XL: How Big It Is Depends Which Side Of It You Are On

I’ve been busy packing and moving. In doing so, I have been forced to revisit my clothing and sizes over the years. Saturday night I had a real wake-up call when I found a size XL top from Old Navy that I distinctly remember wearing to a party once. It was so strange how an article of clothing invoked such a strong memory and feeling.

It was 2004 and I had just lost quite a bit of weight (from 235 to about 195) but I still felt so terribly fat. I was meeting lots of new people at this particular party and all that kept running through my mind was that everyone I was meeting for the first time was probably thinking, “Holy shit, this girl is HUGE!” I truly believed that they were horrified at how much bigger I was than everyone else in the room, including my 6’2” date. I imagined that they were wondering what my tall, handsome date was doing with a big fatso like me.

And even though this night was 5 years ago, I remember I couldn’t get numbers and sizes out of my head. I was in an XL top and a size 16 denim skirt. I was still nearly 200 pounds. I was beating myself up and feeling like a physical freak because I was sure all the other girls in the room were in smalls and 6’s. (By the way, I’ve always had issues with feeling BIGGER than everyone else - even when I weighed 160 pounds. Logically I know that 160 pounds on 5’11” is not big. But I have always felt big nonetheless.)

Back to the present, holding this top up on the hanger I was struck by how freakin’ TINY it looked. How could this be a size XL? It was so small. Just a scrap of fabric that I can’t believe I ever fit into it. I would dearly love to be able to fit into it today. But the fact is I am about 150 pounds away from being able to wear that top. I probably couldn’t get my right arm into it today.

It makes me a little sad, this XL top of mine. I am sad for 2009 Deb for having let things get so far out of hand with weight. Even more, I am sad for 2004 Deb who was wearing this tiny top and feeling terrible because the tag inside said “XL”. Today, looking back at the picture of that night, I think I look pretty decent. I don’t see a person that is ridiculously larger than everyone else. In fact, I am actually rocking a nice set of collar bones in this picture. When I look really closely at myself in this picture I think I look uncomfortable. Like I am sucking in and holding my posture just so in order to not look too awfully fat. And my face…my eyes…I see sadness in them.

(I am on the far right, kneeling in the front)

(I think I look sad here. The smile on my lips does not reach my eyes.)

That sadness I see scares me. When I reach this size again, will I feel happy and accepting of myself? Because I have to wonder how much my poor body image and my inability to see myself how I really was contributed to my gaining everything back and then some? I often can’t believe I let myself gain such a massive amount of weight and wonder how on earth I didn’t stop myself sooner. But if you always feel fat, even when you are not, maybe the process of getting fat isn’t as noticeable. Maybe I was just making my body match the image I had of myself. It’s scary. And it’s something I will need to stay cognizant of this time around. I don’t want to put myself through this again.

Changing Tastes

Sometimes I feel like I am doomed to be fat simply because I have a sweeth tooth. I have often lamented, "If only I didn't like ice cream so much." Or M&M's......or Little Debbie's.....or Godiva truffles.....or Dove dark chocolate squares.....or Reeses' Peanut Butter Cups......or....or...or....the list goes on.

But last week I was forced to consider that it is possible, probable even, that I can change my tastes and seriously reign in my desires for sweets. You see, last week while I was away with my family I ate some Raisin Bran for breakfast. My aunt saw me fixing my bowl and said, "Aren't you going to put sugar on that?" I said "No." She was dumbfounded. "You really don't put sugar on your cereal?" I repeated, "No, the raisins make it sweet." She looked at me like I was speaking a foreign language.

I dismissed this conversation and it wasn't until several days later I remembered that growing up we learned to put sugar on any non-sweetened cereal we ate, like Cheerios or Raisin Bran. I had forgotten all about that. I remember how the sugar would sink to the bottom of the bowl and it was like a treat at the end of my breakfast to get to scrape up the soggy sugar sediment at the bottom of my bowl. How could I have forgotten this? And how and why did I stop eating my cereal this way? I don't really remember stopping this habit. But somewhere I did stop. And my tastes changed. Now I can't imagine piling sugar on my Raisin Bran when the raisins make it sweet enough. And I can't imagine Cheerios with sugar either. I like mine with sliced bananas.

