“Mommy, your belly is big.”
“Mommy, you’re fat.”
“Mommy, you’re as big as daddy.”
I know the girls aren’t trying to be mean. They don’t know what their words do to me. But man, they hurt. I try to block them out, I try to laugh them off, but it doesn’t work. I am back to being the fat kid in school. The one with fat ugly knees. And thing is, I am. I have put on so much weight. I am the heaviest I have ever been, outside of pregnancy.
One hundred and twenty-nine pounds is what I weighed when I got pregnant with Patrice. I had worked hard to get the weight off. It allowed me to avoid sugar issues in my pregnancy with her.
It took me a while, but I got back down to 132 after Patrice was born. Then medications started curtailing my exercise and others increased my appetite exponentially.
So here I am, big. Really big. I hate it. I hate seeing myself in the mirror. When I don’t see myself, I can pretend my exercise I am doing is making a difference. When I do see myself, I see the truth, a very, very overweight woman who obviously doesn’t take care of herself.
I am beyond frustrating. Since I started exercising and slowly cleaning up my eating…my weight has gone up. Five pounds up. I hate it. I can’t stand it. I am so ashamed.
I’m losing hope.Survive til you Thrive!