6 Ways I Cope with Obesity while I Lose the Baby Weight

While I was pregnant for Hakon (HO-kin; it's Swedish), David and I got a Wii Fit. It was -30 outside often so I never left the house, but I knew I needed some exercise. Whenever I got on the Wii it made a sad song and chirped "That's obese!" It was very sad. I couldn't tell it, "No! I'm just pregnant! No! I have to eat to make my nausea go away; it is the only cure I've found!" It didn't care. It just chirped at me every day until I eventually stopped using it. I did need to eat. I was growing a person. I was sick all the time. My doctor wasn't worried about my weight - my blood pressure was great, my urine normal, no diabetes - so I wasn't worried.

Until I gave birth to (well, had c-sectioned) my beautiful son. I lost 20 pounds in the first week of baby weight, fluids and other interesting stuff, but then I plateaued. Breastfeeding has not been some magical whatever for dropping pounds. I track my meals and I walk, but nothing. Stuck.

Me at 220

I am not happy with my body shape.

I am happy with body.

There seems to be this false idea that if you are dissatisfied with the way you look, it is because someone shamed you into that opinion or you just don't understand your inherent inner beauty, and if you are happy with your body that means you never want to change it. I don't hold with either of those things.

I love that my body can walk all around and lift heavy things. This is something that I am more appreciative of since I have had postpartum blood clots in my lungs that are sometimes very painful when I breathe. So on days that I can breathe well enough to exercise, I am extra grateful.

I love the naughty things my body can do with David after Hakon is asleep.

I love and am amazed at how my body makes milk for my son. What? How? It's pretty much magic, I think.

275; just about a week after Hakon's arrival

So, yeah, I like my body. It's a pretty amazing device.  But I definitely want to change it. I carry my weight pretty well. Not around my belly too much, mostly in my thighs and hips. But 270 pounds has to go somewhere and I'm not blind. I can see it. I would like to see less of it. In the meantime, this is how I deal with it.

1) I bought new clothes that fit me well. All my pre-Sam clothes are already packed up for our move. All my maternity clothes with them. I bought new underwear that fits without digging into me. It may mean that I had to spend precious money on clothes I hope to be out of soon. It may mean that all my jeans have a W on the tag. But it also means that I look like a real person who understands that she isn't a teenager anymore. I leave the house and feel pretty good.

2) I went and got my hair done. This sounds silly, but it really helped. I knew that getting back to my old body would take a long time (even longer to get back to my old old body) and I knew that I needed to feel pretty in the meantime. It doesn't matter how many times your friends and family tell you you look good, if you don't feel pretty it's tough. And maybe that's dumb, but it is true. So I got a perm. It turned out really well, it's low maintenance and fast, and I feel more put together and confident when I leave the house. I feel pretty.   

3) I eat foods that I know are healthy. That makes me feel good. I eat fruits and vegetables and protein. But I do not limit myself to only "healthy" foods. I have been sick; I have been having blue days. I indulge in comfort foods. So most of the time, I eat good foods and sometimes I eat food that makes me feel good. This moderate attitude keeps me from slipping into either crash diet or bingeing. The moderation keeps me happy.

Four years ago: 170

4) I lean into the shaming. Wearing cute clothes that look pretty good can often trick me into thinking that I look like I did four years ago when I was just recovered from depression and the eating disorder that went along with it. But when I catch a glimpse of myself in a storefront window, that hundred pounds is very, very demoralizing. So, when I go to the gym, I lean into it. I have a pair of tight, short shorts that are completely unflattering. I wear them at the gym. I look at my legs in the mirror while I lift my weights. I work out even harder. I feel very proud of myself that I am working to change. I can't carry the weight of that shame (get it?) around with me all the time. It's too depressing. But a couple hours at the gym two or three times a week? That's very productive shame for me. It helps when I see that I am lifting more weight than cute skinny girls. Makes me feel more useful. (Don't feel bad skinny girls! I'm sure you are very useful!)

5) I make light (get it) of the situation. David and I laugh about it a lot. I'll say something like "I'm so glad you are still attracted to me even though I'm super fat," and he will say, "Yeah, me too. I'm glad I'm still attracted to you even though you are super fat." (The affectionate, fun tone is hard to convey through text alone.) It's not for everyone, but it puts it into perspective for me when I can laugh about it. I'm in pretty good health, excepting the blood clots, I have a beautiful healthy son, a wonderful husband, and generally a really happy life. It's silly to let myself get bogged down by this one temporary issue. So we laugh and joke about it. Everyone should have a moderator making sure they don't sucked into body image madness. David is mine and he keeps me sane by reminding me to laugh it off.

6) I don't fish for compliments. I demand them. I don't have the patience to wait around for a compliment to come on it's own. On days that I am feeling especially bad about the way I look and none of my other strategies are doing the trick, I tell David that I need him to tell me I'm  pretty. He's gotten used to this ritual and will tell me specific things he likes. That blouse looks nice. Your make-up looks great. I love your hair like that. Look at my pretty wife! He often seals it with a kiss. We've worked really hard in our marriage to always be honest, even when it's hard, so I know that he is saying what he means. If I'm looking pretty rough (no shower, baby puke on my shirt, David's deodorant on because I was too lazy to walk ten feet farther for mine, and a fresh breakout on my chin) and I demand a compliment, he will tell me that he loves me and asks what he can do to help. He'll take Hakon and let me shower, or just sit and hold my hand. In this way he reminds me that I've got more going on than just how I look and our relationship is built on more than our bodies. 

On your bad days, what makes you feel better about your body or your nose or hair or whatever that one thing is that you wish you could change?