So, if I stopped liking added sugar with my cereal, if I actually began to PREFER my cereal without added sugar, well, doesn't that mean it is possible for my taste for an entire pint of Ben & Jerry's to go away too? It's time to stop indulging my every desire for sweets and desserts and start to train my taste buds to prefer healthier foods. Maybe one day my dessert of choice will be the apple rather than the apple pie.

Growing Up Fat: Cruel Words Remembered

While I was at home this past week, a family member said something to me that brought back a lot of memories of growing up fat. This particular relative had commented to another person that I was a lot bigger than the last time they saw me and that if I wasn’t careful I would be fired from my job. Ignoring the ridiculousness of my being fired from a desk job for being obese (although, in truth, I do think it would be difficult for me to interview and be hired for a new job at this weight), this statement is typical of many that I heard throughout my growing up years.

When the second person told me what was said, I immediately was angry that my family was talking behind my back. I was also embarrassed and ashamed. And it brought many memories flooding back to me of all the cruel words that I heard either directly or indirectly by members of my family regarding my size. It has been a long time since I remembered these things or felt this way, mostly because I live so far from my family that I only see them once or twice a year and because until the past few years my weight has been closer to the normal range and so they have had little to comment on. Here are some comments I was reminded of:

From my dad
“All the mosquitoes want to bite Missy because she is sweet. They don’t want to bite you because you are so fat.” I was probably around 10 years old when I heard this one. It was during a weekend stay at a local lake with my dad, his girlfriend, her two kids, and my brother and me. The girlfriend’s daughter, Missy, I remember being a very whiny kid complaining constantly about mosquitoes. So I, wanting to be the “good girl”, pointed out proudly that no mosquitoes were biting me. I was trying to show my dad that I was good and not whiny. I did not get the reaction I wanted when he snapped back with his cruel retort. I remember feeling crushed. I felt like my dad liked someone else’s daughter more than me and it was because she was “sweet” and I was “fat.” Never mind the fact that Missy was a bratty little shit none of the rest of us wanted to play with. To this day when I hear the name “Missy” I assume the person is a bratty little shit. (My apologies to any nice Missy’s who might be reading).

“Amy will have lots of boyfriends when she is older because she is so pretty. You won’t have any because you are so fat.” I don’t even remember what prompted this mean comment. I do know that my family was always remarking at how pretty my cousin Amy was. I don’t remember that ever bothering me until my dad said this to me. I don’t have kids of my own, but I can’t imagine how a parent could say something so cruel to their young child. Again, I felt rejected for being fat.

From my mom
“Jesus, she’s as big as a skinned ox.” I overheard this one Christmas day. My mom had bought me some clothes for Christmas and when I went to try them on they were too small. They made me come out and model anyway. I was embarrassed enough just with that but when I went back to my bedroom to get out of the clothes, I overhead my mom’s comment. I never said anything but my feelings were so hurt.

From a family friend
“You’re sure a big girl, aren’t you?” I was in high school at this point and I was, indeed, a big girl at 5’11” and probably over 300 pounds. I was aware that I was a “big girl” so I certainly didn’t think I needed it so bluntly pointed out to me in front of a table full of people. We were playing cards and this jackass makes his crack. I was much less assertive then than I am now so I didn’t defend myself in anyway. I just sat quietly in shame with my face turning about 18 shades of red as I willed myself not to cry in front of everyone.

I have many more memories of similar things that were said to me as kid. To this day I cringe when I hear someone make a weight-related comment to a child. I remember when my cousin’s daughter, Betsy, was maybe 5 or 6 she was a chubby little girl and her grandmother (my aunt) used to call her “Thunder Thighs”. She honestly did not think this was cruel and was just a cute nickname. But my heart broke for Betsy because I could imagine how it felt. That cruel nickname coupled with the fact that her older sister was a skinny little rail certainly did her no favors. I told my aunt one day that I thought it was mean to call Betsy “Thunder Thighs” but she just laughed it off. I know it bothered Betsy though, even though she was so young. I know this because one day we were walking my brother’s dog together. The dog was overweight and had a funny gait because of it where he would swing his bottom back and forth. I laughed and said, “Look how he waddles he is so fat.” And little Betsy just looked at me with the sweetest little eyes and said, “Debbie, you shouldn’t make fun of him just because he is fat.” My heart broke right there. She was so young to be so empathetic toward the portly pup. I can only imagine she was capable of that kind of empathy at a young age because of her own experiences of being called “Thunder Thighs” by her own family.

