Wow, that hurt. It turns out, I have suffered from body image insecurities forever. I can actually pinpoint the beginnings of my angst to the seventh grade, when a boy told me my legs were fat. Turns out he had a crush on me, apparently the idiots way of getting my attention. It worked so well I didn't wear shorts outside of my house for years. I don't blame the kid at all; I am over it really. It turns out I actually had a pretty awesome body through high school. My basic frame is pretty long and curvy. Even now, as chubby chick, I have curves. They are just lumpier than I like.
When I met my husband, I was super skinny. A year or two of abject misery will do that to a girl. I was a single mother of a 15 month old, and was actually skinnier after his birth than ever before. Around the time of our first date, I weighed about 110 pounds and was 5 foot 6 inches. I wore a 00 in jeans. Yikes. When I look back at pictures, it was kind of sad.
As we dated a while, and I got happier, I got healthier. When we got married a year or so later, I was in a size 4, about 125 pounds. Still kind of small for my frame, but I looked pretty good. I compulsively cut my hair into different styles and shades. Luckily, my face can do just about any hairstyle.
During all this time, I was busy, almost frantically so. Between having a toddler, a full time job with no set schedule, and developing my relationship with my guy, there wasn't really time to breathe. Frankly, I kind of like to live that way.
We moved to Germany for a few years, and I put on some weight. We had a baby boy, and I tipped the scale at 199 when he was born. Thank goodness quite a lot of that dropped pretty quickly, but I never got below 155 pounds. This weighed on my mind (no pun intended!). How could my husband be attracted to this fat slob? I mean, I was a size 8!!! After about a year, I suffered a major heartbreak when my cousin and best friend didn't wake up one day. She was 32 years old, and there was never really an explanation. I fell into depression, and hate to say this but I don't remember about 4 months of my life. It is just gone. When I woke up, it was with a better attitude.
Until we had our next child, a little girl. I had a hard time with this pregnancy, and that black came back. It was easier to just lay on the couch than to function, so that is what I did. When our little girl was 3 weeks old, my husband deployed for his third time. This kind of forced me to start living again. I got a job, and started having my own life outside the house and kids. Oh, did I mention we had left Germany and were now in El Paso, Texas?
Anyway, after I had my daughter, I lost a good bit of the weight, but this time I was in the 170's. I hated it. It made me sick to think about seeing myself naked, and I have never been shy. I turned 30, and my husband was deployed. I was miserably unhappy, although I doubt anyone really knew that. I am awesome at being cheerful, whether I feel it or not. I am also extremely private about how I feel. I can keep a secret like no other.
More time goes by, and another deployment comes up. By this time, I really hate deployments, and handling every thing without my husband. My best friend was there, going through the same things I was. This was good, and bad. She could relate like no one else, but you also didn't want to complain too much because she was dealing with the same things. I had the best job ever, but it was really all about helping other people. My co-workers were great, but none of that saved me from going home to be mom and dad and disciplinarian and housekeeper and plumber and bill payer and on and on. And while I was doing all this, I had to keep happy every time my husband called or jumped on Yahoo. Balancing what negative you tell them with how happy you are they are alive that day is a challenge all it's own. The last thing I wanted to do was feel like I endangered him just because I was whiny. Is this a realistic point of view? Who knows, but it served me for four deployments so far...
This is when I decided I needed to work with trainer. My BFF and I found an awesome guy to work with at our local gym, and it was an appointment in my book, three afternoons a week right after work. For the first six months, I did really well. I was focused and interested. My body fat percentage started shrinking, along with my inches. I was still in the high 160's, but I was okay with that since I felt good.
The second six months started out pretty good, but I was losing focus fast. My husband came home, and you would think it would be easier to fit in gym time with an extra adult around, but it actually became harder. Or maybe I was just bored and that was my excuse? Regardless, I started skipping sessions until I stopped going all together.
Which brings me to the present. We moved just over a year ago to a whole new environment. I have no job, am staying home with the munchkins, going to school online and basically sit on the couch all day. I am my heaviest ever, outside of pregnancy. This morning, on this first day of my next journey, I weighed 187 pounds. My body fat percentage is scary.
Combine all this information, and you have a Chubby Chick. I wear a size 12-14, and hate to look at myself. As of today, December 28, 2011, this is going to change. I am going to address those awful habits (fodder for another post) and get my booty back in the gym. This will become a no excuses zone, and I WILL find motivation.
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