Weekly Confession #2: My Body is Broken (I’m Fat)

Last week I opened up about my broken brain. I keeping with my pledge to make a new confession each week, this post deals with something about which I am very ashamed. I’m fat.

I don’t like my body anymore. I don’t feel okay with my weight gain. I don’t feel comfortable in my own skin. I don’t feel like myself. I don’t feel good. I don’t feel like going outside. What DO I feel? I feel fat,  and very ashamed.

This is new for me. I mean, we’re all always somewhat ashamed of some aspect of our body – even if it’s just those fugly elbows or our weird pancreas. But for most of my life I’ve been relatively comfortable with my body. I may have occasionally wanted some parts flatter, and some parts less flat, but I was mostly OK. Having been a long-distance runner and bodybuilder for most of my adult life, I had my body fairly under control. Since childhood I could eat pretty much whatever, and as much, as I wanted. Save for despair over body hair or the odd pimple, I focused most of my self-loathing on parts above the neck. My face and hair were the enemy; my body and metabolism were my friends. (Or at least my frenemies.) In my 20s when my body fat was low I was anxious about my ‘puny’ C cups and fretted about getting implants constantly. That’s how pernicious the Baywatch culture was; it made the idiotically low self-esteeming even more insecure and more idiotic. Of course, now I see how stupid and crazy I was. As Nora Ephron said, if I could go back to those days now I’d just walk around naked. (And insanely jubilant.)

But Father Time kicked this daughter’s perky ass. First, all those years of running 20-60 hours a week totally did in my knees and lower back. I can no longer run — even walking hurts. As if losing all that calorie-burning weren’t enough, menopause did a drive-by and threw a serious wrench in my metabolism. The “change” came in and changed a shitload. My get-up-and-go got up and went. I need to take all kinds of meds that sap my energy. No more 5am runs, no more 140lb bench presses. It’s a good day if I manage to put on a bra and only watch three The Good Wife re-runs. To make a thin story fat, I gained almost 40 pounds. Goodbye denim cut-offs, hello caftans.

Now, let me be clear. There is absolutely nothing wrong with people being on the heavy side. Every day I see lots of people my size and heavier that I think are genuinely gorgeous. All kinds of body types are beautiful. But not on me. This isn’t the body nature gave me; this is the body age and my lack of portion control gave me. I’m not used to this new physique. I don’t feel good, and I don’t look good. I don’t feel comfortable in my own skin. Each time I see my reflection in a store window I wince. When I run into people I used to know, I can see it in their faces, the surprise of my new size.  I know that look of sad surprise because it’s in my own eyes when I look into the full-length mirror. (I try not to.)

I’m not taking this lying down, though I do lie down an awful lot. I exercise. I still weight-train twice a week when I’m well enough. I can bench 115lbs for reps. I’m strong, but fat. I already had my blood checked and I take meds for my hypo-thyroidism. I tried to diet but my self-control is horrible when I’m hungry. I can go a long time without eating, but once I eat anything – bam! It sets off some kind of hypothalamus-y trigger. No idea what the hypothalamus does, but it sounds legit, right?) I don’t want to eat celery sticks and drink protein shakes for the rest of my life. I want to lose weight, but I guess not enough.

There was a 20threunion party for a job I loved a few weeks ago. I loved all the people that would be attending. A good friend was going with me. But my broken brain and big ole body made me bow out at the last minute. Bottom line: I felt ashamed. I know it’s stupid, I know no one cares.

But I care. I feel fat. I feel horrible. I feel ashamed. Now you know.

Dixie Laite - Dame Town Writer

Author: Dixie Laite

I'm Sarah "Dixie" Laite -- a writer and branding consultant in New York City. I love classic movies, animals, flea markets, and "Law & Order" re-runs. I live with my husband, 2 dogs and 5 parrots in midtown Manhattan.All my life I've been obsessed with figuring out how to navigate life as a woman. There are endless books, TV shows, gurus, guys, movies and magazines out there to guide you. But now that I'm closing in on 60, I've noticed that the old rules don't apply, and most of the role models aren't old enough.I'm older now. I know more and I weigh more. I want to be inspired and I want to inspire. Let's get a handle on this shit and figure it out together.

Leave a Comment

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

  • Oh what a transparent, eloquent post.
    Menopause and peri-memo are a bitch.
    I have taken Bio identical hormone’s for years. I think it helpeds. But lately
    my lack of impulse control and lower energy level has kicked my butt.
    Growing vidence of aging in my body is a bitch. Who knew that this skinny girl Who could eat anything in sight , would develop Bubbe arms and bunions, midnight snacking, no resolve?
    So many changes..It’s like a second adolescence in reverse. Hormonal insanity.
    Compensated only in part by a growing wisdom and generosity towards others.

    Hearing and seeing you, Dixie.

  • Now my weird pancreas situation has been outed.
    I have avoided people for many years for fear of being judged. No more. Life appears to be getting shorter.
    I love your writing.

    • Lisa, knowing you, and YOU liking my writing, is so lovely! It’s like French-kissing Santa Claus in a. pool of liquid gold. (And Santa has good breath.). Mmmwah!

    • Lisa, knowing you, and YOU liking my writing, is so wonderful. It’s like French-kisisng Santa Claus in a pool of liquid gold — with unicorns cheering us on. Only better!