It's never too late to start... AGAIN.
I miss writing. I think I never realize I miss writing until I read someone else’s work and it inspires me. Sometimes it’s a great book that I listen to on Audible, sometimes it’s an article I read in my “Bible,” aka InStyle Magazine, telling me about a bag I cannot afford but will need immediately if not sooner, and more often than not it’s a link to someone’s blog. I think to myself that I can do the same, and then I wonder what has taken me so long to shout my voice out into the internet’s ether. I am not sure why I haven’t yet joined the masses into “telling their truth” to no one listening. That it’s 2017 for fuck’s sake, and doesn’t everyone have an outlet in which they can tell their opinions? Maybe I should just bite the bullet and tweet my heart out?
I am finding that maybe writing will be the way to take a self-deep-dive in which I can unearth what I want to take care of and work on. Spoiler alert: It’s the weight – it’s ALWAYS been the weight. But, really, has it? When I was a kid I didn’t even know I had a “weight issue.” I don’t remember when it was exactly pointed out to me that I was “different” than the other kids. I do have a sharp image of it being around fifth grade because I know prior to then I could eat what I wanted, and after that time I was never “allowed” to again.
I don’t recall ever being called the fucking f-word “FAT” to my face, but it oozed from my entire family’s way in which I have been treated. They’ll deny it, of course, and that my “health” and “best interest” has always been at heart. But when someone from a young and extremely impressionable age is told something is “wrong” with them, it’s hard to not have anything since that first time be blurry, and fuzzy, and only viewed through my own lens. However, I vividly remember standing before the scale at my very first Weight Watchers meeting that my mom brought me to when I was 12, and that everyone else there was a full-grown “middle-aged” woman. I can see the room with the sterile beige partitions and scales. I can hear the leader talking about food selections as if I’m in that room right now. It’s burned into my being in effigy.
I’m (re)starting this blog, and writing in general, in an attempt to self myself free. To will myself to start on a journey that I will solely own. Yes, I have found that it takes a whole village to lose a single pound, but I know that if I am ever to lose the weight and get out of what will affectionately be referred to as my “fat suit,” I need to start somewhere. I need to start anywhere. Writing one word begins with a single step.
In the dulcet tones of the host of the “You Must Remember This Podcast:” Join me, won’t you? Step one will be deciding how and when to start.
I am finding that maybe writing will be the way to take a self-deep-dive in which I can unearth what I want to take care of and work on. Spoiler alert: It’s the weight – it’s ALWAYS been the weight. But, really, has it? When I was a kid I didn’t even know I had a “weight issue.” I don’t remember when it was exactly pointed out to me that I was “different” than the other kids. I do have a sharp image of it being around fifth grade because I know prior to then I could eat what I wanted, and after that time I was never “allowed” to again.
I don’t recall ever being called the fucking f-word “FAT” to my face, but it oozed from my entire family’s way in which I have been treated. They’ll deny it, of course, and that my “health” and “best interest” has always been at heart. But when someone from a young and extremely impressionable age is told something is “wrong” with them, it’s hard to not have anything since that first time be blurry, and fuzzy, and only viewed through my own lens. However, I vividly remember standing before the scale at my very first Weight Watchers meeting that my mom brought me to when I was 12, and that everyone else there was a full-grown “middle-aged” woman. I can see the room with the sterile beige partitions and scales. I can hear the leader talking about food selections as if I’m in that room right now. It’s burned into my being in effigy.
I’m (re)starting this blog, and writing in general, in an attempt to self myself free. To will myself to start on a journey that I will solely own. Yes, I have found that it takes a whole village to lose a single pound, but I know that if I am ever to lose the weight and get out of what will affectionately be referred to as my “fat suit,” I need to start somewhere. I need to start anywhere. Writing one word begins with a single step.
In the dulcet tones of the host of the “You Must Remember This Podcast:” Join me, won’t you? Step one will be deciding how and when to start.
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