I knew I was wearing a size 26/28, but sometimes I couldn’t really see what that looked like. I knew the last time I got on the scale it was almost to its 300 pound capacity. But I didn’t know what I really looked like to other people.

“This is why I don’t get my picture taken,” I’d scream at myself. “The camera just isn’t kind to me.” I’d quickly shuffle through the rest of the pictures, not really enjoying them, because all I could think about was the one picture I was in. “Why did John take my picture?” I’d fume internally. “He knows I hate getting my picture taken.” (It’s so funny to me now that I would get mad at John for taking my picture.)

Before I got home, I’d remove the offending picture(s) and throw them in the trash. If they were of something important like my birthday or Mother’s Day, I’d keep the “best” ones, but the other ones, I ditched. That’s why if you look at the before pictures on the blog, they aren’t very good pictures. No posed portrait shots, no “you look great today” let me take your picture shots. Just random pictures that I allowed someone to snap of me when my defenses were down.

Time after time I’d see pictures of myself, and stare in disbelief. Every single picture surprised me. This probably says something about my lack of self-perception, but it is how I felt. Surprised. There were certain pictures that were worse than others, like this one:

When I saw this picture of myself, I never wore shorts again. It’s interesting that I still ate chocolate, but rather blamed the bad picture on the outfit, rather than the woman in it!

I’ve read weight loss stories of people who began losing weight after seeing an unflattering picture of themselves. For them, that was the defining moment. I wish it had been for me, because I would have not ended up morbidly obese for so many years. Rather than the bad picture spurring me to action, the pantry was my solace.

I wish I had been more confident in myself, and been able to appreciate all the good things I had to offer my family without so often wrapping it up in my appearance. But I wasn’t there yet. I still tied my self-worth up with my appearance, and that wasn’t good for me in the long run.

The woman in my pictures wasn’t the woman I wanted to be – either appearance wise, or confidence wise. How I long to have those obese years back, and really take the time to appreciate every single good moment I had with my family, instead of experiencing so much self-loathing and unhappiness. What does your camera reveal about you? Can you go beyond the appearance and appreciate all the good things you have to offer the world? Can pictures of yourself start spurring you into action, getting healthier and more fit, and more able to make a positive impact on your world? What do you think? Diane

I turned to John and said, “Hey, look at that weird sized chair. You don’t think that’s because so many people are overweight and they can’t fit into these chairs comfortably do you?” He looked at it and agreed with me. It was most likely for our new SuperSized Americans. There wasn’t just one of those chairs – they were interspersed among the waiting room.

Honestly, I don’t know what I think about this. Is this a sign that our hospitals are being more accomodating of us in general, or is it a sign that even hospitals have kind of “given up” on fighting the trend of our country’s growing girth?

Looking at those bigger than normal chairs brought up some sad feelings I had about myself when I was morbidly obese. I remember giving up on myself in terms of my clothing choices, my appearance and my food intake. I just quit trying and quit reaching for that seemingly elusive goal of getting to a healthy weight.  I tried to give up on myself and it wasn’t a good feeling.

It wasn’t a good feeling to see those chairs and think that parts of our society may be giving up and just accepting obesity as part of life. I know there is a difference between accommodating and giving up! I agree that airline seats are too small for most people, even people of an average weight. BUT, the hospital chair I was sitting in would have accommodated me at 300 pounds. It would have been tight but I could have fit.

And sitting in that tight chair in a hospital would have made me think again about my weight and that might have been a good thing. I know that every time I sat in a tight chair during my 10 year fight with obesity I thought about the fact that I really needed to do something about my weight. I’d look around and compare my fit in the chair with someone smaller and notice that their stomach didn’t stick out above the arms of the chair and that they had room around them.

I never felt that the chairs should have been bigger. I felt I should have been smaller.

So where do you stand on this issue? Should hospitals add chairs big enough for one and a half people when they remodel? By the way, John and I tried to sit in that chair-thing together and we fit, but barely.

Yes, to accommodating chairs in a hospital, or just stick with the regular sized chairs and benches? Diane

The third year of our marriage was going wonderfully and Christmas coming.  One day I showed him a picture of a white suit I really liked.  He said, “It’s nice.”  I forgot about the suit and Christmas came and went.  For Valentine’s Day we out-of-town relatives visiting, and John brought out a beautifully wrapped present and said, “I’ve had this and was waiting for Valentine’s Day to give it to you.”  I eagerly opened the package and was delighted to find the suit I had admired inside.  My delight quickly turned to concern when I noticed that the size of the suit was “10“.   Unbeknownst to him, I hadn’t worn a size 10 in over a year.  I could fudge sizes in shirts and sweaters, but a suit was a different story.  I held it up to myself and said, “Thank you.” 

