I have struggled with my weight all my life. I have binged, purged, starved, adopted fad diets, gotten fat, and thin, and fat so many times I lost count decades ago. In the past, my stretches of slenderness have coincided with my periods of greatest misery and dysfunction. Conversely, I've been at my fattest when I'm most happy and balanced. The pictures of skinny, glamorous me are records of a train wreck. Fat me, on the other hand, is generally and truly happy.
Except that she wheezed and snored. Except that she couldn't run, her body hurt, her clothes were uncomfortable, and her heart pounded with the smallest exertion.
So, I am charting new territory with this weight loss journey. I am trying to be both a healthy and a happy person.
Twelve years ago, I came very near to bleeding to death during an emergency c-section where it was discovered I had accreta. www.mayoclinic.org/disea
The narrowness of my escape changed me and my life. I left my marriage. I made a new life for myself and my kids. My ex remarried and so did I. Disaster was the door to the most sustained, creative, and extraordinary happiness I could have imagined. I daily thank God for it.
Inevitably, however, the "fat and happy" conundrum asserted itself.
Now I am almost two months into this voyage and have lost around 20 pounds. (Note: the large weight loss at the outset was because I radically remade my diet, cut way back on my alcohol consumption, and went from being entirely sedentary to 10,000 steps a day. I'm now on the losing-one-to-two-pounds a week arc with everyone else.) I've got about 30 more to go, and I am both nagged and inspired by the question of whether finally, at 55, I'm going to solve the riddle of having a healthy weight and a healthy soul.
This time it feels like this is in reach.