The Beginning... Again

October 8th, 2014.





I stand naked in front of my bathroom mirror. The steam from my recent shower still thick in the bathroom. I take my towel and run it over the mirror. Trying in to clear it. I frown at my reflection. I poke at my belly. I sigh at my breasts. They have always been big, and now at 32 they seem enormous, like two five pounds sacks of potatoes swinging from my chest. Definitely not my idea of sexy or voluptuous.





I hate what I see in my mirror. I hate the criss crossing off stretch marks. The dark hair on my stomach caused by my PCOS. The way my breast hang. My sister MK ( I have seven of them. We will get to that later) Anyway my sister MK once said they look like two dead carp hanging there. And sadly... they do.





My arms shake and jiggle as the rest of my body does as I run my comb through my hair. Pulling and tugging the tangles out of it. They have enormous bat wings. I swear I my arms look like a chubby jiggly pterodactyl's wings. I hate my arms-especially my left. For some reason it is chubbier then my right, and like my stomach it has rolls in it. My right is starting to get that.





I frown again, and blink back the tears. I hate the way I look. I hate what it means. I hate the way it makes people judge me for what I look like instead of my actions. Their preconceptions clouding my great personality.





This body, and the way it is-right now- is not good for me. For my soul. Its why I hate what it means. It means that I am unhealthy. That I have to sleep with a CPAP machine, a device due to my Claustrophobia I utterly hate. It means that walking from my car to my apartment on the second floor, makes me winded and if I am honest sometimes so out of breath I become dizzy. It means I have PCOS. Which causes weight gain, but to control it the number one suggestion is to lose weight. But the PCOS makes it so hard to do so. It means that despite how hard I try I am unable to get pregnant. It means that I am totally completely so uncomfortable in my own skin, I HATE going out. I do so for my daughter and my husband. But I dread it so much that secretly before we go out, I cry to myself. I pray that no one will make a comment or notice me. Sometimes in secret where ever we are, I will go to the bathroom because I just need a moment away. Because my anxiety is so bad my knees start to shake, I get sweaty, yet cold, my ears ring, and I feel like at any moment I could pass out. It means I hate pictures of myself. I have learned as a photographer the best angles to make me look the best. But in those group shots, or the dreaded candid shoots, I can't pose myself for those. I hate those. I always look frumpy-no matter how hard I tried on putting together a nice look. But I do chose clothes to hide my body. I hate my double chin, or the way my hair in front is thinning on top due to my PCOS, or how my lip, chin, and sides of my face seem to be always furry due to that blasted PCOS. Because of my hatred of how I look in these pictures. I avoid them if at all possible. I hide behind the camera. Always capturing the action, the living. But never joining in, never participating.





All of those reasons mean one thing. If I don't change my habits now. If I don't start fighting now. I will die. I will die sooner rather than later. I may never have that second child. But more importantly I may miss my precious daughter's graduation. I may not be there for her when she needs me most. I look into her beautiful brown eyes, and my heart stutters. I want to be there for her as long as I can.





I hate to change the way I am doing things. I can't keep starting and quitting.





Growing up I was the eldest of eight kids. There are six girls, and two boys who are dead smack in the middle. My sister MK is the second oldest and 18 months younger then I am. We are polar opposites. While I have always been known as the short, fat, chubby one. The one that would be cute if I just lost a little weight. MK has always been known as the tall skinny one. While my parents tried to discourage this, everyone always compared us.  Everyone always thought she was the older one. I remember one summer we were 11 and 12. We were in our front driveway playing basketball with neighborhood kids like we did every night. My parents were across the street visiting on the front porch. The ball rolled and being the oldest I went and got it. The neighbor was saying to my mom. “MK is definitely the pretty one. Even now at 11 she is jail bait. Have you seen the way some of these older boys look at her? Poor Annie. Maybe you should try to send her to fat camp.”  I didn’t know what “Jail Bait” or “Fat Camp” was. But I made sure to find out. At 12 I was about 126 pounds and five feet.