The world can be cruel to fat people. And so can our own parents and families.

Growing Up Fat: Tales of a Gym Class Zero

Being a fat kid made gym class a horror for me. I dreaded it with a passion, never knowing what embarrassment would next be inflicted on me.



Beginning in the lower grades, it was the small humiliations that bothered me like waiting as teams were picked knowing you were going to be last or the general embarrassment of not being able to do the things that seemed to come so easily to my classmates. One of those things I remember from grade school was rope-climbing. I remember in 4th grade or so we had to take turns trying to shimmy up a rope attached to the gym ceiling, which was the equivalent height of a two-story building. I am not sure how a rational person would think this was a safe activity for 9 year olds, but what do I know? A lot of the kids could scramble up that rope like monkeys but I could not budge one inch up that rope. I don’t really remember anyone laughing or making fun of me, but I remember being horribly embarrassed anyway.

In middle school/junior high, things became a little more traumatic. This was the age where they started making us change and shower for gym class. I was a shy, modest kid anyway, add to it that I towered 6 inches over my dainty classmates and outweighed them by 60 pounds and I was pretty much mortified by the whole process.



Junior high was also when they started weighing us in gym class. To this day I do not know what the purpose of that was. I just remember the absolute panic I felt knowing what was coming on weigh-in days. I remember sitting in class in the hours before gym class bouncing my leg as fast as I could in some vain attempt to shed a couple of pounds before I had to step on that scale. To make matters worse, it wasn’t just the gym teacher who got to see our weights. He selected another student to write down everyone’s weight as he called it out loud for all to hear. Of course he picks the tiniest little girl in the bunch. I still remember Trisha B’s snicker as he read my weight out loud.



It was in high school where gym class really got bad. Mrs. S. was the high school gym teacher and she was a nightmare. Maybe it was my own 300 pound insecurities but I truly felt her disgust and disdain for those of us who were overweight or otherwise athletically challenged. There were two things I remember most from her gym class. One was gymnastics and the other was swimming.



There was a period of a few weeks that we spent on gymnastics. OK, I was a 5’11” 300 pound girl. How was I supposed to do gymnastics? And I am not talking about your basic “hey, let’s do some somersaults and cartwheels.” We had a springboard and one of those gymnastic horse thingies and Mrs. S. was going to teach us to do tricks. So basically, we had to run as fast as we could at a springboard, jump, and attempt to leap over the horse doing whichever trick Mrs. S. called for. For our “safety”, she would always position one of my tiny 100 pound classmates next to the horse to spot those of us going over it. Yeah, I was 3 times the size of the spotters but they were going to keep me from getting hurt. To this day I have no idea how I did not hurt myself. But I do remember one of my classmates did get badly hurt. One of my friends, D, broke her arm going over the horse. This did not deter Mrs. S. in the least. She did not miss a beat of class to stop and check on her injury, instead she simply yelled at her to go to go to the nurse’s office. Later when D came back to school in a full arm cast I remember thinking, “She’s lucky, that cast will get her out of gym class for weeks.” Yes, I would have rather had a broken arm than participate in gym class.



Gymnastics was bad but my most mortifying high school gym class experience of all time has to be the weeks we spent swimming. I did not go to a fancy school with a pool but Mrs. S got the local rec center to let us use their pool. I can still remember the rock in the pit of my stomach when she announced what we would be doing the following several weeks for class. I was in a panic and immediately began trying to think what I could do to avoid the humiliation of being the only 300 pounder in a bathing suit. Had I not been the academic type and an all around “good girl”, I probably would have just skipped out those periods or faked illness for the entire day.



