So, there’s this thing that I’m feeling the need to talk about. It’s not earth shattering, I’m not dying, I’m not coming out, but it’s one of those Big To Me things. It’s weird and uncomfortable to say out loud, and maybe I’m over sharing? I’ve changed my mind about publishing this a hundred times, but I guess I’m hoping this helps me stay accountable. Feel free to skip on, if this ain’t your jam, it’s totally cool.
So, I got fat.
This didn’t happen overnight, obviously. This has been a slow descent to madness for many years, and I know that.
Now, there is nothing wrong with being ‘fat’. The national average is a size 14 but most clothing stores stop stocking clothes after a 12. There are ‘fat’ girls running marathons, and I went to high school with a girl who was a size 6, but her food diary showed that the closest she came to vegetables was the lettuce in Big Macs. Health and beauty does not equal size. And we, as a population, do not get to judge people for the size they are, because you are not their doctor and you don’t know what they are capable of. No ‘real girls have curves/booty/abs/whatever’, because that’s simply not true either. This isn’t about being ‘beach body ready’ or any of that crap. It’s about being comfortable in my own life and skin, and the part where I am not.
There are a whole pile of reasons for this happening. A couple of bad relationships, that post-teenage-I-can-eat-what-I-want-what’s-a-metabolism phase, and a deep, profound love of fried chicken burgers (I’ll never let go, Varsity) are all key players. But it comes down to me, apathy and denial. I can’t blame a lack of education, I know exactly what to eat and what to do. Quite simply, I just don’t do it.
It doesn’t help is being ‘The Food Friend’. I’m a food blogger, that’s why you’re here, and the fun, dirty milkshakes are more interesting than kale. Pictures of doughnuts get 150 likes, green tea gets 30, I get it, I’d rather look at cake too! But then the cake has to be eaten, and I do not have the willpower to let cake go to waste, because I. Love. Cake.
I haven’t seen much of my friends this year because feeling like shit pairs beautifully with my general anxiety disorder. I don’t want people to see me like this, and it doesn’t really matter, because even if I DID want to, I have nothing to wear. I tried to buy a nice pair of jeans to wear to a party a little while ago, and I couldn’t find any. I came home and cried for 45 minutes. I bailed on the party.
And then about a month ago, something in my brain flipped. I don’t want to feel like this any more. I was angry all the time, I was anxious and none of these things were manifesting in positive ways. This is not who I am. I’m fiercely smart, funny, fearless. I like to dance and have adventures. I’m a good friend, and right now, I’m not being a good friend. I’m in love with a guy who doesn’t care whether I’m 50 or 500 kilos, but he makes me want to be the best possible version of me. And like the stupid motivational posters in my gym say, nothing changes unless you do (is there anything worse than smug posters being right? Nope) and I need to change.
So now, I spend my lunch breaks at the gym. I eat simple lunches that I’ve learned to dress up so I don’t go mad and gnaw off my arm. I still hate avocado, and refuse to get on board this spaghetti squash thing, because pasta is a religion and Lalla Rookh is my church. And don’t get me started on those #cleaneats #cheatday #crossfit jerks, because I want to punch them in their stupid faces.
Speaking of lunches, I’m currently eating my way through this salad, topped with this chicken (and liberally sprinkled with dukkah, because I put it on everything), and it’s fucking delicious and very easy. I mean, it’s me eating kale, which I never thought would happen, but it is, and it’s good.
I made one batch of this on Sunday night for work, and I’m getting about 4 days out of it. FANTASTIC.