We don’t often think about that question.

We’re so bogged down by the physical number that we base our successes / failures on whether or not the scale is moving and forget about the weight that weighs the heaviest on us: The emotional pounds. Now I’m not a therapist nor do I play one on T.V. so of course what I write about is just from my own personal experience so take it as you will but I believe the following statement to be absolutely true: If you aren’t willing to lose the emotional weight, then your weight loss journey will NOT be successful or life-sustaining.

Oh you’ll lose some weight and you might be able to keep it off for some time but without examining the emotional aspect of your journey it will come back and it will come back with a vengeance. Emotional fat and physical fat go hand in hand. Now I’m not talking about those people who only have a few pounds to lose (whatever that definition is) because they stopped exercising after they got married or had a few children or couldn’t find the time to go to the gym after starting a new job. I’m talking about me: Bulimic since adolescence, morbidly obese, 100 pounds overweight that stuffed her pie hole every time something went wrong (read: stuffing pie hole on daily basis). I tried the diets. I was ready to sign on the dotted line for gastric bypass (and by ready to sign on the dotted line I mean I had the pen in hand, loan approved and ready to go but chickened out last-minute). I lost some weight. Atkins got me 40 pounds lighter. I gained back 60. Gastric bypass requirements got me down 30. I gained back 70. I was doing all the physical work and it was so damn frustrating to think “okay I got this” and then 3 months later realize I had gained everything back and gained back its brothers and sisters and all of its effing cousins. I thought I was doomed to just be a fat girl and settled in to watch the scale move closer and closer to that 300 pound mark.

I was losing the physical weight.

It wasn’t enough.

What I didn’t do was examine why I was carrying around all this weight. I didn’t understand why I needed my physical fat. Let me say that again: I needed my physical fat self!!! I was too afraid to look inside. It was easier to focus all my energy on hating my physical self so that I wouldn’t have to learn to acknowledge / love my emotional self. I was too scared to look at all the circumstances of my life and acknowledge that I was dealt a crappy hand from the beginning so I just stuffed the hell out of my body and built up a shield against the world.

Against myself.

When I started this journey, I had no idea the emotional angst it would bring me. I had no idea that I would on a daily basis feel a plethora of emotions ranging from anger to sadness to pride to confusion to frustration to elation all within the same hour. I had no idea that there would be days that I would be so overwhelmed with what happened in my past that it would keep me from moving toward my future. I had no idea that I hated myself so much…

I hated myself.

I hated myself for being the child of an alcoholic mother. I hated myself for being the child of a father that left me when I was barely 90 days old. I hated myself for being the little sister of three brothers where sexual abuse, abandonment, and pure hatred for me being born in the first place was common. I hated myself for being the over achiever in school because it was the only way I knew how to get the much needed attention I wasn’t getting at home. I hated myself for being the short lived step daughter to my mother’s alcoholic husband, where they would spend hours being in love, sharing matching bar stools only to come home and trade blows while I clung to my mother’s leg begging for them to stop (and just so you don’t get the wrong idea – my mother was the physical abuser, not my step father). I hated myself for coming to the early realization that boys really do love you when you take your pants off, or at least that’s what I thought, and found a lot of boys that “loved” me. I hated myself for finding peace in eating until bloated and then throwing up until my throat bled and then turning around and hunting down more food because it was the only way I felt in control. I hated myself for watching my mother die as I battled my Meth addiction and once again realizing I failed to be the perfect daughter and now I was never going to get the chance to earn her love…

In that hate, I learned to survive. In that hate, I learned to function. In that hate I learned to keep my emotions at bay by continually eating and allowing myself to sink deeper into the depth of sadness and depression until one day not so long ago enough was enough. There was a war going on inside my soul, my mind and my body and I was losing.

I was the walking dead.

The last nine months of my life have been hard. I’ve lost the physical weight but the losing of the emotional weight is a much slower lifetime process. It’s hard to understand how I can physically carry the body of a woman that weighs 170ish and yet mentally and emotionally still carry the 260+ pound little girl inside. When I look at my body (and I spend more time in front of the mirror naked than ever before) I’m still seeing this:


December 2009

And not seeing this:


October 2010

As a quick side note, I had to wear underwear for this last picture because in trying to recreate the same pose I realized my girl parts aren’t covered by the fold of my belly fat. Also note I’m trying to stand in the same place and my ass is in first picture is at the door, however I still don’t see what the rest of the world sees…what is plain in front of me. The difference this time around is I am embracing my emotionally fat self and fighting for her life too. When she cries because she wants pull the cover over herself and never face the world because she feels she’s failed, we cry together. When she’s angry that she can’t stuff her face anymore and find control in throwing up, we’re angry together. When she’s afraid to take the step forward because she knows she has to face her past, we hold hands and carefully place one shaky foot forward.

This was one of the most emotionally painful posts to write but it has to be done. While I am closing in on my ideal physical weight, I know today that the journey is no where close to being finished. Every day is a battle to bring my physical self and emotional self closer to being one person.

Together we will make the changes.

For a lifetime.

So now the question has to be posed: How much do you weigh emotionally? Are you hoping the physical weight loss will take care of everything? Are you wondering why you can’t lose the weight? Are you protecting something you’re afraid look at? What are you shielding? I’m here to tell you that no matter how painful you think it is to try and lose the emotional fat, it’s even more painful to carry it around for a lifetime. Never in my life, have I felt so exposed to the world in my emotions. Sometimes I feel like I’m going crazy but it’s only because I never acknowledged how I got here in the first place. There is something powerful in firmly planting your feet and telling the world “Yes, I am emotional. Yes I will cry at the drop of a hat. Yes, I will have emotional break downs over buying myself a Pumpkin Spice Latte at Starbucks. Yes, I will laugh hysterically when I realize that my husband bought me a pair of medium pajama bottoms because he knew they’d fit and I can’t wear my extra extra large pajama bottoms any longer. Yes I will catch my breath when someone points out that there is more life in my eyes than they’ve ever seen before” and every time I tell the world that I’m embracing all of my emotions no matter how difficult, I’m telling myself.

And when I tell myself…

another pound of emotional fat hits the floor.