Once upon a time I was thinner then I am today. That said, I still think thinner. I get surprised when I see myself in a window reflection or mirror unexpectedly. The me in my head is not the one standing in my shoes.
Although it’s been years since I’ve been in a size ten, I feel like at most I must be a size twelve. Yet my closet is filled with the sizes eighteens and twenties.
Yes, I did go up to size twenty-four/six after my son died. And I have been working on bringing it down, loosing half the weight I needed to loose although I did gain some of that back again in the last six months.
Confession time. I have been working on making a new corset for myself. I got the closest size to what my measurements told me to buy on the pattern package. Still I had to shorten it an inch while adding a half inch on each of the many pieces. (Okay fourteen pieces, that’s seven inches there.) It was the largest pattern that they made in that style.
I am fat.
Such a short, little sentence. Loaded with a whole lot of pain and discomfort.
I was making this corset to remind myself to stay on track with my diet and exercise but it has changed to a self realization of the truth within and the fat without. I wanted a little push and got a large shove. Or more like a hit in the head. You can’t change what you don’t acknowledge.
I am short and fat. Although I can’t do anything about my height I can do something about my weight. There are no easy fixes and I have to do the work. But the veil is off, the gloves are on. I had strayed but have now found my path again.
Fighting my fat is back on the top of my list again. My knitting can wait a while. My crafts can collect dust. My story writing doesn’t have to be so prolific. I don’t have to read quite so much.
I do have to take care of myself, because if I don’t, I won’t be here to do any of the things I like to do. I gotta’ go exercise now.