At the time in life when you?re supposed to be cute and stylish, not fitting into ?normal-sized? clothes is depressing, isolating, and lonely. Explaining the experience to someone who has never had a weight problem is like trying to explain to a swimmer what it feels like to be quadriplegic. I felt like the only overweight woman in my group of girlfriends. My closest friends probably had no idea how much my weight impacted my life.
I wasn?t one of those fat girls whose weight kept her from living life—on the contrary, I had a vision inside my head of a thin, fit, stylish woman. That?s how I behaved. Whenever I?d look in a mirror or pass reflective surface, I was startled by the overweight person staring back at me.
In my mind?s eye, I didn?t look that way.
That attitude kept me well-adjusted. I always had friends, dates, jobs offers, and boyfriends, and while I certainly wasn?t out running marathons, I also wasn?t turning down any opportunity to strut my stuff on karaoke night. I was happy—relatively speaking. That same self-confidence also was a bad thing because it kept me from doing something about my weight.
When perception and reality harshly disagree with each other, it can be blinding—so much so that I simply stopped even trying to see. For four years, I avoided mirrors and reflective surfaces. I avoided having my photograph taken, and if I couldn?t avoid it, I didn?t want to see it. I didn?t need any evidence that I looked differently than I thought I did.
These days, every time I flip on the bathroom light, pass a reflective window, or approach a full-length mirror, I have a moment of panic, scared of what I?m going to see. No matter how many times this happens, how many pounds I?ve lost, or how many pictures I?ve developed, there is still a sharp intake of breath and a closing of the eyes. But now it?s followed by an exhale of relief when I realize that, overnight, I haven?t gained back 75 pounds.