Here’s where the big problem started.  He said, “Try it on.”  I shook my head, no.  He insisted, and I reluctantly headed into a different room to change clothes.

I stepped into the skirt and started to pull it up.  It wouldn’t go above my knees.  I tugged and checked to make sure the zipper was fully opened.  It was, and the skirt wasn’t budging.  From the living room I heard them call, “Are you ready?”  Ready?!  Not quite.  I stepped back out of the skirt and tried to put it on over my head.  After all, it was a slim skirt.  I tugged and pulled, yanked and wiggled until I had it partially on.  I yanked the skirt hem down until it was kind of in the right place.  There would be no buttoning the skirt as it was about 4 inches too small.  The hips were so tight I could hardly walk. 

I put the jacket on as best as I could and pulled it down as far as possible.  I opened the door three inches and stuck my face out.  “It’s good,” I said.  They all chorused – “Let us see.”  I opened the door a bit further and stood in the doorway with my hands in front of my hips.  Without thinking, my husband said, “It looks a little tight.”  My relatives echoed his sentiment and I turned red from embarrassment.  I just laughed and said, “Oh, I’m sure it’s just cut small.”  But inside I was mortified.  Now everyone in the family knew I had gotten fat.

Later that night he apologized.  He told me he hadn’t realized I really didn’t want to try on the suit.  I finally admitted to him that I hadn’t worn a size 10 in some time and was sorry.  He said he didn’t care, but I cared.  I knew I was getting bigger and bigger but I couldn’t seem to do anything about it.  Now my problem was out in the open.  Instead of doing something about it, I began talking nonstop about my weight, looking for reassurance that I wasn’t really as big as I knew I was.  He was reassuring, but everytime he reassured me the words rang false.  I knew he was just being kind.  I didn’t look okay and I was quickly moving towards being embarassingly large. 

After this story took place, I gained another 100 pounds.  If I had just gotten things under control then my life would have been a lot easier.  And there would have been many less embarrassing clothing moments.

Ever had something like this happen to you?  Diane

I’ve flown on and off my whole life. I always enjoyed flying until I became an adult, and then all of a sudden it made me really, really nervous. I fly when I need to, but don’t love it like my husband does. Every time I fly I  grip the armrests willing the plane up in the air and then just as fervently willing it down again. Fortunately, every time I’ve flown it has been a safe flight. Unfortunately, it wasn’t always the most enjoyable flight.

I successfully avoided flying for a long time while I was obese. I had an opportunity or two to fly somewhere but always managed to get out of it. There was one time where I absolutely had to get on an airplane, so I did.

I had been morbidly obese long enough that I knew it wasn’t going to be a lot of fun sitting squished in a seat several sizes too small for several hours. I had already experienced the humiliation of breaking chairs, getting stuck in booths at restaurants, and getting winded just walking up a few steps to understand that my obesity was a huge problem.

Once I arrived at the airport that morning I went directly to my gate. I looked around at the other passengers and – as expected – I was by far the biggest person there. I felt like everyone was looking at me – secretly hoping they weren’t seated next to me. If I had been them I would have secretly been hoping the same thing. More and more people came to the gate and I heard the attendant announce that the flight was full. “Great,” I thought. “Now I will have to sit next to someone for sure.” And sure enough, a few minutes later there I was.

I was in the window seat, a medium largish man was next to me, and a skinny man was occupying the aisle seat, hanging onto his armrest for dear life. I wished I could just suck in my girth but no matter how hard I tried I couldn’t make myself any smaller. I struggled with the seat belt after reassuring the flight attendant that I definitely did not need a seat belt extender. I really needed one, but with a lot of tugging I managed to get the belt buckled. I knew that belt wasn’t getting unbuckled until we reached our destination. I was afraid I might not get it fastened again.

The whole flight was exceedingly uncomfortable – both for me and my poor seat mates. Not surprisingly, neither one of them spoke to me during the flight. Fortunately, my flight home was better as I had a seat to myself.

I’ve read a lot of stories in the newspaper lately about Southwest Airlines requiring passengers as big as I was to purchase two seats. Having lived both sides of this situation I am torn on what is the right way to handle an obese passenger. I understand the airlines’ concern, but I also know that sometimes obese people need to fly and they can’t always afford two tickets. It’s a bad Catch-22.

