By: Emma Carter
Date: Feb. 13, 2017
For as long as I can remember, my New Year’s resolution has been the same: lose weight, even when I was perfectly fine just as I was. I used to think that life would be so much better if I could just shed a few pounds.
Standing under 5 feet tall, I believed I wouldn’t feel attractive until I weighed under 100 pounds. Not reaching a size 0 was a source of genuine anxiety for me. Being a size 4 or 6 felt embarrassing. What was wrong with me? Surely, there was a long list of issues.
I prioritized working out five times a week; it was the only thing on my to-do list. Lunch often consisted of a can of peas, and during my single days, I didn’t even keep alcohol or meat at home—things I had no idea how to buy. My diet was limited to instant mashed potatoes and Frosted Flakes.
I consumed a meager diet while trying to stay “fit.” I was so strict that I’d only indulge in a Snickers bar once in a blue moon. It was exhausting to constantly monitor my diet and have the elliptical machine as my primary pastime. Despite my efforts, I still couldn’t drop a jean size.
I was built like a gymnast but dreamed of being a tall, slender model. I longed to have the long, straight hair that looked flawless in a bun and a thigh gap that everyone coveted. Although I never developed an eating disorder, I was perpetually dissatisfied with my appearance and eating habits.
Fast forward to today, and I find myself almost 50 pounds heavier than that unhappy, skinny version of myself. And considering my height, those extra pounds feel magnified—like being 300 pounds heavier! If you had told me at 28 that I would weigh this much at 38, I would have isolated myself to escape the reality of future weight gain. I would have sacrificed love, happiness, and family, retreating to a cave in Tasmania to avoid my “fat fate.”
Several factors contributed to my weight gain: aging, motherhood, and thyroid issues. While in grad school, I was diagnosed with Graves’ disease, but it took a year before a doctor finally acknowledged that my symptoms weren’t simply due to stress.
Ironically, during that period, all my skinny dreams seemed to come true. I could eat whatever I wanted, and my clothes were getting looser by the day. Breakfast meant two peanut butter sandwiches, and I often had complete dinners for lunch, followed by more dinner for dessert. My hair was falling out, but it looked sleek and straight. Life felt amazing—even as my heart was struggling to keep up.
Then, modern medicine intervened. My metabolism is no longer a high-performance machine; it’s more like a well-used sedan. This was the beginning of a shocking increase in my weight.
I accepted that size 0 was impossible. Approaching 30, I settled into a size 6, which I deemed acceptable—after all, it was the ideal size according to my beloved Sweet Valley High books! I thought as long as I didn’t gain another pound, I’d be just fine.
Two children later, that waif-like girl I aspired to be now resides within my chin. I keep her content with Oreos and soda. I’m no longer a size 6; I now wear medium-sized sweatpants and leggings. But the best part? I’ve never been happier.
I love my career, cherish my kids, and appreciate my wonderful husband. I dabble in crafting, writing, singing, and even cooking (occasionally). I manage the laundry and keep our cat alive, all while playing my banjo ukulele. Life is exciting and full of joy. Working out and obsessing over my diet feels stale in comparison.
My appearance doesn’t dominate my thoughts anymore. I feel adorable! I’ve stopped shopping for a body I’ll never have and instead choose clothes that fit well and feel good. My closet is now filled with treasures from the clearance sections of stores like Ann Taylor LOFT.
I’m not quite ready to pen a self-help book for plus-sized women, nor did I have the resources to fly back for my 20th reunion. You won’t find many photos of me flaunting my stylish tops on social media, either. We tend to choose vacation spots that are cooler than Minneapolis!
While I haven’t fully embraced my body, I’ve certainly come to terms with the one I used to have. I vow to the gods of quick workouts that if I ever lose even 20 pounds, you’ll never hear me utter a weight-related resolution again.
Ultimately, I don’t have profound advice for achieving self-acceptance or magical tips for fitness. Instead, I encourage everyone to be kinder to themselves. This year, why not resolve to do something interesting and wonderful instead?
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Summary
This heartfelt piece explores the author’s journey from a lifetime of weight obsession to a place of self-acceptance and happiness. Despite gaining weight and facing health challenges, she embraces her current life filled with love, creativity, and fulfillment. The emphasis is on the importance of self-kindness and pursuing joy over societal standards of beauty.