, they are made out of the same material as panty hose (I know who would have figured) in undergarment form intended to give the wearer a more slender appearance. I’ll just say it, I love Spanx.

The great thing about Spanx is actually not that they’re just for fat women. They can help hide any imperfection on any type of body. Some will hide your cellulite or give you a booty boost. For me, my kryptonite is my belly, and therefore am always looking for Spanx to hide the muffin top. And believe me, while I am proud of the weight loss I’ve achieved so far (nearly twenty pounds!), I wouldn’t dream of leaving the house without my Spanx. Maybe because my stomach is right out there in front of me, that it bothers me more than any other body part on me like say my butt or cellulite.

My stomach often makes me feel like Santa, with a very overflowing bowl of jelly. Or sometimes I feel like I could grab a sharpie magic marker, draw a face on my belly and make it talk. Don’t get me wrong, I actually have come a long way to loving my body for what it is. I’ve come along way to liking what I see in the mirror despite the flaws. I used to be unjustly harsh on my body for every flaw, every dimple, every zit, every crinkle and every wobbly bit upon my body. Chris would litterally have to pinch me and teasingly say, “pick” everytime I started to nag.

I can’t tell you what changed, or why I like what I see in the mirror more than I did then but I know Spanx was apart of it. Like training wheels on a bike, I hope to someday take them off and ride free, feeling sexy in my big girl pants, so to speak. But I know I will never completely never not have spanx in my wardrobe, even if they are tucked away in a dressor drawer on call. They have the right enough va-va-voom to make me turn around in the mirror and go, heeeyyy! lol ^_^

So whatever anyone’s opinions are about Spanx, good or bad, they are simply this. Spanx are an illusion. An illusion to make you feel better about yourself,  but an illusion none the less. They might beable to make you feel better about yourself but the magic that’s created is all about you. So I will wear my big girl undies with pride, as I constantly remind reassure myself that I am enough too.

Meet My Alter Ego, Lilly

Before Beyoncé admitted to the world about her alter ego, Sasha Fierce, I used to come up with alter ego names’ for myself. For instance, Elizabeth Henry was the pen name I wanted to write with if I ever became published (online blog not counting). It’s a combination of my middle name and my father’s last name. I loved how old-fashioned (and very British) it sounded. I used to think that it would bring more credibility than my own name ever would. But my favourite alter ego name I created for myself has to be Lilly Adams.

Lilly Adams was a persona I created when I was sixteen and watching America’s Next Top Model. Like most sixteen year old girls, I was obsessed with fashion. Most of the time, Lilly looked like model/actress Lily Cole but her looks changed depending on my mood. So after playing around with names I liked, I swore that if I ever lost the massive amount of weight it would take for me walk down a runway, that this two hundred twenty pound sixteen year old would want her model name to be known as Lilly Adams.

It started mostly as an absurd thought. I never really thought that I’d ever really be a model so, I put it on the back burner for years as a silly idea. In fact, I never really told many people about my fake model name. I could already imagine the eye rolls, the chuckles and blank stares I would receive. ‘So, you want to be a model?’ was the voices I heard in my head, mocking me. And honestly, it wasn’t so much I wanted to be a model. I was just a cliché teenager who wanted a beautiful photograph to help validate her ever wavering confidence.

So Lilly just became this idea I would think about when I would watch Top Model. Somehow over the years, I developed Lilly into an alter ego. When Top Model would come on, I would wonder, who is Lilly and what makes her so different from me? Lilly is brave, she is fearless.  She is silly, confidant, flirtatious and radiant; she’s the type of girl who lights up a room simply by entering it. And while I have many qualities that pride myself for, all of those qualities are not ones I naturally posses.

I tease myself that when I am being naturally flirtatious or extra boisterous, that Lilly has come out to play. When I’m listening to music with my headphones and have the sudden urge to sing or dance, instead of dancing myself per say, I imagine Lilly singing perfectly on tune to whatever song I’m listening to and dancing in the middle of the street. Lilly is apart of me now and she’s not. I try to emulate her as best I can everyday, to be fearless while being utterly loveable.

I think we all have a little bit of Lilly inside of us. Someone who we hide within us most of the time but can be seen within the twinkle of your eye without even realizing it. Maybe it’s the face you put on before you go to work, or the courage you have to sum up to do something scary. Like for Beyoncé, sing in front of millions of fans while having to look utterly perfect. We all have them and I declare it’s time to start giving them names! Maybe yours is named Paula Deen, John Doe or maybe even Larry Tate. Who knows. I think once we recognize these personalities within us, it helps encourage that specific behavior. Or at the very least recognize traits we want to avoid. Maybe Jerkface Jerry comes out when you’ve had too much to drink. That way, you can warn people ahead of time. “Look if I accidentally have too much to drink tonight, just know whatever I say is not me, it’s Jerkface Jerry.”

So hello and meet Lilly. If you catch me singing randomly, or being a little extra flirty or silly, it’s probably because Lilly decided to come out and play.

Lilly comes when you stop to call her
Lilly runs when you look away
Lilly leaves kisses on your collar
Lilly, Lilly, Lilly, Lilly, stay!

The Secret Scale

I have a secret relationship with my scale. I don’t personally own one but, my mother does! In fact, I convinced her to buy the one she has now knowing I could secretly borrow it.

A little untold secret of fat girls is that we’re not supposed to really care about our weight. Oh, we all know fat girls stuff their faces either behind skinny people’s back or when we’re with a large group of people at a restaurant. But heaven forbid we actually know our own weight! How big our chin rolls are, how many stomachs close to a cows we have, and the way we waddle walk are supposed to dictate exactly how fat we are. From chubby, to kinda over weight, to plus size, to yeah she needs to lose weight to morbidly obese. Weight is supposed to be a number too scary for us fat girls to handle. And for some, perhaps it is. But for me, I get a higher rush, secretly undressing in my mother’s bathroom to see if I lost so much as a pound.

And if I have, I’ll over analyze my body in the mirror, wondering what part of my body is now that much closer to being skinny. I’ll hold my tummy with both hands, check out my butt, and turn my face to either side just to see if I can notice any difference. I’ll test my pants when they’re back on to try and see how close to a pants size I am to losing and I’ll sway side to side once my shirt is on again to see how much my muffin top has shrunk. I do all of this privately, and nakedly.

I’m not vain, at least I’m pretty sure I’m not. I like to make sure before I leave the house I took passably decent and sometimes I will spend a couple of hours “dolling myself up” but I don’t think this makes me vain. Nor do I think I have an eating disorder. When the scale goes up a couple, or a few, pounds from what I was hoping, I won’t lie and say that I’m not slightly disappointed in myself. But instead of beating myself up I remind myself to just be more conscious of how much and what I’m eating. 

My mother’s scale gives me hope and the urge to keep pushing myself to keep trying. I usually fail but I never let it defeat me. I hope to someday soon be at least a couple of clothes size smaller. Everytime I look at that scale and see a smaller number, it fills me with pride for myself and confidence that I can one day reach my dream of being in between a size ten or twelve. I always want to look in the mirror and think yeah, I’ve still got some curve but still be healthy.

I just want to take a moment and say, Thank you scale. Without you I wouldn’t know I’ve lost a pant size or that I’ve  become seventeen pounds closer the weight on my state id. I would probably be less confident and still be beating myself up. I would probably revert to over eating and not changing. So while you usually get blamed for playing the bad guy for letting us know our true selves, thank you scale for making me grow (No pun intended) into the ever more confident, and beautiful woman I am starting to finally feel.

From A Fatso

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