Fat Bride

It’s not like we had any plans for New Years Eve, so I just thought he suggested going to the zoo because there was nothing else to do. We were members, and it was just a nice place to take a walk and check out some animals. Little did I know, there was a hidden agenda. I am obsessed with giraffes, so obviously I had to go visit them every time I was at the zoo. This time when we wandered over to say hello to my favorite animals, suddenly he was on one knee. Huh? There was a little box in his hand, and he seemed kind of nervous. It sounds cheesy but, time actually did stand still, and the rest of the world became a blur. Queue the violins. The only thing I remember him saying was “...you’re my best friend.” I have to admit, I didn’t hear anything after that. Once I realized he was proposing, I said yes and told him to get up off the ground.

Coincidentally, at the time of our betrothal I was reading “Autobiography of a Fat Bride” by Laurie Notaro. If you haven’t heard of it, go check it out. It’s the hilarious true story of the transition from party girl to married lady, and it’s every bit as bumpy as it sounds. Anyway, I could not only relate to the bride part, but also the fat part. Which meant that like any other prospective bride, I was going to experience all the trials and tribulations of wedding planning, which means making hundreds of weird little decisions (oh yes, I had a binder), while trying not to become a bridezilla along the way. The difference was, I would be paying about $350 more for a wedding gown than someone with a more socially acceptable body would. 

Here’s the thing: I used to be skinny. Like the whole time growing up I was a stick. I spent my teen years in New York City surrounded by guys who liked thick thighs and big asses, and I was the one who had nice legs and a flat butt. Then I moved to California where skinny was fine, but I was also white as a sheet and deficient in the boob department, so I wasn't up for strutting around the beach in a bikini. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not like I never got any male attention along the way. But I always felt sort of…lacking in one way or another. Then slowly but surely, genetics, lifestyle and one too many late night bar crawls caught up to me, and I started packing on the pounds. At my heaviest I was working at a high stress, very sedentary job that I hated and it showed. Fortunately for me, the man who would later become my husband was already sucked in by my sparkling personality, and he was in love. So my relationship was okay, but I wasn’t. 

So there I was, overweight and underemployed, and it was time to make a change. Step one was to ditch the shitty job. I found a new one with normal hours and an awesome supervisor. Then a few years later we got engaged and we planned and executed a pretty great little wedding, if you ask me. I may have been a fat bride, but I was still pretty as a princess and we got to party with all our favorite people. We went on an amazing honeymoon to Cancun, and came back feeling refreshed and ready to start our married life. Somewhere along the line I got motivated to lose weight. Like borderline obsessed, deep dive into the weight loss rabbit hole, motivated. And what I discovered was no less than 1,000,000 conflicting pieces of advice around weight loss. It was frustrating and confusing. But it also made me even more determined to go looking for good info from reliable sources. The one thing that almost everyone agreed on was the concept of calories in, calories out. Okay, so eat less and move more? Got it. 

Conveniently, there was a YMCA branch down the street from my office, so I signed up and started hitting the gym before work in the morning. Move more: check. Then came the food part, which was definitely more tricky. At the time I was an okay home cook, but my approach was pretty mindless and my culinary repertoire was fairly limited. I knew I needed to eat less but like, eat what? This is where the fun really started. I was not interested in “going on a diet” but I really had no idea where to start. So again, research, research, research. I came up with what seemed like a doable caloric deficit, and started eating more mindfully and healthfully. My new eating style coupled with consistent exercise was working! I was losing weight, slowly but surely. People were noticing and I was feeling pretty good about myself. My favorite conversation with well-meaning coworkers went something like this: 

Coworker: You look great! Have you lost weight?

Me: Yes

Coworker: How are you doing it?

Me: You know, diet and exercise…

Coworker: But like, what diet?

Me: I’m just eating less and working out more.

Coworker: Oh. 

Then they would walk away looking mildly defeated, like they would have been much happier if I had launched into a pitch about an amazing new pill that magically burns fat. You know, the quick and easy American approach to health. But I was working hard for my results. How disappointing. 

