I’m a chunky girl. I’ve got curves. Hell, I’ve got arcs and parabolæ!! To say I’ve got back is an understatement. I don’t like the term fat. I’m not ashamed of my size. I just don’t like that word.
I’ve been bigger than your average bear for a while now. My weight and shape tend to yo-yo a bit. I was at my skinniest back when I was about 19. I’d been bigger when I was 17/18 but I got sick and my circumstances changed so I dropped about 10 kilos in 4 months. I was a size 10 then. I looked so gaunt and bony that I decided I should never be that skinny ever again. According to the BMI charts, I should have weighed even less than I did. I shudder to think what I would have looked like.
I bulked up a bit after that until I was about 23. At that point in my life I was in a job which was eating my soul (long story) and my brother had just died. I quit not only my job but I cut all ties to that career and moved to Ireland. One hour after I started my job search I landed a 6-week temp job at Guinness. That was extended to a year after they actually saw me work. It was an amazing place to work. The wages were enough to cover my rent and utilities but didn’t leave much over for food. Fortunately, Guinness employees are given one meal a day in the staff dining room. If it weren’t for this meal I would have starved.
I walked everywhere. I didn’t have a car. I lived within 2km of Dublin city centre and couldn’t afford buses anyway. I ended up losing over 20kg in the years I lived there. I wasn’t trying. I was just poor. Because I was losing so much weight I had to keep buying smaller and smaller clothes. I went from being around a size 18/20 to being about 10/12. That blew the budget.
Then I returned to Australia after my Dad passed away suddenly. I went back to my hometown. So poorly served by public transport (yes, we’re still waiting for the trains to come) and so far away from the jobs I ended up getting that I got into a car and drove from that day to this.
A sedentary job. A sedentary lifestyle. I don’t exercise at all. I don’t enjoy it. All those promised endorphins seem to have bypassed me any time I ever did bother to go to a gym or do something by way of physical activity. I enjoy what would probably be considered an old fashioned style of healthy eating. I like regular old meat and 3 veg kinda meals. I’ve never eaten kale or wheatgrass. I don’t mind lettuce but I think rocket is something that goes up into the sky.
Ultimately, my inputs don’t match my outputs and I’m back up to the biggest I’ve ever been. That includes when I was pregnant. Actually, I only gained about 2 kilos during my pregnancy. After Snugglepot was born and then for a period of some months after, I lost about 15 or so kilos thanks to the birth and breastfeeding.
I have gone through short phases of wanting to be a different size or shape but that was mostly in my early to mid teens. Once I hit 18 I was just happy to be me. This is still true. I try to wear clothes that make me feel good about myself. To hell with fashion. I don’t follow it. I don’t care about it. I want to look in the mirror and see myself, not some version of a picture in a magazine that shows someone else’s style with my body shoehorned in and my head stuck on top. I have my own style thank you very much.
So why am I bleating on about this now? Well, in just over 7 weeks from now it will be my wedding day. I have chosen a gorgeous dress that makes me feel good. At least it did when I bought it…last year. I find myself in the very unusual position of trying to fit an outfit. I have always worked from the opposite stance. The outfit must fit me. It has to match my feelings, my style, my persona, my shape, my size. I found a dress that did all of that but I found it at a time when I was a little smaller than I am right now.
I never wanted to be a person who was so consumed with looking a particular way or weighing some magical number that I forgot to live and enjoy life. I hate reading “inspo” posts. Life is for living, not hating who you are. I hope I fit the dress on the day. I’ve got all my accessories chosen to match it. If it doesn’t happen I will be a little upset but would the world stop turning if the bride wore jeans?