What’s your take on airline flights? Have you ever felt uncomfortable on a flight, and do you think obese passengers should be required to purchase an extra ticket?  Diane

Who knew that seat belts really should be bigger.   A seat belt is something I had never really given any consideration to before I gained 150 pounds. You sat in the car, put your seat belt on, and off you went.

That was when I was a standard size. Unfortunately, once I married, I wasn’t a standard size for long. Once my weight ballooned up and over 300 pounds I had a lot of struggles with those pesky fabric seat belts.  Like everyone else who has been morbidly obese, when I weighed in that range, I still needed to use a seat belt, but sometimes that wasn’t possible.  This sounds harsh to say, but as big as I looked when I was standing up, when I sat down things really got wide.  Everything seemed to spread around me, and I looked bigger than I really was.  Unfortunately, even though I avoided looking at myself from the side when sitting, there were times when my sitting down width became undeniable and embarrassing. After all, with a waist size of 55 and hips in the 60’s, it had becoming increasingly difficult to perform normal day-to-day activities. 

NOT PREGNANT

The year was 1995 and I looked like the picture.  I had been married for eight years and had gained around 110 pounds.  Impressive to be sure.  I worried about my size a lot.  I was a size 10 when we married, and had a closet full of great clothes.  My only worry with clothes at that nice smallish size was what fabulous outfit to buy next. Should I buy the cute suit for the office, or the great new pair of jeans in black? But unfortunately, I quickly gained weight, and my size increased rapidly. Size 10′s were a thing of the past. Onto size 12, 14, 16′s and then, HELLO PLUS SIZE DEPARTMENT. Not a good day, that one.

Finally hitting 280 pounds,  I worried a lot about clothes.  I had a closet full of clothes that ranged from my old size of 10 to my current size 28.  Of course the smaller sized clothes wouldn’t have fit around my right arm, and sad to say, the largest of the clothing was getting small.  I had resorted to making really ugly jumpers that I wore with t-shirts purchased from the men’s department.  I had grown so large  I was afraid  that soon it would be impossible to purchase clothes that would fit me anymore.

And sad to say, that fear came true. I mostly wore faded leggings or jumpers. Wearing jumpers has some definite advantages for the overweight woman.  They are loose, they come in many colors, and you can grow into them if needed.  And I needed to grow into them often.

One disadvantage to the jumper is this:  When they are getting a bit tight all the way around, you may get asked a question you don’t want to answer. 

A question like this:  When are you due?

The first time this happened to me was after my first daughter was born.  I was wearing what I thought was a really pretty yellow jumper. The baby was about 9 or 10 months old, and she and I had spent the morning shopping at the mall.  At our last stop, I was standing in line to pay for an outfit and the lady standing next to me said, “My your children will be close in age won’t they?”  I looked at her uncomprehendingly and said, “Excuse me?”  She repeated her statement, and I realized, with horror, she thought I was pregnant.  I was mortified, but probably not as mortified as she was when I explained that I just hadn’t lost the baby weight yet, and I was definitely not pregnant.

This happened to me over and over again through my obese years.  People would ask, “When is the baby due?” and I would fall all over myself explaning why I was so big.  Finally, I came up with the perfect answer to this rather distressing question.  I would say, “THE BABY IS DUE IN _________.”  I’d fill in the appropriate month, depending on the time of year.  They would say “Good luck with the delivery” and go off on their way.  And as they left, part of me would die inside each time this happened.  I’m not exgaggrating when I tell you that this probably happened about 10 times a year. You would think that I would have gotten used to it but I didn’t.

I hope that this has never happened to you. There are so many embarrassing moments that happened to me over the years and  I’ve never forgotten any of them. But instead of feeling badly and beating myself up over my appearance and choices back then, now I use these incidents as one more reminder of why I never want to go back where I came from.  If you are ever tempted to go back to your old ways, just remember and write down some of the reasons you’ve been working so hard to get where you want to go.  Diane

Last week I shared how, many years ago, I got stuck in a bentwood rocking chair at church, and had to push and tug myself out of the chair while a group of ladies watched in uncomfortable silence.  That incident didn’t get me motivated to get healthy and lose weight, and neither did the second incident involving a chair.

