As I reflect on my journey, I realize that my New Year’s resolutions have often revolved around weight loss—despite the fact that I wasn’t even overweight at times. In my younger years, standing just under five feet tall, I believed that true attractiveness meant weighing less than 100 pounds. The pressure to fit into a size zero was immense, and I often felt embarrassed being a size 4 or 6. What was my issue? It felt like there were countless things wrong with me.
I prioritized exercising five times a week, often skipping meals or settling for a can of peas at lunchtime. When I lived alone, my fridge was devoid of alcohol or meat—two items I simply didn’t know how to shop for. Instead, I relied on instant mashed potatoes and sugary cereals. My diet was restrictive, and my only hobby revolved around the elliptical machine. Despite my efforts, the scale refused to budge.
I was shaped like Mary Lou Retton but longed to resemble Gwyneth Paltrow—one of those effortlessly elegant women with straight hair and enviable thigh gaps. Though I never developed a full-blown eating disorder, dissatisfaction with my appearance and my food choices was a constant companion.
Fast forward to today: I weigh nearly 50 pounds more than that frail version of myself. For someone of my height, that translates to an even larger difference, making me feel like I’ve gained an extra 300 pounds. If someone had predicted this weight at 38 when I was 28, I would have retreated into isolation, terrified of what my future held. I might have abandoned my dreams of love and happiness, seeking refuge in a remote cave to escape my “fat fate.”
Several factors contributed to my weight gain: aging, childbirth, and thyroid issues. During my time in grad school, I was diagnosed with Graves’ disease, which was misdiagnosed as mere stress for far too long. Ironically, in that period, my weight dropped as I indulged in all my favorite foods. I could eat whatever I wanted, and my waistline seemed to shrink daily. My hair looked fabulous, but my heart was not in great shape.
The harsh reality of modern medicine brought my weight loss to a sudden halt. My metabolism, once as fast as a Porsche, transformed into a sluggish used Hyundai. I accepted that a size zero was a thing of the past. At 30, I settled into a comfortable size 6, which, in my mind, was still acceptable.
After two children, the slim version of myself has now manifested in my chin. I keep that inner girl happy with snacks like Oreos and sugary sodas. I’m no longer a size 6; I’m now comfortably a medium in leggings and sweatpants. But guess what? I am honestly the happiest I’ve ever been.
I have a career I enjoy, children I adore, and a supportive husband. I engage in various hobbies, from crafting to writing, and even bought myself a banjo ukulele. Life has become vibrant and fulfilling, while the monotony of strict diets and workouts no longer captivates me.
My appearance no longer dominates my thoughts. I embrace my cuteness and no longer chase an unattainable body image. My wardrobe now consists of clothes that I love and that fit well, primarily from Ann Taylor LOFT’s clearance section.
While I’m not ready to pen a guide on body positivity just yet, I acknowledge that I’ve come a long way. I didn’t attend my 20th reunion because I didn’t feel wealthy or thin enough. You won’t find many photos of me flaunting trendy peplum tops online. Our family vacations tend to be in places chillier than Minneapolis.
Though I haven’t completely embraced my current body, I’ve certainly made peace with the one I used to have. I vow that if I ever shed even 20 pounds, I will never again utter a resolution focused on my weight.
In the end, I have no miraculous advice for achieving self-acceptance or secret fitness hacks. Instead, I offer a gentle reminder: let’s all strive to be kinder to ourselves. This year, consider resolving to pursue something genuinely interesting and wonderful. And if you’re curious about family planning, you can explore resources about at-home insemination kits here.
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In summary, my journey has taught me that happiness transcends size. I’ve learned to appreciate my life, my family, and myself, regardless of the number on the scale.