Acceptance

(This picture is 4 years old. This is the first time I have ever posted it because I was embarrassed that it made me look “too fat”. Today, I don’t care.)

I’m 37, today.

I’m fat.

I’m happy.

That has not always been the case.

I have been fighting with my weight for more than 20 years.

I was mocked by my own mother, as a child. I was actually a skinny kid, until middle school, when puberty hit and I was blessed with big boobs and a big ass. My older sister has always been fat. My mother used to chide me about “not getting fat, like my sister.”

I had lovers who called me “heifer” and told me that they could never “really” love me because I was “fat” and that was when I was only 130 lbs.

I’m 37, today and I weigh 185 lbs. My hubby calls me “beautiful” (and he met me when I was 40 lbs lighter…but I have had three pregnancies, since then). My mother, who fought with her weight while she served in the Armed Forces, is fat, now, too.

Today, I accept that, despite all the dietary supplements, the pills, the extreme workouts and the trying to eat “right”, I am still fat. And, after 20+ years of trying, that ain’t about to change.

I gave up the pills about three months ago. I have decided to love myself despite the “jelly belly” (thanks to my three kids) and my love handles (I accepted the saggy boobs a long time ago…thanks, kids).

I’m 37, today and I’m fat.

So are all the women in my family. I don’t know why I thought I would be “the one” to overcome that genetic predisposition. Exercise more, eat less. Those actions were productive in keeping me moving, but they did nothing to help me lose weight. The pills helped, for the first two years, but four years on, even changing brands, didn’t help at all.

I’m fat and I’m fabulous.

I have been coming across a lot of blog posts that discuss “fat acceptance” and trying to overcome what some call “impossibly beautiful” images. The rally cry is that, if you are fat, you should accept yourself as you are “today” not as the media (and the general public?) would have you believe is “ideal”.

I’m finally down with that. I have NEVER been 115 lbs, so the idea that I should keep fighting for that “ideal” weight (according to government standards) even though I have not been able to lose more than 10 lbs in four years, is a ridiculous idea.

My ideal is to be healthy, which, despite my arthritis and my ruptured cartilage (in my foot/ankle), I am. Being a healthy individual is more important to me than being thin. And, it’s a truly attainable goal.

I’m 37, today. I’m fat. I’m fabulous. And, “gosh darn-it, people like me.” Yes, even skinny people like me.

But, I am totally fighting the gray hairs, though! Hey, I’m 37, not 90!

(Humbly crossposted: Dizzy Dayz, The Sirens Chronicles)