Hi y’all,

I know it has been a very long time since I shared a story. The only way to overcome the writer’s block I have been mired in for a while now is to just start typing–so here are today’s thoughts:

Ever put a picture on facebook which you don’t think is that great and everyone goes bat-crap crazy about how great(!), hot(!), and thin(!) you look? Yeah, I never did either until yesterday. I went out yesterday and interacted with other humans–it wasn’t horrible, but it wasn’t that great either. I had a friend take a few pictures of me because I was hoping to get one I could start using as a profile picture without utilizing the classic, “chunky-girl face-tilt” pose. The pictures were okay–not great, but okay. I thought I looked kind of stressed out and a wee bit haggard.

Here is the deal–I descend from women who were very strong, but not really ‘delicate flower’-types. You know, the ‘my people were supposed to be able to carry the cow in from the field’ kind of people. In addition to my solid muscular frame I carried a large amount of, well, fat. I was lush, zaftig, a bbw….whatever–I was me. For that matter I am *still* me.

So, the me that is medicated properly is a me which is about 60-70lbs lighter than where I used to be–but people? Please know this–removal of fat does not automatic happiness make. I know! I was shocked as well! Based solely on seeing pictures of my mother looking creepily skeletal in her teens in my humble opinion she was incredibly anorexic during her youth. As a mother she became very “concerned about my health” and supported me starting on a diet–I was 7. Because being thin was being beautiful and being thin was happiness. So, now at 35, for the first time in my whole life I look “normal-sized” and guess what? there has been no extra happy.

I remember as a child laying in my bed at night with my hands on my tummy and saying to myself that breathing in made me big but while breathing out I was thinner and I was hoping that my size would be judged while breathing out. As I got closer to puberty I was a voracious reader. I would read books where the main character fought to be thinner and became anorexic and after almost dying finally got better–whenever I finished those books I would pray to become anorexic (please understand; I knew of the dangers but they seemed worth it because thin equaled happy).

So fast forward almost 3 decades from my first diet to see how my world has changed–I post pictures of myself and more than 75% of those who have commented are referencing my weight loss. Wanting to know how much was lost and/or how I did it.

Wanna know how I did it? Wanna know my “secret”? Ready?

I. Was. A. Diabetic. And. Wasn’t. Fucking. Diagnosed. For. Most. Of. My. Life.

Yep. Food is stupid. So now that my body is no longer sending my brain these shitty “we are starving, bitch!” messages I wasn’t nearly as hungry as I used to be. In fact, I understand what ‘full’ means now. So, my big ol’ secret? I removed all the self-imposed restrictions and if I want it; I eat it. If I don’t want it; I don’t eat it. So, between the medical crap and the mental crap from being restricted regarding food most of my life (as soon as I said I couldn’t eat something that was all I wanted) it turns out that getting thinner was not nearly as hard for me as it always was….but getting happier is a goddamn BITCH.

So, my suggestion for attempting to make this a better damn world for everyone? Don’t give a fuck about what someone look’s like; find out if they are happy. Happiness is beauty. I do not care what size I am–I want to be happy.