The F Word

Fat – adjective; having too much flabby tissue, corpulent; obese. A fat person

Hello world, my name is Dara, and I am fat. I am addicted to junk food and reality television and allergic to diets and exercise. I have never met a bag of chips or a “real housewife” episode that I didn’t like and every time I even think about going to the gym or joining Jenny Craig, I start sweating and feel nauseous.

I assure you, being fat isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. I hate shopping for clothes thus my addiction to shoes and handbags. I have never had to lie on the bed, struggling to zip up a good Michael Kors handbag. DSW always has my size, and not just one color or style, and no one there ever frowned at me and made the word “plus size” sound like I was asking for the “crack” or “meth” section.  

Being fat has affected all my relationships, including the one with my mother. Many years ago, when I first started gaining weight, my mom would buy me clothes a few sizes smaller and say “for when you get the weight off”. Family members went from telling me how pretty I was and asking for wardrobe tips and started complimenting my hair or saying “your hairstyle flatters your face”.

When you’re fat, you know you’re fat. You live with the pain and depression every day. I wasn’t always fat; in fact, the dress I wore to my high school graduation was a size 6. I played tennis, was a peppette (cheer team) and danced for hours every weekend at the local teen club.

Then life happened; marriage, kids, jobs and dinners from a sack. Being too tired to remember my name at the end of the day, much less the directions to the park or gym became the norm. Let’s not forget eating healthy is expensive, no matter what Oprah or Dr. Oz say. A box of Hamburger Helper is fast and cheap, and no one complains because it smells or tastes nasty.

So, why am I making such a public confession? Because I’m tired and honestly, a little sad. My husband and I made some small changes last year, including giving up fast food at lunch. He has lost 29 pounds, which is happily noted by all our friends and family. I have lost 8 pounds, causing no looks of joy or inquiring how I did it. I don’t know the joy of saying over and over again how my pants are falling off. Yes, I’m jealous because I’ve given up McDonalds too. I haven’t had a real Dr. Pepper in months and haven’t stopped at the QT on the way home for Snickers bar in a year.

So, in this New Year I am going to make changes, but not a resolution because by February, most people have abandoned their resolutions. I am going to deal with the nausea, say goodbye to NeNe and crew and get off the sofa. I am going to move more, eat better and, as I’ve learned, more often. I’m not going to make unrealistic goals, like 60 pounds by summer, but I will say a smaller size by spring break. I will walk a mile without getting winded and I will celebrate my successes and not put pressure on myself to do more. I will find creative and fun ways to exercise and new recipes that are fast and cost effective. I will change my life and remember, “our only security is our ability to change."

Goodbye Fat Dara.