Ain't that a shame

Being big doesn't matter. I'm well-educated, have a damn good sense of humor; what else do I need? I never considered myself a good-looking girl, anyway, so what was the difference? I never got ahead in life by my appearance. It's what inside that counts most.

Even adults wish that fairy tales could come true.

I still believe that what someone feels, believes and is able to express is the essence of who she is. However, no matter how much anyone denies it, we all judge a book by its cover. In my case, I worked incredibly hard not to judge others, and found it amazingly easy to judge myself based on my appearance. Once the shame settled in, I did everything I could to push it down; I didn't want to deal with it. Somedays, it would rear its ugly head as a food binge. Other times, it would simmer just below the surface, lurking quietly, ready to strike without warning.

Shame is our conscience's way of letting us know we've done something wrong. I knew that eating two (or three or four) helpings of something wasn't a good thing. Remember, I'm not stupid. But all I wanted to do was numb the shame inside and eating worked well in that capacity. So, the shame grew right along with my waistline. It became a viscious cycle that I rode for years. In spite of my awareness of the damage I was doing, somewhere in my brain, I figured it was just easier to stay on the neverending ride rather than put on the brakes.

My eating mentality and shame were perfect partners. They are co-dependents, enablers of each other, if you will. Shame fed on my low self-esteem--a bottomless pit always looking to hide itself away so that it would never really disappear, but keep just out of sight enough to not cripple me. As the shame ate away at my self-worth, I looked to fill the holes it chomped away within me. The fatter I got, the more my self-esteem bottomed out, the more my self-esteem withered, the more I ate; you get the picture.

Shame was determined to win. Whenever I thought I wanted to fight the battle, it put up incredible defenses: "Eating feels so much better.", "You have so much to lose, you can never do that." or, worst of all, "If you try this, you're admitting you have a problem, that you've screwed up your life." Emotions are silent, except for within our own brains. Oh, it yelled loud and clear in my head, until I caved in yet again.

How have I started to win the battle against the shame I feel at being fat? Facing it head on. Acceptance is freeing. Admitting that I am obese, that I caused it and that I'm the only one who can change it was my first showdown with shame. Stepping out of the shame's shadow sucks all of its power away. Once I acknowledged my situation, I knew that my next step was to accept it, not pass judgment and move on. This is my daily battle now. Most days, I have the advantage. Each day that I make decisions about what or how I stuff my face based on what I want to achieve and not how I feel at that moment gives me the upper hand. There are still days where shame pushes back--it isn't giving up without a good fight.

The difference now, though, is that when shame tries to push me around, I push back.

I figure I might as well use my weight to my advantage for once.