Years ago, had you told me that I would be completely comfortable in a 250 pound body, I would have laughed in your face.  I lived my life in shame and fear, and I believed that I had to be 150 pounds to be happy and self-confident.  Now that I have shed 120 pounds, gained back about 15, and continue to hover around the 250 mark, it’s a surreal place to be.  I’m comfortable in my skin.  I love my life.  I’m social, and happy, and dating, and living each day to the fullest and truly enjoying every moment of just being a fabulous woman. 

Perhaps part of that is growing older. 

Perhaps it is self-acceptance. 

Perhaps I am just hot and nothing can be done about it.  (tee hee) 

But the bottom line is that I love ME.  The strong woman I am, the sacrifices I make as a single mother, the beauty and light that I emanate just because I am fabulously happy, loved, and fulfilled.

So here’s my two part struggle.

At this point, I have to step up my game.  Because I’m okay with how I look and feel.  But I’m not okay with the potential health risks I am posing to myself in a 250 pound body.  Diets and Suzanne Somers and pills and all sorts of other stupidities exist to make us hot.  Attractive.  Sexy.  And that is all well and good.  But this has to become about health. 

Inside and out.

Mental.

Physical.

Emotional.

All of it.

It is all part of getting to a weight that is going to allow me to live in the highest and best state of health.  Screw the pant sizes, and the scales, and the nice little shift that my ample buttocks seem to make in pocketless jeans when I sache across a room.

This is no longer about appearance.  Though, I admit it feels good to look good, and that it is important to make ourselves the most fabulous versions possible of ourselves as women.

But now, this has to become about things unseen.  My heart.  My blood pressure.  The possibility of developing diabetes.  Or having a stroke when I’m 50.

The second part of this struggle, and I have to admit this if I want to grow, is that I am secretly terrified of coming up completely out of this fat suit.

Why?

I’m afraid of physical intimacy.

Every single time I get close enough to a man for him to come in for a kiss, my mind shifts to food.  The last date I had was with a complete narcissitic moron, who thought he was going to get a piece on the first date.  Puh-leeeeez.  He put the moves on, I made some excuse, and ducked out.

But what did I do once I got home?

I binged.

I didn’t even realize it until I was laying in bed that night, almost asleep.  But I started thinking about the events of the day, and I realized, that while I binge eat for several reasons, I think the most common is fear. 

Fear of what?

Physical intimacy.  With someone I truly love and care for.

I can do emotional intimacy all day.  This is why it is so easy for me to develop friendships.  And has also been my safe way of approaching males.  If I present myself in a friendly way, and get to know a man on a deep and emotional level, he will get to know the real me and love me through and through, and then the physical part will maybe not be so scary, IF it happens at all.  But if I just put myself out there as a prospective girlfriend, and the man is sexually attracted to me, then what?  I have to actually do it?  Without freaking out?

Oh boa.

There is oh-so-much to be done.

And oh-so-many therapy sessions to be scheduled.

Stay tuned, my friends.  Mama’s about to batten down the hatches.