High school was an interesting time for us all. I don't know many people who refer to those years as their "golden years"; if a person does, I'm not sure what to make of it. Hormones and first loves and heartbreak? I wouldn't go back if you paid me.
I was on color guard for every year of high school (9th-12th). In my junior year, I was co-captain. Senior year brought me the title of captain. I loved my guard girls, and I felt confident in my abilities. I could spin, and I knew it.
Our guard instructor, however, made me feel pretty bad about myself. If he wasn't demanding weight loss, he was commenting on other physical features, like eyebrows (for me) or underarms (for another). After every performance at a competition--where we nearly always won or at least placed--he told us that we "looked like shit." It was a classic emotionally abusive relationship. He was cruel, but we were certain that he did it because he wanted to make us better. We didn't recognize that he was ridiculous until others pointed it out, yet we would defend him if anyone said a word against him.
We had to buy two-pound wrist and ankle weights to wear at practices. We wore them to run the mandatory two miles around the track every other night and to practice dance and the routine, even though it's not recommended to wear them for running or brisk walking because of the risk of injury.
I felt fat. And ugly. And worthless. To me, the ability to spin was the only thing that made me a worthwhile individual. The chance to lead my girls to victory was my main goal. As I mentioned, I was about 160 pounds back then. If I hadn't already been wrapped up in my weight, I was after that. No one explained that I was at a healthy weight or that I was probably pushing my body too hard. I don't think anyone knew.
If I could send a message to my high school self, it would be this: You are beautiful. You are loved. Please love yourself.
Showing posts with label journey. Show all posts
Showing posts with label journey. Show all posts
Thursday, July 28, 2011
Wednesday, July 27, 2011
Putting on the Pounds
From dictionary.com: "shame - a painful emotion resulting from an awareness of having done something dishonourable, unworthy, degrading, etc"
I’ve never been a small person, at least not in my memory. I know that I was above-average weight by third grade. Pictures from before seem to show me as average size; I still wonder what happened. Was it getting glasses? Was it the stress of my horrible third grade teacher? I don't know. In seventh and eighth grade, I played soccer for my junior high school's junior varsity team. In seventh grade, I was the only girl on the team. The boys were cruel...at first. Once I withstood their bullying for a couple months, they seemed to accept me. One boy told me I was in his "top five" when we were in a circle doing stretches. It seemed disingenuous at the time, but today I think he may have been honest. In time I learned that he liked my strength and my defiance.
Still, I was overweight. My body shape changed drastically during the summer between 8th and 9th grades. A boy who had teased me in junior high suddenly wanted to date me in high school. (I laughed at him.) My color guard instructor had pushed us to lose weight--more on this in another blog. Even though I was at my best shape, my mom suggested that I lie about my weight on my driver's license to say 140. I couldn't have been more than 160, which you may recall is close to my goal weight, but it sent a clear message that overweight=embarrassing, shameful.
In the first couple of years of college, I gained about twenty pounds because I had constant access to delicious foods. I could get a (seemingly) home-cooked meal at any time of the day, a luxury I did not have as a child. My parents had fed me well, but we didn't often eat home-cooked meals. I moved away from campus after my first year of college yet continued to gain weight because I had no idea how to cook healthy foods for myself. As I've mentioned before, my family didn't eat many home-cooked meals.
When I moved back to Charleston to finish undergrad, I gained another 20 pounds. I was also hospitalized for two days from a severe anxiety attack, which had rendered me so incoherent that the doctors thought I might have had a mini-stroke. Like many other overweight people, I suffer from anxiety and emotional eating. I had tried Weight Watchers, but it didn't help. I graduated with my bachelor's at my highest weight, just over 200 pounds.
I've already discussed what happened after I moved for grad school. I learned to love myself. I learned that my self-esteem should not be dependent on my weight. I learned that I still have a long way to go in terms of eating healthy and getting fit.
I learned that I can do this. All by myself. I deserve it.
I’ve never been a small person, at least not in my memory. I know that I was above-average weight by third grade. Pictures from before seem to show me as average size; I still wonder what happened. Was it getting glasses? Was it the stress of my horrible third grade teacher? I don't know. In seventh and eighth grade, I played soccer for my junior high school's junior varsity team. In seventh grade, I was the only girl on the team. The boys were cruel...at first. Once I withstood their bullying for a couple months, they seemed to accept me. One boy told me I was in his "top five" when we were in a circle doing stretches. It seemed disingenuous at the time, but today I think he may have been honest. In time I learned that he liked my strength and my defiance.
