At my skinniest, I was 5’9’ and 110 lbs. I was attending the University of Maryland and working three jobs to pay for it. I hardly had time or money to eat. It was during this time that I was asked to model a golfing line, and the guy actually said I was “too skinny.” By the time I graduated and joined the workforce, I was hovering around 125. I was still thin for my height and still waiting for the Boob Fairy to show up.
At 26, I married, he was a butt man. At 30, this workaholic finally agreed to have a kid. After my daughter was born, I was a perfect size 12 and I was comfortable in my own skin. But it was soon after the birth of my son, 2.5 years later, that I had my thyroid removed and started my climb up the scale.
What’s really sad is I still have some of my size 12 suites, dress pants and party dresses. I’ve dragged those with me every time we moved and we’ve moved a lot. I guess I always thought I’d get to wear them again and holding onto them was like waving a bone in front of me. I just never bit. But I know better now. The real reason I kept them? Well, if I gave them up, then I’d be admitting that I’d never be that thin again. Silly of me? I guess.
Being big-boned and tall helps to disguise how much I really weigh. In fact, I show my weight on my license 20 pounds less than I really am. I told myself that I’d lose the weight. I’m just glad the police don’t have scale radar in their cars cause I’d get fined for sure.
So now I’m on a journey. And, I honestly don’t know if I’ll be able to wear those size 12 dresses again. But if I can, I’d better check for moth holes!