A fun little side benefit to this long and arduous process was discovering that I absolutely love reading about health, wellness and most of all: nutrition. I mean, I always loved food, but wow. It was fascinating on so many more levels than just yumminess. It’s a science and everything! Then I started thinking, do I want to study this for real? Do I have what it takes to be a nutrition major at college? Instantly, Beverly the inner critic leaped into action. “You are way too old,” “You’ve tried college, remember?” “Science? Come on. You’re not smart enough…” Stuck in that mindset, I grappled with the idea for quite a while. Then one day I was chatting with a friend, and I told her that I kind of wanted to go back to school to study nutrition, but that it looked really hard. Then she made the comment that has stayed with me for life: “If those banana heads can do it, so can you!” Never underestimate the power of the right words at the right time. I put my big girl panties on and enrolled in some mildly terrifying classes at the local community college to get the ball rolling. 

Once I met all my pre-requisites, I transferred to San Diego State University where I met, and befriended a bunch of other nutrition girls who were just as fanatical about food as I was (but in a good way). I found my tribe and we are friends to this day. I loved my classes, my professors and my peers. I was studying a topic that was deeply meaningful to me. I was immersed and focused and very, very busy. I was turning into a better cook, but I was also slowing down on making time for exercise, and was starting to put on a little weight. It was very gradual, but it was undeniable. When I graduated I was like: look out world, here I come! Unfortunately, I had a degree but no plan, and started to become a little depressed. A little more weight. Then I stumbled upon a new career doing health and wellness coaching which was great. I loved my job and my coworkers and the feeling of making a difference in people’s lives while also using the hard-won knowledge I had amassed over the past few years. We started trying for a baby. It wasn’t as easy as I thought. My eating and activity levels began to drift a bit more. A little more weight. Then yay! Pregnant! You guessed it, a LOT more weight. But this time it was good news (and socially acceptable weight gain), so I wasn’t worried about the pounds. I was just determined to bring a healthy, happy baby into the world. 

Our sweet girl was born in the spring of 2013 and we were deeply in love. We were also sleep deprived and overwhelmed, so eating mindfully had devolved to the point of hey, at least the food is sometimes still warm by the time I shovel it in my pie hole. Exercise? I mean, I was on my feet all day doing baby stuff, but it didn’t exactly amount to anything resembling a workout. So the baby weight stayed put. But at this time in my life, I just had too much on my plate to care about my appearance or lifestyle, and I fell into the mom-trap where you’re caring so much for someone else that your health is now on the back burner. Fast forward to today. My baby is now 12, and while her hormones are ramping up, mine are slowing down. Way down. 

The past few years have had their ups and downs. I’ve lost weight, I’ve gained weight. I’ve run the gamut between hyper vigilance and not giving a fuck, and here I am. Sometimes I’m all “see me, love me,” and other times I feel frustrated and ashamed that I seem to have a set weight that I slide back to every time. I’m ready to get off this rollercoaster. I can’t think of a shittier motivator than the number on a scale. You know what’s actually important? Being healthy. Especially as you get older. I go to the doctor and I get my labs and my numbers are good. I eat healthy foods. Thirty unique plants per week is easy. I do #yogaeverydamnday. I hit the gym and do my strength training and take walks with my dog. Am I perfect and consistent? No. But fuck it, I’m doing my best. I’m done with obsessing about how my body has changed over the years. I’m done comparing myself to others. I’m done punishing myself over something that is such a small part of who I am and not a reflection of what I’m worth. 

I love the idea of body positivity, and definitely vote no on body shaming, but for me I think I’m a better candidate for adopting the concept of body neutrality. This means deciding to feel good about how well my body functions, and being grateful that I am free of disease or disability. I am proud of this body for taking such good care of me for all these years. I can hold a tree pose, I can climb the stairs, and I can walk around Disneyland for 12 hours and live to tell the tale. As I enter this next phase of my life, I am shifting my focus to being physically and mentally strong, flexible and balanced. I’m in it for the long haul, but not just for longevity’s sake. While your life span is simply how many birthdays you collect along the way, your health span is about the quality of your life as you age. Are you active? Are you happy? Are you still out and about, engaged and social? I don’t know about you, but from now on I just want to feel good on the inside instead of worrying about how I look on the outside.