The year was 1995, and we were celebrating one of my children’s birthdays.  As customary for the time, we had invited an assortment of friends over for the party, and were enjoying watching all the little children run around and play.  As an obese woman, I tired easily.  Even during my normal daily routines I would often find myself sitting down “for a rest.”  I often rested with a bite of something high fat and high sugar, followed by a bite of something high fat and high salt.  And then to round off my rest, I would return to the high sugar food, just to end on a sweet note!  That birthday party day was even more strenuous than my typical days usually were.  After all, I had made a cake, planned games, cleaned the house, wrapped presents and gotten several little children fed and dressed.

As the party progressed I could feel my energy level waning.  My legs began to hurt.  My back ached from standing around and I just felt burned out.  During this particular party, some of the husbands had also come, and one of my friend’s husbands was sitting in our dining room watching his little daughters play with mine.  I walked into the dining room, which was part of our great room, and began talking with him.  As we talked I became more and more exhausted, so I sat down in a chair.  As I sat down, I heard a soft crack.  I shifted my weight around and looked behind me to see where that unusual sound had come from.  I couldn’t see anything.  But then, he said, “I think you broke the chair.” 

Looking at him in horror, I reached my right arm around to my left side and grasped the left chair arm.  Imagine my embarassment when I pulled and the chair arm came free, having broken right off the chair.  I looked at him, he stared at me and I mumbled something about the fact that they just don’t make furniture the way they used to.  He wisely agreed with me, and we both left the dining room.  I put that chair arm in the coat closet and returned to the party.  Unfortunately, the only thing I could think of all day long was that broken chair.  I told John what had happened and he kindly agreed that it was a manufacturing defect, and not the fault of my large backside. 

It would be about two more years before I started to finally lose the weight.  I kept that chair arm for years as a reminder of where I had been, and where I didn’t want to be any longer.  As I look back on that time, I realize that I wasn’t being honest with myself about how much my weight was affecting my everyday life.  I couldn’t see beyond the physical size and acknowledge that my weight was holding me back in all areas of my life, not only physically.  One thing I often share with people who ask about my weight loss is that being overweight isn’t just a physical issue.  It’s an emotional issue as well.  The physical size is often a symptom of an emotional issue. 

I would encourage you to take this weekend and examine your feelings about your weight and your size.  Then go beyond just the physical and think about the emotional and spiritual connections surrounding where you are.  I believe that all situations and all challenges can be used to stronger and happier.  Write down some of the things that come to mind when you think about your physical appearance, and  then write down an action plan to address one of those issues today.  Don’t be like me and wait until you start coming apart at the seams, make a choice to make a change today.   Diane

Americans are voyeuristic.  We love reality television shows, we eagerly follow the lives of the rich and famous and most of us enjoy stories about other people.  We especially enjoy those shows and stories that make us glad we aren’t like “them.”  I’ll be brave and tell you a story that will make you glad you weren’t me.  

Have you ever been to an antique store and marveled at the size of the tiny beds, the delicate shape of the table legs and the diminutive chairs?  In a museum, did you ever stare in

freefoto.com

amazement at Martha Washington’s dress, not only because it’s so old, but because it’s so small?    Americans aren’t small anymore, and it seems everything we see in stores these days is super-sized.  Our tables are higher, the beds are larger, the couches are enormous and the chair seats are wider. 

Oh, had that last statement been true for me when I was fat.  There were two incidents where I would have given my right thigh (literally) for a super sized piece of furniture.  I’ll share one of them with you now.  Many years ago I was at church for the Sunday morning services with John and the children.  During the service, my youngest daughter, who was a baby at the time, started to get fussy.  I took her out through the big swinging doors at the back of the auditorium, and walked down the hall to the “cry room.”  This was a small room that had been set aside by the church for mothers.  It had a changing table, a restroom and several rocking chairs arranged in a circle.  When I got the the room, there were 4 or 5 other moms sitting in the room with their babies.  I walked in, sat down in one of the chairs and while I rocked my little one , I enjoyed conversation with the other mothers.  Eventually, I decided to go back into the church service. I began to get up out of the chair so I could leave the room.  But too bad for me because I was stuck in the chair, and when I stood up the chair came up with me.  There I was, half standing, with a rocking chair attached to my behind.  The chair was literally swing in the air.  I was hanging onto poor Grace for dear life.  The ladies in the room were mortified.

My next reaction was swift and sure.  I quickly lowered the chair back to the ground and sat back down.  No one knew where to look, especially me.  Did I look at my friends?  At Grace?  At the chair?  I just wanted to get out of that room and out of that chair.  I was afraid to try standing up again, but I knew I couldn’t spend the rest of the morning in the rocking chair.  This time, I pushed down on the chair handle with one hand, held onto Grace with the other hand, and extracted my thighs and behind from the chair.  For a quick moment I really thought I was stuck again, but with some shifting and tugging I popped out of the chair and fled the room. 

