It’s been ages since I last wore the clothes that I really enjoy wearing. You know, tube tops and dresses, skinny jeans and baby tees, dresses that hug you at the waist then flow nicely everywhere else, board shorts… my tankini. Ever since I started gaining weight in 2008/2009 (which coincided with–hello, hello–an office job), it’s been an uphill battle between the Self that was self-actualizing and looking for affirmation, and the Self that was self-flagellating and ashamed of what she had now become.
To make it worse, the battle was punctuated with bouts of eating binges, due partly to stress and then partly to the feeling of helplessness. I would eat junk food for dinner or on weekends because I’d be too tired to cook and too busy with my different hats to have time for anything else. I would eat chocolates to make myself feel better, then I’d also eat them to celebrate little victories. (There came a point when I was eating chocolates after every meal.) And–gasp!–I’d actually eat white rice, that little thing that I swore off around five years ago to lose weight and keep it off.
From a light and tight 100 pounds, I ballooned to a weight that I never would have thought I’d reach; from a size small/medium, I had to go for large or, in many cases, even extra-large. Dressing up stopped being fun and instead became a chore–what I dreaded the most were social get-togethers when I had to ditch my work coats and have nothing else to wear. I started getting back and knee injuries quite frequently. My family started worrying about me; friends and acquaintances would not recognize me when they saw me. It was a nightmare, and I was living it every single day.
Little Rich Girl 