Even as a young child my mother would limit portion sizes, and tell me I could only have so much because I was getting fat. I remember going to a summer function at a family member’s house. It was a picnic, and I was allowed a half of a sandwich and some potato salad. After swimming all morning that was not enough for me. When I asked my mother for more she said “No you don’t want to get fat do you?” it was said out loud in front of everyone. I was embarrassed. I shook my head and quietly went back to the sand box. I just wanted to get inside by myself and cry. I played for a little while, and then asked to go inside to go to the bathroom. Since no babies were sleeping, I was allowed inside by myself. I went inside and saw on the counter this huge bowl of chips. I looked outside to make sure no one was coming, and grabbed as many as I could in my hands. I then went and hid on the steps. Eating them as fast as I could so I wouldn’t get caught. The entire time crying.  When I was done, my eyes were red and swollen. My cheeks tear stained. I went into the bathroom and stayed there till everything was back to normal.





I think in effort to help people lose weight, others try to shame them into doing so. I am not talking about being flat out mean fat shaming. I am talking about like what my mom did that day. Or what hundreds of other people say to their “fat” friends and family “You need to lose weight.” In theory it comes from a place of love. A place of wanting to help. Unfortunately, at least for me, it doesn’t. At six I don’t believe I was chubby. I still had my baby fat yes. But that day shaped the way I would view myself in groups to this very day.  The humiliation of being called fat in front of a backyard full of people, by my mom. Christmas dinner, I barely eat. I am afraid people are watching me, and judging me by that. I’ve been married to my husband for almost 13 years. I have been to countless dinners with his family. And while I may get a plate to be polite, I rarely eat. In high school I never ever ate one single lunch.





If you ask my husband he would say I am an extrovert, that I love being around friends and family. And for the most part I do. But there is always a part of me wondering, how they are judging me. I rarely eat at functions, if I do its one plate and I am done. No matter how hungry I am. I’ve gotten really good at moving food around my plate and cutting it up really small, and just taking bites if someone happens to look my way at these big functions. The truth is though, at this weight, I am so uncomfortable. Last Christmas I didn’t even want to go. In a fit of rebellion I through a stocking hanger at my husband. I went for my daughter and my family. But I hated it. It was nothing they did. It was how I was feeling. How I was feeling in my skin, my worry someone was judging me. And maybe talking behind my back.





As I look at myself in the mirror that morning, before heading off to the gym. To meet with my brand spanking new trainer. (who is completely a hotie) (Happy Birthday to me) I want to zip the fat suit off of me, and step out the real person I am. I can’t, because this fat suit, although it will come off of me eventually, does not have a zipper.





More importantly I realize I can bitch and piss and moan and cry about it all day long, but its not going to change my body. Only I can change that. By exercise, by eating healthier foods, by POSITIVE reinforcement. Let me say that again, BY POSITIVE REINFORCEMENT. Not by guilt. Not by fat shaming. And not just fat shaming by those pricks or trolls, or the well-meaning ones. But myself as well. See every day I lament how much I hate my body. How much I hate myself, how I need to change it. And I am hating it. I am hating every time I put something unhealthy in my mouth. Every time I guzzle down an extra-large cola.  Every time I decide no exercise today, this couch is to comfy. This book to good, I am hating my body.





To become the healthier, sexier version of myself, I need to start loving myself. I need to show that love by going to the gym and working out. Giving it my all. By drinking water instead of sugar rich drinks. By wearing my CPAP machine. By balancing a good book with a great work out. By meeting my daily step goal. Doing all this will change me. It will change my body, my spirit, my health.





One day at a time I will start to love my body. One day at a time, I will start living in front of the lens instead of behind. One day at a time I will become healthier. One day at a time I will achieve my goals. One day at a time I will lose this weight so I can live. I am choosing right now to do this, to accomplish this so I can live a full life.