Thursday 29 January 2015

Accepting that I've failed myself

In high school, I was obese. Not just overweight, but obese.

Growing up, I was never good at sports. I tried out for teams in junior high but never had the skills to compete with the future all-stars around me. I grew to hate sports, gym class, and anything related to physical activity. All because I wasn't good enough.

This kick-started my couch potato life. I became a homebody. If I did go anywhere, I begged my parents for a ride so I could avoid the embarrassment of walking, biking, or rollerblading. I thought even trying or making an effort made me look stupid. Food became my best friend, my main comfort in sadness and stress.

These trends snowballed and for the next five years I lived an unhealthy sedentary life.

I became fat.

Gym class was unbelievably difficult, I no longer found joy in nature walks, and I hated going outside. I disliked vegetables unless they were layered in butter or cheese; chicken fingers, fries, pizza, and burgers were part of my daily intake; and soda ensured there was no room for water in my life.

In my first-year of university I didn't have to worry about the "freshman 15" since there was no possible way I could balloon any bigger. That being said, I had no idea how much I weighed.

That December, I had a doctor's appointment for the first time in years. The first thing I had to do was step on the scale. I saw the reading. The nurse sat me down in an empty office where I waited for 20 minutes. All I could see as I closed my eyes was that number. I had weighed in at 250 pounds.

I was in shock. I never thought I would be that out of control. In that moment, I decided to change my life.

I immediately began eating healthy (lean meats, veggies, fruit, the "good" grains, etc.) and began going to the gym and attending Zumba classes. By that next year I had lost 75 pounds.

Before and after losing the weight
(December 2010, and December 2012)
I was happy. I was healthy. I was proud of myself.

I kept the weight off for about a year, but three break-ups over the next two would send me into a downward spiral and back on the path of seeking emotional stability through food.

I tried getting back on track many times, but It was useless. The damage was done. The damage is done.

Even now, I'm happy in my personal life but the stress of school and work is the wall that I keep bouncing off of and back into a lifestyle that has made me hate who I am.

I've gained a large chunk of the weight back that I had lost. I can't fit into my favourite jeans anymore, I cry when I look down at my deformed figure, and my prominent collarbone is slowly disappearing under a layer of fat I've injected myself with. I hate seeing pictures or videos of myself, I'm constantly wishing I looked like the other beautiful women around me, and I hide inside baggy sweaters and t-shirts because I'm ashamed.

I'm ashamed that I've failed myself. Embarrassed, even. My self-loathing has reached a new peak.

But for now, all I can do is try. Try being better, try liking myself, and try being proud of myself. I need to be honest and vulnerable with myself and the ones I love. This is my public confession that I want to be healthier, and that I want to love myself again. This is me surrendering to my friends and peers, and begging them to hold me accountable. At this point, I don't know what that looks like but I hope to find out soon.

3 comments:

  1. This is wonderful and you're wonderful. You're so much more than just a number anyway

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  2. Bailey, you are so awesome! Great job on the vulnerablity :) <3

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  3. You are smart and a joy to be around. We are so lucky to have you in Cre Comm.

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