Beach Intervention

I found myself to be the center of criticism at a recent beach trip with a bunch of my friends. They were very concerned with my weight gain. They have been with me from my growing up years, my adolescence, my young adult life and my mid-20s, first-hand witnesses to how I evolved from a 135 pound 19 year old, to a 220 lbs pregnant woman, and finally a 210lbs postpartum body. Being the true friends that they are, they were not afraid speak their minds even if it meant hurting my feelings. They didn't baby me or let me bask in the comfort of lies. 

My family is not exempt to this. My parents know I thrive in intense physical activities. I am admittedly, a hyperactive kid who needed constant stimulation and an outlet to vent out all this pent up energy. I had a lot of sports--- swimming, softball, bowling and tennis. (But I loathed every minute of doing house chores because it bored the death out of me.) My parents told me that my size is going well out of proportions and I needed to do something before my husband leaves me for another woman.

Truth be told, I have a lot of things going on in my head that prettifying is not one of my urgent priorities.  I used to live in a world where missing salon appointments is a crime and I can shop at my own pace and carefully select my wardrobe with attention to the teeniest detail. In this world I had all the time to sit in front of a mirror and immerse in vanity. I can take long, leisurely baths everyday and I can just go out whenever I feel like it to watch a movie or go to a park to have unlimited "me" time.

My current reality is a far cry from this. Baths are 10 minutes TOPS. After breakfast, I shove the kids to the bath and I sneak my own when they're done soaking up my clothes with water. After that, I spend an hour in the kitchen to cook, an hour and a half to just feed three children simultaneously. Ten to twenty minutes to feed myself and finish everything before one of my children cries or fights or whatever menace they can make up. Then I clean up the house with toys all over the stairs, in the bedroom, in the living room and try to tidy up the house. When they finally settle down and take their afternoon nap only then can I face the scrubbing and washing of a mountain-load of pots, pans, plates, feeding bottles and clean the mess on, under and around the table and chairs in our dining room. Before I know it, one of them is already awake and will be asking for a milk bottle and this wake-up time in itself is already a signal for me to cook the afternoon snacks. When snack time is done, I clean up after the mess again and wash the plates and pans. Then, I take out the meat for defrosting in preparation for dinner. I spend the entire day working in front of the kitchen. There are times when I don't want to get up anymore and just wanted to sleep out the miserable feeling of being in front and around food all the time.

So, my friends went on an on about how I should hit the gym, do aerobics, get glutathione injections, slather lotions, do150 sit-ups a day, pluck my eyebrows, dress better... They poured every suggestion they can think of. Bottomline is they think I'm ugly and I need improvement. I love my friends and I have gone past getting hurt by my insecurities.

The curious thing is, I wasn't at all affected by the ridicule and criticism. I wasn't impressed because I have a different perception of what deserves to be branded as beautiful. But in that conversation, what stunned me is how I constantly found myself giving unending, ridiculous excuses as to why I am fat.

Here am I, a truly functioning human being but all people can see is the multiple layers of tires around my waist and my big fat arms. I felt challenged.