I will never drive a mini van (check).
I will never yell at my kids (uncheck).
I will never weigh more than 120 lbs.
Actually, my exact words were: If I ever weigh more than 120 lbs, I'll kill myself.
Oh, the dramatic statements of youth.
I'm obviously still alive and obviously over 120 lbs. Way over.
When I made this proclamation, I was a junior, maybe senior in high school, a svelte 117 lbs.--only because I watched every bite that went into my mouth, worked out daily, and had a job where I was on my feet for hours. My measurements were quite ridiculous in retrospect: 28 (double A), 22, 35.5.
Yes, you read correctly. When puberty hit at the ripe age of 11, my hips expanded so abruptly I formed stretch marks. So, I was obsessed with keeping my weight down lest any fat formed around them and made them bigger. Finding 2-pieces at a time when mix and match wasn't a thing yet was impossible, so I went with high cut one-pieces. There was a specific term for them that's escaping me at the moment--I keep wanting to say Brazilian, but that's a wax, not a swimsuit.
These child-bearing hips were my nemesis. I wanted to wear a size 0 from the 5-7-9 Store, but I was lucky to squeeze those suckers into a 3.
I don't know when I passed the 120 mark, but I do remember being mid-120's in junior college, only because we had a required PE class, and we measured our weight and body fat. It was then I realized weight wasn't everything. Body fat is what mattered, and I was a respectable 19%.
Fast forward to mid-20's, pre-pregnancies. I was eating low fat and exercising at the gym at the apartment complex I managed. Although I weighed in at 134, I wore a size 4, having giving up on junior cut clothes and graduating to misses. I was an adult, after all. I felt great at that weight, a whole 14 lbs. more than my "never" weight. I was toned and finally had a bra size that didn't require a specialty shop or special order. At a 34A, I was way closer to the 36 inches my hips now measured. I was almost a brick house at 34-24-36, but not quite.
Then, came babies. Weight gain. Weight loss. More weight gain. And, every time I lost, I gained it back, plus some. I always let myself down on this front, even when I swear I'll never let the weight come back on. It just comes back on so easily when I fall back into old comfortable bad habits.
I am now on a quest to find that happy medium--literally. I'd love to lose enough weight to be a medium again--or at least a looser large. And, from all the failed diets and rebound weight gain, I know drastic thinking and programs aren't the way to go. I need to find a new way to "be," a way that's all my own, not dictated by diet books.
God only knows what my measurements (and body fat) are now. I'm not about to whip out that red tape or a caliper to find out. I can't do that to myself right now.
I'm going with weight, the way my clothes fit, and my overall feelings, realizing that sometimes emotions cloud my vision and eat away at my confidence, but that I always have control over how I talk to myself. And, it's high time I stop that all or nothing thinking.
At least I've never owned a mini van.
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