That was one of many embarassing moments I had as an overweight woman.  That particular chair was an older style of rocking chair, often called a bentwood chair, and it was small.  I later went back when no one was there and looked at the chair to see why I had gotten stuck.  The seat was small, and the arms were very narrow.  Had I been an average size it wouldn’t have been an issue, but due to my size, the smallness of the chair definitely a problem. 

Did I run home, get rid of all my fat food and diet like crazy?  No.  John and I went out to eat and I pigged out like there was no tomorrow.  I pushed the incident far down into the reaches of my mind so that I wouldn’t get upset about what had happened.  I once again used food to cover up any emotion.  It didn’t work for me.  The emotions surrounding that incident and others like it kept returning and I kept trying in vain to cover them with food.  Looking back I now see that no matter how much I ate it wasn’t solving the problem.  It was only compounding it.  But I still didn’t stop overeating.  It would be several more years of uncomfortable chairs and embarassing moments before I would finally get my food choices and exercise regime in place. 

Have you ever had something like that happen to you? Care to share a moment or two?? Diane

Like I don’t have enough to do – I’ve started a family blog - so if any of you are curious as to what life is like in my house click on over. There’s a few things up now, but I’m adding more as you read! I’ll have cooking, cleaning, homeschooling, and daily life!

I’m not a big sports fan in general.  I didn’t participate in organized sports in high school, although I did attend the football games because I was in the band.  During my college years I became more of a football fan as our team, Florida State, was on the way up, and it was exciting to be in a stadium full of tens of thousands of people.  Once married, John and I went to the FSU games when we could afford it, and always had a good time cheering, drinking diet cokes and eating cheese nachos. 

As an obese wife and mother, I was guardian and keeper of all food in the house. I did the shopping, prepared the meals, selected the restaurants, and made the decisions. That’s pretty typical for a stay-at-home mom probably. What wasn’t so typical was my protective attitude towards the food in the pantry.

When I went grocery shopping I’d buy the ingredients for meals, yes – but I’d also buy special foods just for me. Unfortunately they weren’t fruits and vegetables, but rather candy, cookies, ice cream, and chips. Sometimes my oldest daughter, who was about 5 at the time would ask me, “Mommy, do we get any of those M&M’s?” What she was really asking me, was whether or not I was going to eat the entire pound bag by myself or not.

Sad to say, when I got home from grocery shopping I’d secret away my “special food.” Throughout the following days you’d find me standing in the pantry, reaching my hand way up high trying to feel around for my own personal treat.  If someone walked into the kitchen I’d quickly withdraw my hand and look innocently around, as if to say, “What? I’m not doing anything wrong!”

Occasionally John would find my stash and would ask where it came from. I’d casually say, “Oh, I bought that weeks ago.” He’d just nod, knowing full well that wasn’t the truth, but not wanting to confront me. Sometimes I’d immediately feel guilty and confess, but more often than not I’d just allow the lie to sit there.  The whole time we’d be discussing it all I could think was, “I hope he doesn’t eat any.”

Even at dinner time, I would carefully watch what everyone was eating, secretly hoping there would be enough left for me to have 3rds and 4ths. I hid my disappointment if there wasn’t any of my favorites left, quickly planning for what other treat I could have. I never told any of the family members not to have seconds of the dumplings, but I probably unconsciouslly communicated my desires.

When I finally got to the point where I was disgusted with myself both physically and emotionally, I made a 180 degree turnaround. Instead of secreting away food, all food was available to everyone. Of course I stopped buying junky food, and filled the pantry with healthy treats, but when the occasion arose to buy candy, I made sure to place it on the pantry shelf where everyone could see it.

At dinner, I no longer worried that there wouldn’t be enough for me to have my extra share. I took what I knew to be an appropriate serving, and enjoyed watching my family eat a healthy meal.

I know that I’m not completely alone in my old feelings concerning food, as dozens of women in my weight loss classes have shared similiar stories with me. Over and over again I’d encourage them that this was a habit that was fairly easy to break.

I changed my habit and desires by coming to the realization that food was a wonderful, joyous part of my life, but not the focus of my life. As I changed my attitude toward food, I saw my body change as well. This time for the positive.  If there is a part of you that hides food, either openly or in secret, don’t worry – this is a habit that can be changed, and turned around for the better.  Diane