So here we are. January 1, 2012. After a long period of deliberation, I have decided to tell you the story of my battle with weight loss, health issues, and other areas of my life. It may not mean anything to some of you, but to me, it will be a form of therapy to put my thoughts down on paper (theoretically speaking).
You are probably wondering what in the world the title of my blog is all about? Well for me, it is a pivotal point in my life, and one that I cringe to think about even to this day. We will start from this jumping off point.
About 3 years ago, I was tipping the scales at 267 lbs. I was at the point in my life that I was about ready to give up on everything. I didn't want to go out of the house, dress, shower, or be in public. I secretly wished I could disappear forever and never come back to this place.
One Sunday afternoon, I was invited to a baby shower. I thought of every possible excuse not to go, but someone strong-armed me into going. After an hour of rifling through my closet of limited possibilities, I donned an inconspicuous outfit of all black (to give me the illusion of skinniness, well at least in MY mind anyway) and off I went to the shower.
When I got there, ladies were mingling around. The table was set with all kinds of yummy goodies, sweets, dips, a vast array of temptations. The party was centered around the kitchen mostly, as are most Maritime functions. People were chatting idly and I felt sooooooo out of place. Here I was, big as a house, trying to look and feel small in a kitchen full of skinnies. My eyes darted around for some corner I could skulk off to, unnoticed, and that is when the sheer terror hit me. All of the chairs that were placed around the kitchen were the wooden folding variety. You probably know the kind I mean. Slatted seats, very wobbly, might hold a 120 lb. person easily enough, but there was no way in H.E. double hockey sticks that the chair was going support my 267 lb. ass. I could feel the shit-waves going through me, wondering how on earth I was going to escape this.
Time came for everyone to take their seats as the festivities started. I grabbed a chair with sweaty hands and shoved it to the back of the kitchen. With trembling legs, I gingerly eased my way down, almost hovering, over the seat of the rickety chair. Just as I put my full weight onto the seat, it happened. That unmistakeable CRACK! The chair broke and I fell on the floor. I was MORTIFIED. At that moment, I wanted the earth to open up and swallow me whole. The hostess ran over to make sure I was ok, but my face was so red from embarrassment. People just looked at me then away, not wanting to make eye contact. "Fatty broke the chair", I was sure they were thinking. "Perhaps she should lay off the Deely Bobs", I could hear them saying in my head. The hostess returned shortly with another chair, this one much more sturdy, where I sat, quiet as a mouse, for the remainder of the party. It was at that point that I vowed to myself never to get myself into this situation again.
That was 3 years ago, and I have thought of it every time I go somewhere and have to sit. "Am I going to break the chair?" These are things that I shouldn't have to worry about. I have enough stress in my life at the moment without having to worry if I am going to be flossing my ass with someones chair splinters.
At the end of my weight loss journey, I want to be able to say, "No thanks, I'll stand" when offered a chair. Not because I am scared I will break it, but because I know that finally I can stand on my own. Two. Feet.