I’m Losing Weight, but I’m Still Depressed… What Gives?

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shout out to myfitnesspal, i wouldn’t be here without you! *princess wave*

Since December 1st, I’ve been focusing on tracking my daily water intake.

Since January 1st, I’ve been focusing on tracking my daily food intake, and preparing meals that improve the quality of my life instead of weighing me down.

Since February 1st, I’ve been focusing on weighing myself and tracking my weight (at least weekly).

Simply by paying attention to what’s going into my body, I’ve lost weight.

In the past two months, I’ve incorporated light exercise. (Shoutout to Leslie Sansone with her amazing Walk at Home workouts. They may be designed for the elderly but hell if I mentally feel good enough to do more than that. In the very least, I feel good enough to do these and feel accomplished in what I’m doing and I keep going back to them).

Technically, I’m actively losing weight.

So why am I still depressed?

I’m not doing this for anyone else. Not to dramatically grasp at more time with my kids or my spouse like they do on the weight loss shows. If I die tomorrow, so be it. I will go when I’m meant to go.

I started watching shows like that when I was probably seven years old. An overweight seven year old. It made it seem like if you lost weight, you could make it all disappear. Either subliminally or purposefully the weight truly represented all the stress, the anger, the pain of the world. Losing that excesss baggage would transform you into a different person, a person who loved Zumba or ate beetroot everyday.

Honestly, the only way I feel different is that I’m annoyed.

All of my comfy shirts are too big and I’m too cheap to buy new ones right now.

How annoying.

Something I realized though, even though I’m not doing this for anyone else, if someone saw me on the street they’d probably think “wow, they must be really unhealthy.” But this is the healthiest I’ve ever been. I’ve worked hard to feel as good as I do.

I’ve never been particularly insecure about my weight in the past. I’m obese. That’s a part of life for me.

I was discussing with my mother the other day how odd it is that the straight sizes in clothing stores are “SMALL-MEDIUM-LARGE-EXTRALARGE”. How demeaning is that? Obviously that’s how it is, I’m not saying the entire fashion industry should change tomorrow.

But for all of my life, I’ve just been a number. Plus size clothes are somehow more honest in that way. Maybe that’s why straight sized women are so scared to have to go up a size, the insecurity forced upon them by the SML sizing. Do they not realize there’s an entire ‘nother world on the other side? It’s honestly getting cooler every day. Plus size fashion is a socioeconomic statement, it means so much more than “I wish I was still a medium 🙎😞”. It says, “I’m living my life without repression. I deserve fun clothes that actually fit me.”

I watched my mother eat disorderly my entire childhood. She deprived herself physically and mentally, and worse she did it for other people. She did it to somehow make things better in her mind. To keep her husband from calling her fat or lazy when they fought. She is still eating disorderly 20 years into my life. She will never be at peace with the thing she uses to fuel her body.

I don’t ever want to become that person. Being fat is a part of me. It’s part of my heritage, my ancestry. It’s connected to my mental health, and my family’s mental health history. It’s part of my environment, my socioeconomic status. As long as I can get a meal at McDonald’s for less than groceries it will always be unfair and unhelpful to ask, “why are poor people getting fat?”

You know why.

I am fat.

I am depressed.

I am angry.

I am beautiful.

I am joyful.

I am peaceful.

They are all one in the same because they all make up me.

I don’t intend to ever change that about myself.

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