I tried to talk privately with Mrs. S. to tell her I had my period that week and could not go swimming. She very cruelly responded to me in her loudest, most disdainful voice so that the locker room full of my classmates could hear, “You can use a tampon and go swimming anyway.” I was so humiliated. I wanted to die. I look back and I wonder how a teacher could be so uncompassionate. Only an idiot would not realize that I did not want to swim out of embarrassment for my size. I was just a timid, fat, nerdy kid and she was an adult. She should have treated me with more kindness rather than exacerbating my humiliation. She could have privately talked to me or come up with something I could do in lieu of the swimming. But no, Mrs. S. was a bully and she wasn’t going to miss this chance to inflict humiliation on the fat girl and so I went swimming with my class, boys and girls together, which made it even worse. I remember walking out to the pool in my suit surrounded by classmates. I just sort of put up a mental wall and tried to ignore the pain of my humiliation.



When I graduated high school, I remember very clearly one of the things I was most happy about was that the college I was headed to had no P.E. requirement. I had survived 12 years of weekly torture sessions in the form of gym class and was finally getting a reprieve.



I wish every gym teacher could hear my story and countless others out there that are like it. Who needs a positive physical education experience more than the fat kids? Who more than they need to be encouraged and supported to see that physical activity is something that CAN do and maybe even enjoy. Instead, it seems that too often they are humiliated and traumatized which just reinforces their idea that they can’t do athletic things. It’s very sad to me that these teachers have the opportunity to positively impact the health of their most at-risk students but many choose to belittle instead. Who does that help?

Introduction: My history

Hi, I am Deb. I am single, 38 year old, morbidly obese woman. Yuck. Not a very nice way to have to describe yourself, but it is true. I am 5'11'' tall and weigh about 315 pounds. I need to lose about 150 pounds. Like many who are morbidly obese, I have struggled my entire life with weight and I am sure my story will sound familiar to many.

I was a chubby child, started high school at around 195 pounds, and ballooned to somewhere over 300 pounds by the time I graduated. I am not entirely sure of my weight then because I would not get on a scale.

After high school, I went away to college where I actually LOST weight. No, no "freshman 15" for me. I was not trying to lose weight, it just happened and soon my jeans were falling off me before I even realized what had happened. I was still overweight but no where close to the 300+ pounder I had become. I guess it was just the change in lifestyle. I went from living at home where I did absolutely no exercise and came home from school and ate a McDonald's meal, ice cream, and Little Debbie cakes as a SNACK before dinner to walking at least on hour a day back and forth between the dorm, classes, and work. I also only ate 3 meals a day with no snacks. I did not have a car and did not have access to get off campus and stock my dorm room with snacks so it was just my 3 meals at food service for me. Oh, I also started drinking diet sodas instead of regular. So I guess it was those things that caused me to lose. I would guess I was around 200 pounds for most of my college career.

So I graduated college and go my first "real" job which required me to travel nearly 100% of the time. I hated it but made friends with a couple of girls on the staff and that helped. In fact, they are still two of my best friends today. Anyway, our out of town projects would last 3-4 months at a time so we really sort of lived wherever it was we were working. My first project was in Richmond, VA, and one of the girls on the project was doing the NutriSystem diet and convince me to try it with her. I guess that was my first "real" diet. I distinctly remember my starting weight was 213. I was able to lose down to 175 before quitting. I was young and lost weight easily but I can still remember the first week that I posted a gain at my weigh in I was humiliated and too embarrassed to go back. Had I expected to lose every single week? I guess so, silly young girl that I was. Plus my weight had been such a source of humiliation for me in my life so far that any small set back that was witnessed by the person weighing me in was more than I could bear.

Over the course of the 3 year period that I travelled for work, I actually did a pretty good job of keeping the weight off on my own despite eating out for all my meals. I remember at lunch I would always eat just half of whatever it was I had ordered and that was it. For dinner I would keep fruit and yogurt in my room and skip going out to dinner most of the time. Probably not the healthiest thing, but at the time it was the best I thought I could do.

