Monthly Archives: July 2010

I wasn’t always fat. I used to, in fact, be quite thin. In high school, I was very athletic, always on the move and I was able to eat junk and not pack on the pounds. I was a skinny little thing – I wore a size 5 dress to my senior prom.

I spent my freshman year enrolled at one of the top twenty universities in the country as a biomedical engineering major. It was hard, and there were moments that I struggled, but overall, I was happy. I might have put on a bit of the “freshman fifteen”, but nothing significant. I joined the marching band and the field shows helped keep me active and thin.

I went back to school the next year, moved in with my new roommates, enrolled for new classes, and prepared myself for a year of success. Then everything changed. To make a long story short, my father pulled me out of school and made me come back home. I recently found out, earlier this year in fact, that he tried to make me as miserable as possible when I came home. It was his way of punishing me.

I started to put on weight. It was slow at first, but horribly gradual. I was depressed. Life was miserable and to be honest, I don’t even remember very much of the first two years. Things got worse at home. My father was always physically, emotionally and mentally abusive, but tensions escalated into fistfights, being thrown down the stairs, and being regularly kicked out.

He made me enroll in the local university, and after I deliberately flunked out for three semesters in a row, he made me get a job at one of his friend’s offices where he would call and harass me whenever he wanted. It was awful. I remember focusing on the moment, trying to stay sane and alive. My friend’s house was one of my biggest places of solace. Her father made the most marvelous Italian food and I would eat to forget about everything else. I also think I used to eat to keep my dad away from me. My weight disgusted him, and he made me…uncomfortable. Being fat made sure he wouldn’t touch me, except in anger.

When I met the man who would later be my husband, I had just recovered from the worst beating my father had ever given me. And after three months of dating, I moved out of my parents’ house and in with my husband-t0-be and his parents.

Emotionally, I was a wreck. Trying to fit into another family after the fiasco of my own…there were a lot of fights, a lot of tears. And there was absolute and total culture shock. My parents were both Punjabi Sikhs. We ate a lot of traditional Indian dishes. I was used to eating mostly vegetarian with a little bit of beef or chicken on the side.

David’s family was your typical meat and potatoes eating family. They ate a lot of pork and they cooked everything in bacon grease. Unlike my health freak mother, they kept lots of junk food in the pantry. Chips, cookies, snack cakes – there was always something. And so I ate. And I ate. It was comfort food, and I was comforted, but it all went straight to my hips and thighs. And I got heavier and heavier.

I wasn’t worried about my weight for the longest time. I had other things to worry about, other things that required my attention and emotions. Plus, I was used to hating my body. I’d mastered that skill back in high school, where it was almost a pre-requisite for becoming a teenaged girl. So when my pants got too tight and I had to start shopping in the plus size department, I was bothered, but not enough to do anything about it. And honestly, emotionally and mentally, I couldn’t handle making that kind of change in my life when all I really wanted was some kind of stability.

Everyone has that moment of awakening – that moment where you hit rock bottom, or the clouds part and angels sing. That moment when you’re finally ready. For me, that was last February. I was ready to make the commitment to change my body, my diet, and my habits for the better. And I did really well – I lost 40 lbs. I usually do well when I can focus all of my energy onto a single goal.

You know the rest. I got a job. I got busy. I couldn’t commit to a ten mile bike ride every day anymore, and I started gaining weight again. This time it took a doctor’s appointment and my inevitable mortality to wake me up again. And I’m trying to get back to where I ought to be, one day at a time.

I don’t remember what it was like to be thin. I always thought I was fat. Part of it was my upbringing. My parents were always super critical – whether it was grades, appearance, or weight, I could never be good enough. That’s part of why I deliberately flunked out all those semesters. Why even try when you know you’ll forever disappoint? So, though I remember wearing smaller clothes, I don’t ever remember liking my body or loving myself. I don’t think I even had self-confidence until  after I got fat and learned that some people would love me no matter what.

Right now? I’d like to be thin. I’ll admit it – I’m shallow and I’d like to be able to look in the mirror and like what I see. But I’d also like to be healthy. I don’t want to take blood pressure medication for the rest of my life, and I want to grow old with my husband. I’m not sure I can do that if I don’t lose the weight.

I was never a bad girl, per se. Compared to the stories I’ve heard from others, I was actually quite good in comparison, even if my parents never thought so. But I grew up into a fat girl. Now, my mom is out of my life and my dad is back only on my terms. I’d like to think that I’m finally ready to grow up and reclaim my good girl status. It might be too late for them to love me, but I think there’s still time for me to learn how to love myself.