In our late 20’s Vince and I had moved for the fifth and final time since we got married, into our forever house. Now, a decade after that -- put on hold by birthing two more children and performing the myriad responsibilities of having a house, two cars and three kids -- I decided it was time to finally go through some of the boxes that had moved with us, many that dated back to my childhood. I found my old journals and decided to take a look.  

I thought it would be fun to see what I was thinking and how I was living when I was a little girl, especially now that I had three girls of my own. I looked forward to a nostalgic experience of reading story after story of me making my art or singing songs or learning to play the guitar.  I grabbed a cup of coffee, placed my diaries around me, and chose a book.

But, soon, I felt a deep sorrow/anguish welling up through my chest, to my face, and, finally, out of my eyes. Nearly every week of entries, whether happy (getting an A on a school essay or having my favorite cousins visit) or sad (not having a boyfriend or not getting a part in a play) was punctuated with a comment about my weight.

It began with my very first diary, around the age of 10 or 11:

January 1:
"I went to the doctor's yesterday.  I'm 16 pounds overweight. If I can lose pounds every week, I'll be down by Easter."

January 3:  
"I'm doing good on my diet.  I think I lost a pound!  Fifteen more pounds to go!

January 7:  
"It has been harder to stay on my diet lately.  I hope I didn't gain any more pounds. I'm afraid to weigh myself.

Then, at age 12:

May 31:  
"Well, today was pretty fun.  Everyone said I was as skinny as a rail."

Then, only one month later:

June 30:  
"Of course my weight has been a major problem, but I'm gonna try to make that less 'mind consuming.'  I hope July is going to be happy and thin!

At age 13, things were getting more self-deprecating:

Sept 2:
"Then, like a dummy, I went way, way off tonight with peanut butter and the whole thing.  What a stupid thing to do !!!"

Sept. 6:  
"Gained a pound at Weight Watchers."

Sept 7:  
"I drank some leftover Grasshopper tonight –there goes my perfect diet for this week..."

I had to stop reading. This poor little girl!  Page after page overshadowed with of the heartbreaking obsession of weight.  Did I really waste so much of my youth on this? Did I really spend so much of my time thinking about and chronicling something that had so little to do with who I actually was?

As I tearfully contemplated these questions, I realized that the answer was, and is, yes. Some of my earliest memories are stained with/shadowed with being called chubby and knowing that I shouldn’t eat the same things, amounts and ways as my brothers did.  

I looked back at this normally weighted child who had already distorted her body image, and I couldn’t contain my breaking heart. Looking at pictures of myself from that time, I was amazed when I realized that I wasn’t really fat after all!  But, just as true: I was fat now, and it was too late to become the weight I was meant to be. When I was sorting through that box of diaries, I wish I had been happy with my relatively svelte figure, and not allowed my self-hatred to balloon me to my current morbidly obese weight.

Science now acknowledges that most diets (especially the popular ones, purported in the 60’s) basically starved people. The body, not happy with being starved, does what it can to retain fat. People stop the diet because the body, quite rightfully, craves more calories. These cravings often cause one to severely overeat in at effort to give the body the nutrition it needs.  People will usually gain back the weight they lost and more.  

When one is disgusted enough with the weight gain, one goes back on the diet, and the cycle begins again. After years of being on this roller coaster, people can become very large. At about age ten, I started my own coaster ride. Instead of being obsessed with friendships, dolls, school or crafts, I began my obsession with weight, food, poor body image, self-loathing and unacceptability.

My worst fear was that my three daughters would have to endure the pain of being overweight in our thin-obsessed society. The message I have given -- and continue to give -- to them, as well as to anyone who will listen is: Please see how beautiful and perfect you are now! Eat well, be involved in the activities you want to be involved in, and let your body be what it’s supposed to be, and you will be perfect for your whole life! People will envy you (trust me!) and, more importantly, you will live a life being happy in your own skin. 

Of course, I cannot seem to apply this to myself. I just can’t. Why not?