Still, I was overweight. My body shape changed drastically during the summer between 8th and 9th grades. A boy who had teased me in junior high suddenly wanted to date me in high school. (I laughed at him.) My color guard instructor had pushed us to lose weight--more on this in another blog. Even though I was at my best shape, my mom suggested that I lie about my weight on my driver's license to say 140. I couldn't have been more than 160, which you may recall is close to my goal weight, but it sent a clear message that overweight=embarrassing, shameful.
In the first couple of years of college, I gained about twenty pounds because I had constant access to delicious foods. I could get a (seemingly) home-cooked meal at any time of the day, a luxury I did not have as a child. My parents had fed me well, but we didn't often eat home-cooked meals. I moved away from campus after my first year of college yet continued to gain weight because I had no idea how to cook healthy foods for myself. As I've mentioned before, my family didn't eat many home-cooked meals.
When I moved back to Charleston to finish undergrad, I gained another 20 pounds. I was also hospitalized for two days from a severe anxiety attack, which had rendered me so incoherent that the doctors thought I might have had a mini-stroke. Like many other overweight people, I suffer from anxiety and emotional eating. I had tried Weight Watchers, but it didn't help. I graduated with my bachelor's at my highest weight, just over 200 pounds.
I've already discussed what happened after I moved for grad school. I learned to love myself. I learned that my self-esteem should not be dependent on my weight. I learned that I still have a long way to go in terms of eating healthy and getting fit.
I learned that I can do this. All by myself. I deserve it.
Monday, July 25, 2011
Friend Makin' Mondays: Defining Moments
Friend Makin' Mondays is a regular feature from All the Weigh, a blog which I heartily recommend!
Was there a defining moment in which you realized that you needed to lose weight? If so, will you elaborate? (If you experienced this moment in some other area of your life, please feel free to share that too!)
My moment was less like Kenlie's moment. I didn't have an event that worked as a catalyst; rather, my moment was more a realization of how I felt about myself.
I had been overweight for the later part of elementary school and all of junior high. In high school, I maintained a healthy weight, but I didn't realize it was healthy because I was overweight by BMI standards. My color guard instructor constantly found reasons to criticize my body, and he made us run two miles every day while wearing wrist and ankle weights. (One day, I'll discuss this at length.) In college I gained quite a bit of weight for a variety of reasons. I joined Weight Watchers in my second-to-last year of undergrad for shallow reasons. I had yet to realize that my self-worth was tied so tightly to my weight.
WW didn't help me at all; in fact, it hurt. I had to stop going to WW because of the financial and emotional strain, and I gained another twenty pounds. For about a year, I set aside my weight and tried to focus on myself. After graduation, I moved to Lexington to start my master's degree. I decided that things had to change. The light bulb finally clicked that I should lose weight because I love myself, not because I hate myself. My family has a history of medical problems that can be weight-related: high blood pressure, high cholesterol, and diabetes. If I wanted to take care of myself and avoid these problems, I needed to lose weight and eat better.
It pains me to watch shows where the overweight people decide to lose weight because they say they hate themselves. They hate seeing their reflection in the mirror. They hate the rolls or the way their clothes fit. Personally, that seems to be the wrong reason to start this journey. We all have our reasons, but the underlying cause should be because you want to do better for yourself.
Was there a defining moment in which you realized that you needed to lose weight? If so, will you elaborate? (If you experienced this moment in some other area of your life, please feel free to share that too!)
My moment was less like Kenlie's moment. I didn't have an event that worked as a catalyst; rather, my moment was more a realization of how I felt about myself.
I had been overweight for the later part of elementary school and all of junior high. In high school, I maintained a healthy weight, but I didn't realize it was healthy because I was overweight by BMI standards. My color guard instructor constantly found reasons to criticize my body, and he made us run two miles every day while wearing wrist and ankle weights. (One day, I'll discuss this at length.) In college I gained quite a bit of weight for a variety of reasons. I joined Weight Watchers in my second-to-last year of undergrad for shallow reasons. I had yet to realize that my self-worth was tied so tightly to my weight.
WW didn't help me at all; in fact, it hurt. I had to stop going to WW because of the financial and emotional strain, and I gained another twenty pounds. For about a year, I set aside my weight and tried to focus on myself. After graduation, I moved to Lexington to start my master's degree. I decided that things had to change. The light bulb finally clicked that I should lose weight because I love myself, not because I hate myself. My family has a history of medical problems that can be weight-related: high blood pressure, high cholesterol, and diabetes. If I wanted to take care of myself and avoid these problems, I needed to lose weight and eat better.
It pains me to watch shows where the overweight people decide to lose weight because they say they hate themselves. They hate seeing their reflection in the mirror. They hate the rolls or the way their clothes fit. Personally, that seems to be the wrong reason to start this journey. We all have our reasons, but the underlying cause should be because you want to do better for yourself.
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