Finally, my 3 years at the travelling job were up and I happily accepted a position with one of the company's subsidiaries in Texas, where I currently live. I was thrilled at the prospect of not having to live in hotels anymore and to have the ability to pursue a social life outside of just the people I worked with. I joined a gym and started working out most days of the week, including weekends. Those were the days of step aerobics and I was hooked on them. I got really fit doing them. I joined Jenny Craig for the first time and got to my halfway point at which time they begin to transition you to 5 days of Jenny food and 2 days of your own food. At that time, they taught the food pyramid and food exchanges for the days you were on your own. Evenutally I quite Jenny Craig but successfully continued doing food exchanges and eventually got down to around 160 pounds. At 5'11" this is pretty thin. I was wearing size 10's and 12's and should have been happy. Looking back I was very pretty and looked good at this weight. But my head had never caught up to where my body was. I still saw myself as very fat.

Looking back, I can see this is where I started some disordered eating habits, bordering on anorexia and exercise bulimia. I also had a completely distorted body image. I literally thought I was fat and disgusting while those around me were starting to tell me I looked too thing and gaunt. I started to warp the healthy food exchange plan I was doing and started thinking things like, "If X grams of fat is good, then less is even better." It got to the point I would not even eat a chicken breast because there was some fat in it. At one point I was subsisting on fat free yogurt, plain dry bagels, fruit, carrot sticks, and plain boiled rice. I wouldn't even cook the rice in broth because that was fat to me. Over time I got thinner and my hair started falling out. My skin didn't look good either. I started having really weird symptoms that scared me to death, like a pins and needles sensation in my arms and muscle weakness in my legs so bad that I remember walking down the hall at work and having to stop and hold on to a wall until it passed. Or standing in the kitchen at home and having to hold onto the counter to be able to stand.

It was just before my eating and exercise habits started causing these problems that I met me soon-to-be husband (and later-to-be ex-husband). It was my first real experience with a relationship at the age of 27. Yes, I had had a boyfriend in college and then dated a couple of guys but he was my first real serious relationship. It was the first time I ever felt loved by a man. He was a really good guy in many ways. He never criticized me for my weight, which did go up and down during our time together, and he was just generally a kind person. During this time, I would say my weight hovered in the range of 165-185. Even at that high end, it wasn't terrible for someone of my height although I always wanted it to be lower.

We got married and bought a house and it was then I started to realize his immaturity and his irresponsibility with money. No wait, I knew about the financial irresponsiblity before we were married. Like so many young women before me, I thought he would "change" when we were married. He eventually took a job where he travelled during the week and was only home on weekends. I was horribly lonely then and started packing on weight very quickly, balloooning up to 253 pounds. I remember bingeing on half gallons of ice cream out of sheer loneliness and boredom. I didn't care about my appearance at all. Eventually, the financial strain that his habits caused led us to divorce. The relationship had turned into a parent-child relationship, which made neither of us happy. I did lose some weight after the divorce because I wanted to attract men but never really got back to a weight that made me happy.

So where am I now? It's been 8 years since I was divorced and I have been very emotionally closed off since then. I went up and down with my weight a few times, got out on the dating scene casually once or twice, but felt unsuccessful in that arena. Six years ago I changed jobs and moved to a different part of my city far away from my friends. During this past six years in my new part of town I did lose back down to 195 at one point to be a bridesmaid in friend's wedding. A combination of several things led me down the path back to 315: stressful working conditions, a sense of abandonment by friends, family, and co-workers, and just plain loneliness and disappointment. I am not blaming any of these things specifically. I do take the responsibility for my weight. It's just food is my coping mechanism and I finally realize that until I am able to change that I will never be able to lose this weight and keep it off.

For 8 years I have been using my food and my weight to avoid my life. Yes, there have been brief periods where I tried to make a change, lose weight, and participate in life. Then I would experience some hurt, rejection, or failure, and back down the path of destruction I would go gaining back everything and then some.

I am ready to get past this forever. I deserve to have a good life and I currently do not have one. I am making it my mission starting right now to gain control of my body and grab life by the horns. It's time for me to live!