Getting it out in hopes of getting over it

I was born in Denver. Although we moved around a bit in my life, I always thought of Denver as my home. When I had the chance to move here, I did. I was certain that Denver is where I belonged. And when I moved here, I was certain that my life was going to come together, finally.

When I moved to Denver almost 7 years ago, I started dating a guy. At first, it was WONDERFUL. I mean, absolutely blissfully fantastic. I left the first date calling my mom - telling her that I finally met the man I was going to marry. A few weeks after meeting, we exchanged the "I love you's" with ease. Everything felt wonderful. Everything I thought I wanted, I had. I was living in Denver. I was dating a guy that looked like he stepped out of a Land's End catalogue - blonde hair, blue eyes, broad shoulders, and a smile as American as apple pie. The complete package; he even had a yellow lab for Chrissakes!

Life, surely, couldn't get better than that.

The problem was, I felt like I didn't deserve it. I was not a whole person but rather someone looking to someone else for validation.

At first, I thought that the guy liked me for me. But as each month turned into the next, it became apparent that he didn't really like me at all - maybe just the thought of me? So, like any insecure person who doesn't feel like they have worth, I opted to change. At first, it was small things and then I started to change key parts of my personality.

He withheld sex - first because of his own mental issues. Then it was due to a medical reason of my own (due to faulty testing as I found later). And as time progressed, it became apparent that this guy had ISSUES when it came to sexuality.

He was controlling in almost every way - and actually in the worst way - where he was sneaky about it. Multiple times throughout our relationship, he decided that he wanted to lose weight via an all protein diet...and since I (at the time) had about 20 pounds I wanted to lose, he strongly encouraged me to do the same. To be clear, this guy didn't have a lot of fat to lose. He was over 6' and weighed in at a max of 180. But like any good sheep, I followed the diet.

Except when he said that we shouldn't.

So we'd do this "all or nothing" type thing - one week we'd be eating only meats and the next week we'd blow it all on fatty and sugary foods. What I wanted to do that week was second to what he wanted to do. Come to think of it, that rule applied to us regardless of the topic.

He often remarked about how easy it should be to lose weight. He didn't understand why if anyone wanted to lose weight, they continued to eat "bad" things. "Why can't they just eat a salad? They remark on how hard it is to be fat and yet they order fettuccine alfredo." The message was clear: fat people are lazy and weak-willed; clearly, that's why they're fat.

Unbalanced? Crazy? Co-dependent? That doesn't begin to cover it.

In the middle of all of it, I had a medical complication from a rollover accident - one where my brain swelled. I was ordered to take a medical leave of absence for a few weeks and to not do anything strenuous. I was ordered to take it easy so that my brain would stop swelling and heal.

It was during this time that he chose to tell me the "new" reason we weren't being intimate. It was because I was too fat. He wanted me to run outside with him. "But I'm the same size I was when we started dating! I work out at the gym usually. Isn't that enough?" And the answer that I got was a resounding, "No." So I started to run outside with him - unable to keep up (my God, the guy had run a marathon!)...proving that he was dominant over me in yet another way.

I was so depressed that I had to be on medication for the first (and so far, only) time in my life. And that was yet another reason why poor pitiful me needed him. He reminded me often of the burden that I was placing on him.

So when I say I was miserable, I want you to understand how fully miserable I was.

But wait! This was the guy I was going to marry, remember? It's funny how much you endure when you've convinced yourself of something. For me, this was the perfect pairing... Due to previous events in my life, I was convinced that I was an awful person and I finally found someone who treated me as such.

We finally got to have sex after almost a year and it was the worst. sexual. experience. EVER. Seriously. TMI alert: There was a point I wasn't even sure he was IN me. And the small thrusting rabbit moves? PuhLEEZE! It was like getting humped by his dog. I debated trying to teach him a thing or two, but when he didn't show any interest in trying again the next day, I dumped him that very night. Apparently, even I had a breaking point.

It took YEARS to get over the damage that I had done to myself. As nice as it would be to sit back and call him a turd, my dependence on him was my own choice. I was responsible for staying in the relationship. I was responsible for not being strong and losing myself in him and the "idea" of us.

At first, I beat myself up about it - for being so stupid as to succumb to someone else's wishes. Then I gained weight - to the tune of 80 pounds - so that guys like him wouldn't even dream of coming near me. I never wanted to hurt like that again. Subconsciously, I protected myself the only way I knew how.

After that, I only dated guys that I wasn't really interested in. I only dated guys that were friends - ones that had to prove somehow that they really liked me for me - and even then I didn't believe it.

Losing the 55 pounds that I have so far as been a huge step. Keeping it off has been big. Not regaining the weight has been good. Learning about, and practicing, moderation? Eesh. I'm finding that I have to practice learning and re-learning that often. But actually liking myself? Well, that's been the real challenge.

The simple fact that this post has turned into a venting session about the relationship shows that I'm not completely healed. That relationship has fueled some issues in my current one, especially at the beginning - like when I wrote about it here and here.

There is this voice in my head that only I can hear every now and again. Sometimes it's loud and sometimes it's soft. Always it tells me that guys don't really like curvy women. It tells me that when I lose my weight, I had better be sure to keep it off for good. Because just like my dad and the previous boyfriend proved, no one *really* likes overweight women. It tells me that the number on my scale determines my worth. If I listen to it long enough, it tells me that I may never succeed so I might as well indulge. Today. Tonight. And if I can, RIGHT NOW.

