The 15 pounds that college freshman supposedly gain their first semester was a big concern to me because I’d been significantly overweight for most of my life. I still remember being the last kid to finish the mile run in school. But the pain of being an overweight kid was not as hard as the emotional angst of being a fat teenager. The only thing worse than when people yelled “look at that fat b—-” in a kind of verbal drive-by attack, was overhearing whispers like “she should not be wearing that!” from the other girls in the gym classes.
I didn’t want hear that kind of talk at college or add another 15 pounds on my already strained 5-foot-3, 200-pound body. So I decided to get my eating under control. I followed my doctor’s advice to eat fewer starchy foods and more vegetables, and I limited my caloric intake to 1,680 calories a day. I learned the calorie content of every food that passed my lips, as well as the number of calories I burned walking across campus or cruising on the elliptical trainer.
Five months later, I had everything that heavy grade-school student—huffing and puffing her way through the annual mile run—wanted. I dropped nearly 50 pounds. I was finally skinny. I had friends. I could walk up a staircase and talk at the same time. I wore normal-size clothes. Life was good, right?
Well, kind of. Social and mental changes followed my physical changes. During Thanksgiving break I saw people that I hadn’t seen since I’d lost a noticeable amount of weight. Some people gasped. Others didn’t recognize me. Men were starting to pay attention to me, something I’d never experienced before. People even told me I inspired them. But I couldn’t help but worry that I was going to gain back that weight. Would I then lose my new-found popularity? I realized that something was wrong with how I was seeing the situation, but I couldn’t quite figure out what it was. And sure enough, I would slowly start to break my 1,680-calorie-a-day diet when I was stressed. Then, feeling depressed from eating more, I would, without fail, eat more to comfort myself. Luckily, my university offered free counseling, and I decided to explore what was happening to me.
Progress began when I first learned to forgive myself for the mistakes I’d make whether it was because of food or some other circumstance. In the past, I criticized myself for my eating problems. My thoughts would go something like “I shouldn’t have eaten that … I’m so stupid.” Counseling helped me think in terms of “I made a mistake, and now I can make a choice.” Today, instead of beating myself up over not solving my problems, I listen and welcome my thoughts and feelings because I trust myself to find a way through the situation.
My beliefs about eating began to change with these new insights. Food had been my way of coping through a lot of my life—be it by distracting myself by counting calories or by eating to relieve stress. Today, eating is about loving and nourishing myself. I eat because I am hungry or because it is involved in celebrating or experiencing life. My thoughts about food have changed from “If I eat this, I may gain weight” to “I am going to experience life in a healthy way.”
As I trusted myself and my actions more, I learned to listen to others differently. Before counseling, those compliments like “You make me realize I can lose weight, too” would leave me feeling anxious about the possibility of gaining weight again. Today, I listen to comments differently, and I am happy that the things I’ve done primarily for myself can still positively affect someone else.
Sometimes people ask me about how I lost the weight. I tell them about the mechanics of diet and exercise, about how going to college in some ways made it easier to lose weight because I was living a completely new lifestyle. But I also like to encourage them to be patient, gentle and caring with themselves; to treat themselves the way they’d treat a close friend. I also tell them to celebrate small victories (which really are not so small) and be proud of doing something healthy for yourself.
Today, six years later, I am not as slim as I was during the time I mentally tracked every food I swallowed. I am not “skinny,” but I can still fit into clothes that I like, I exercise, and I eat a lot of vegetables. I have a positive attitude and am living life to the fullest as an occupational therapist and Peace Corps volunteer in Eastern Europe. I believe that the inner strength I’ve gained through my own health journey has made me an even greater support to the people I’ve met as a volunteer and therapist.
