I’m currently reading Tales From the Scale by Erin J. Shea. The contributors all describe the moment/event that really opened their eyes to just how out of control their eating had gotten. I have so many, but there are two that stand out. Everything that happened in between these two moments pushed me toward losing weight.
Leading up to my senior year of college I lost quite a bit of weight. I spent the summer walking for up to two hours a day. I was religious about exercising and only eating foods that had nutritional value. The scale frustrated me because it rarely seemed to budge, yet my clothes were getting smaller and I could see the difference. I was motivated by so much – final year of college, unknown future, a trip to California at the end of the school year, a boy. I felt unstoppable! And then I graduated with a degree in Creative Writing.
I tried and tried to get a good job, but I was stuck in my part-time college job at a craft store. I was practically on campus during work and surrounded by happy, hopeful students with sensible majors like Education or Business. The store’s biggest item was candy – four aisles of chocolate, gummy candies, salty chips. The summer after graduation was dismal and I found comfort in the candy that I sold to little kids and those happy, hopeful college students. Fall rolled around and I had already gone up two pant sizes.
Shortly before the holidays I decided, like so many times before, that I was going to lose weight. I did okay for a couple weeks but Christmas was full of sweet temptations. On the day before Christmas Eve I was determined not to eat very much because I knew the next two days would be all about my Aunt’s gourmet meal, layers of chocolate, and cookies, cookies, cookies. But I was surrounded by candy and cookies, homemade Chex mix, and all of my family’s other staple Christmas treats. I decided to treat myself to a lunch that consisted of my mom’s special slaw, a sandwich on my favorite white bread, chips, and a couple cookies as a treat for dessert. After lunch, though, I wanted more cookies. I couldn’t let my family see me go back for more, so I concealed three large chocolate chip cookies under a magazine. Those weren’t enough either, though, and I found a way to sneak a handful of holiday candy into my room. Then I remembered that we had banana nut muffins and I took a couple of those. Cereal! I missed cereal with cold milk, and so I fixed a bowl of Chex. But I couldn’t carry it back to my room and have everyone see, so I took it to the basement bathroom. Before heading downstairs, though, I took some more cookies. I sat on the cold tiles with the exhaust fan on so that if anyone asked, I was getting ready to take a shower. I sat on the hard bathroom floor and ate the cereal and then the cookies. My stomach ached, my jaw hurt. I sat there ashamed and stuffed. I was sad for myself because I had a crappy job and everything I wrote was crappy and other people were so much happier during the holidays, and all of the food tasted so good. But I couldn’t believe I had resorted to eating for what had to be over an hour straight, using the bathroom floor as a table.
With my empty cereal bowl on the tiles, I wondered if I could make myself throw up and erase it all. I leaned over the toilet and coughed, tried to gag myself. I was never able to and only ended up with a stomach ache and a sore throat.
Fast forward to a few years later. My two best friends have gotten engaged. I’ve been asked to be a bridesmaid. It’s hard to be happy about anything because I have a painful bump under my left arm – what I fear is going to be the return of an infected gland. I had one years before and spent months on antibiotics and undergoing painful treatments. My doctor told me it had to do with hormones and being overweight.
I went to an urgent care facility so I wouldn’t have to be weighed, but the nurse asks for my weight. I have no idea because I’ve avoided a scale since that day in the bathroom when I ate cereal and cookies on the floor. I’m put on antibiotics and given another speech about losing weight. The next morning I swallow my fear and shame and get onto a scale. I’m pleased that when I gave the nurse my weight, I had overestimated by almost 15 pounds. But the number frightens me – at 258, I’m closer to 300 than 200. I probably weigh over 100 pounds more than most of my friends. The idea that you could subtract 100 pounds from my weight and I’d still be above average for my height was frightening.
Those two moments – overeating in the bathroom and facing the numbers on the scale during a potential health crisis – opened my eyes to how serious my problem was. I needed to lose weight not just to feel comfortable in a bridesmaid dress, but for my health, my well being.