I don't know if I'll ever be able to silence that voice completely. But I do know that my weight loss journey *has* to include a plan on what to do when I hear it.

I'm happy in my current relationship. When I went back to read the posts that I linked to above, I was surprised to read how I used to feel versus how I do feel. I don't worry about squishing my lover in bed. I don't worry about my fat rolls when he hugs me and I don't worry about what people might think about me being bigger than he is.

But every now and again, I hear the voice. And sometimes I indulge it and eat because I'm scared. I listen to that voice and that's when I'm worried that I won't be able to see the red flags that I should've seen in the previous relationship.

I've tried ignoring it. Sadly, that doesn't seem to help...because eventually that voice just gets louder.

Lately, I'm wondering if I should embrace it instead.

Maybe I should look at that voice as the one thing in my life that's tried to pamper me and protect me. Maybe that voice is ME trying to watch out for me. The pain that I experienced in that relationship is something that I never want to go through again so maybe that voice is trying to protect me from having to endure it again.

I was reluctant to write this post. I didn't want it to come across as me complaining or blaming my current situation on someone else. I didn't want you guys to pity me. But I also realize that if I don't ever unpack my mental baggage, I'll never be lighter - mentally or physically.

Even though it's cheesy, to the voice (that, for now, is quiet), I want to say this:

I acknowledge that you are there. I understand. I thank you for being there trying to watch out for my best interests. I want to say that I don't need your protection right now. But I appreciate your thoughtfulness all the same. Instead of you repeating the same record, could you instead encourage me to take care of myself with sleep, with water, and with friends? You are a valuable part of me. You know how bad it was. And with your help, in the right way, we'll never have to feel that way again.

We don't need to hang onto the pain.

It's okay to let it go.

Doubly good

"I don't believe that you have to be a certain size or certain shape to feel sexy. My butt is just the price I have to pay for having such great tits!"
--Kellyanne Russell, contestant on Project Runway, Australia

Let me preface this by saying that I absolutely LOVE my little sister. There is not a thing in the world I wouldn't do for her. She is a fantastic person - a giver, a lover, and someone who sees the absolute best in anyone and everyone. She would NEVER do something to deliberately hurt anyone. Simply put, she's one of my favorite people in the world.

Two years ago, my younger sister had to get a troublesome lump/mass removed from her breast. It was a horrible experience for her - it was painful and was handled by doctors that were inept at best.

Less than a week after the surgery, we all met at my father's for Christmas. During this break, she was still recovering from the surgery. And it became apparent that she was very worried that the scar (and the fact that there was a divot/chunk missing on her breast) would be such a turn-off to all the guys that she was sure to date for the rest of her life. And she cried and cried and cried about it. I think it's only normal to have concerns about any scarring...but I think that for women, scars or things that look like dents in your breasts would be especially emotional.

So, to make her feel better, I made jokes (when don't I?). I said that it could be worse...she could have droopy boobs, just like me if she wanted. I'd gladly trade her for her perky boobs any day. Years of yo-yo dieting had made mine less than stellar in my eyes.

She didn't believe me.

I showed her.

And she laughed. She laughed because she had just spent a long time crying. She laughed because I prefaced it in a funny way. She laughed to relieve the stress and she laughed with relief that not everyone's boobs are perfect.

But when she laughed, inside I cried.

Now, up until that point, I've always been pretty proud of my breasts. They were always bigger than other girls' and I always felt that they made me more womanly and more attractive. Incidentally, I've never dated anyone that was completely ga-ga over them. It seems that the people that I've dated weren't boob guys at all. But alas, I digress. I guess that while I've been overweight most of my adult life, I've felt pride that at least I was proportionate.

In fact, a few years ago, I was on a type of birth control that caused my boobs to grow. That (and the weight gain) caused me to be wear a 40DDD. And in case you're a guy and stumbled on my blog, I'll just tell you, that means they're big.

Really big.

Freakishly big.

But by then, my ass had grown to Biblical proportions, so I figured everything was still balanced. And yet, when my younger fantastic sister laughed at my slightly deflated but yet somehow still gigantic boobs (a unique combination, to be sure), I started feeling even more like a freak.

From that day on, I felt more comfortable dating guys who had already been married to someone who had had kids. I mean, instead of seeing "fun bags," they were used to seeing "they used to be really fun bags but now they're just sort of fun bags" right?

These days, I'm back down to a 36DD...a size that I feel pretty darn comfortable in. And while they don't look like billiard balls at the bottom of tube socks yet, they're not that far off either.

Maybe now you can understand why going to Victoria's Secret last weekend was so much fun. This past week, I've enjoyed my boobs being perky, even if only in a lacy push-up bra. I've enjoyed them looking pretty - and I've started having more confidence in them again. It was just the sort of pick-me-up that I needed.

I've fallen back in love with my boobs - even though they're no longer pin-up material.

Because the truth is, I'm still proportionate. I'm curvy. I'm voluptuous. And with the right bra, I'm Jessica Rabbit-ish. And as BFD's post proved, there are people that wish that they could have boobs like mine even as I'm wishing that I could wear a sundress without looking like a cow that needs to be milked.

And for those interested, this past weekend I mentioned how I felt about my breasts to my boyfriend. His answer? "I love your boobs!"

It's yet another thing that we agree on these days.


P.S. Thanks to Big Fat Deal's blog that introduced me to Kellyanne's quote!