Due to medication and pure laziness I’ve gained weight. Quite a lot actually. I weigh as much now as I did when my youngest was born. I was fifty four kilos when I fell pregnant with Master J at age twenty three. I was sixty two kilos the day he was born. I was sixty kilos when I fell pregnant with Master T as age twenty eight. I was seventy three kilos when he was born. People would say I’m lucky because I lose the baby weight quite fast and it isn’t linked to breast feeding as both boys weren’t breastfeed past three days.
I understand now when people say the weight just crept up on them. Over the past two years I gained weight but slowly. However it was getting harder to lie to myself that my clothes didn’t fit anymore. My favourite shorts I had fitted in when Master T was a couple weeks old no long fitted to point that I couldn’t do them up anymore. I would get dressed thinking I was looking pretty good only to pass a mirror and noticed that I looked way bigger then I had imagined in my mind. Then the truth came when I saw pictures of myself. My stomach now crept out of tops when I sat down and I looked like I was pregnant again. I would complain about this to Mr C but I didn’t do anything about it. I kept eating seconds and I didn’t have the energy to work out thanks to insomnia and depression.
So It’s only day three but I made my first step. I still complained after dinner the first day because I’m always so hungry and last night’s dinner too and I will probably complain tonight to sorry Mr C. I was going to count calories again but I get obsessive when I do that. Like every single mouthful of anything recorded and then worried over. Now the next step I need to work on is self-acceptance. Something I have been working on since I was sixteen and failing. Fourteen years of self-hate is going to be hard to break. I need to remind that little voice in my head that I’m still a good person and that I more than the number on my clothes tag. I can learn to love my body while I’m still working on it. I want work out because I want to not because I want to punish my body.
I need to remember that just because my children are boys doesn’t mean they aren’t affected by my self-hating comments. I know from experience growing up in a house with body hatred that it sticks with you for a long time. What you hear becomes your enteral voice even if it’s not said to you. When Master J says your beautiful mummy I want to believe him. I know he’s not thinking about my weight when he says that. I know my weight isn’t an issue to my children. They love me for who I’ am. So no self-hate comments in the house anymore even when the children are asleep and replacing the hateful thoughts in my head with positive thoughts. Enjoying the food I eat and not beating myself when I do eat something that I know isn’t good for me. This is a work in progress just like I’ am. Good relationships take work and I believe that. So I’m working on the relationship I have with myself about my body.