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Weight Loss Rollercoaster

My Personal Struggle With Health And Fitness

By teisha lesheaPublished 5 years ago 14 min read
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Photo by Thought Catalog on Unsplash

Introduction: I am only speaking from personal experience. As a teenager, I practiced unhealthy eating habits. I would encourage men and women to not practice these unhealthy habits. Please consult with your doctor for healthier alternatives.

Once every four to five months, my family gets together and discusses one topic and one topic only, and that is health and fitness. When the men are talking it's more about lifting weights and bodybuilding, and the women talk about how much weight they need to lose. The conversation is about what exercises work, how many reps, how many sets, and if the technique is correct. I hear the four same questions: "What are you eating?" "How are you preparing it?" If so, you should do it like this. You should stop ordering from Postmates. "Have you been going to the gym?" "How long are you at the gym?"

On the surface, it's appreciative that we are all concerned about each other's well-being. Indirectly these questions or concerns only translate to "I care for you, and I love you." I welcome it. But, as I sit and ponder about my journey with weight and my relationship with food, I realized that it hadn't been a good one. I tend to ask myself questions like: "Why is it so hard for me to start?" and "Why is it that I start but can never finish?" As I was using my Obatala body soap that brings peace, calm, clarity, and strength along with speaking my affirmations in the shower, I allowed myself to open up my mind and heart to receive the answer I so desperately want. While at work, it hit me. I felt like a thump in my chest. I paused, and the first thing that I said was, "I have to write this down." My hard headedness gets the best of me at times, so I didn't write it down, but it did run through my mind all day.

Going back to my stages of puberty and how I felt about myself back then. After analyzing my health and food journey, two words jumped on my tongue like a trampoline but didn't dare to whisper it to myself. Once you label anything emotional in your life, it tends to take power out of it. Once that power is gone, the next best thing is to "Do the work." After five minutes of a mini panic attack that, at one point in time in my life, I had suffered from Eating Disorders and Body Dysmorphia. I also would like to give the disclaimer that I am not a medical professional by any means, and I didn't get evaluated by a medical professional.

Ten was the year I started puberty. I've always been a chubby kid. I have a baby round face with high cheekbones. If I were to smile hard, I would look like a Cabbage Patch doll in the front. Like most preteens, puberty can hit us hard. One minute you want to eat the whole table and the next minute you don't have an appetite for anything. At that time, I also played a sport. Softball was my sport of choice. During the season was where I was most active. The practices and the running sometimes made me skip dinner and go to bed from exhaustion. I maintained a somewhat healthy weight. It wasn't until I was twelve, and my hormones would fluctuate every five seconds, that made me have my first battle of weight loss, self-image, and food disorder. Like most teenage stories, it always starts with "So there's this boy…" In middle school, the "boy pool" was mesmerizing. All you can hope for is for the person you have a huge crush on to have a crush on you.

Skinny ones. Big ones. Little ones. Lighter skinned ones. Long-haired ones. Flat chested or Top heavy? Big butts. Little butts. Loudmouths or quiet ones? The list goes on and on. That and being called fat every other month from the boys you didn't like was a very dark time. During the middle of the school year, I had a small growth spurt, and I ate an extra taco, and my uniform pants rarely fit. My thighs got bigger, hips got full, and my legs got longer. So, when I sat down, you had a quick preview of the color socks I had on. I did rock the high waters for a small period. During that time, my parents thought it wouldn't have made sense to buy new pairs of clothing while I was preparing for my back surgery soon. I was going to be out of school for the remainder of the semester anyway. It wasn't until one day I was sitting across this guy in class and he blurted out that I was fat and I wore high waters. At the time, my personality changed. Once very outspoken and vibrate, I became mute and distant. Sometimes people would say things to me to get a reaction. I was so struck by what he said that I don't remember what my response was. That same day I decided to "not eat." I stopped drinking soda, chips, candy, and sometimes water. I wouldn't eat until I got home from school. In my mind, I could kill two birds with one stone. I can get the "crush" that I wanted, and I can be skinny while doing it.

Photo by i yunmai on Unsplash

I would lie to my mother and told her I ate lunch. Sometimes I would say to her that I ate so much at lunch that I wouldn't want dinner. It was sad and unhealthy. During that time, I didn't want to believe that I was fat. I just thought if I didn't eat, nobody would call me that word. That all changed when my family and I would go on our mini mall excursions. One sunny Sunday, my mom wanted to play a game and pick out an outfit for me that I wouldn't normally wear. She brought me back a black jean jacket, a soft pink spaghetti strap tank top, and a brown corridor skirt. I honestly liked the outfit as I tried it on. The tank top was a little long, so I tucked it in my dress. I finally walked out of the dressing room, feeling pretty confident. Both of my parents said I looked beautiful.

Seconds later, my dad looks at me and says, "You need to do some crunches." The dynamic of my family is quite simple. We love to laugh and say silly things to each other all of the time. We are comics in our own right. We all take our digs with each other and it always ends with a smile or tons of laughter. I notice when the joke is on you the laughs turn into to frowns and then sadness. That day it was my turn. I couldn’t complain much because that was the name of the game. Surprisingly, I didn't burst out into tears. I treated this situation as I did with many other traumas, I sucked it up and kept up with my non-eating routine for as long as I could.

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High school comes around, and I still don't remember eating that much. If I did, it was chips or a cookie. During the middle of my sophomore year, the school district requires students in physical education to take these various tests. You run the mile; they weigh you, check your BMI, count how many crunches and push-ups you can complete. My high school was generous and separated the boys and girls for these activities. Day 1 was the weighing in portion. It was my turn, and the scale yelled me weighing at 174 lbs—that's the smallest I've ever been. I was proud of that weight. I was happy that I wasn't in the 200 range. I walked around with a smile on my face gloating about my number until I ran into a classmate. She asked me how much I weighed, I told her, I asked her the same question, and she mysteriously said a number that was ten pounds under my number. Her response to me was, "Damn, you're fat. You weigh more than me." Again, I was stuck in a trance and can't remember what I said or if I said anything.

I decided at that moment that once the eleventh grade starts, I will be on the no chips and no soda diet. I was the best multi-tasker at that time. Here I am juggling two to three "diets" at a time, and my jeans started slipping off my ass. I was in miserable heaven. My face was no longer chunky. I felt like shit, but I looked so good. So I thought. During that time, my desperation allowed me to turn on and off bad eating habits. I didn't cry, nor did I get depressed. I just quickly make the decision and not eat. Depriving your body with any food is detrimental to your health and well-being. As soon as I took off the weight, I would quickly gain the weight back if I wasn't careful. Here I am experiencing this internal battle as a teenager, and nobody knew.

My family would still carry out these fitness conversations every chance they got. I found it odd that nobody knew what emotional battle I was going through, but they always noticed when I lost weight. I would get these random compliments. "Are you losing weight? You look good." Little did they know the only thing that I was eating at the time was a bag of air. During that time, I wasn't trying to impress my parents or family. I determined to impress my peers and have a boy wink at me. Looking back at that time, I was so silly. I get revenge from time to time when I search these "You're fat people on Facebook." Lo and behold, I see a lot of gut and double chins on these individuals. Reminds me that God sees all and hears all. I giggle for five seconds, ask the Lord for forgiveness, and move on.

My second and third year of college wore me down as far as weight and body image. That time was probably one of the worst mental states in my life. My parents had a stationary bike and a couple of free weights. My boredom got the best of me one summer, and I started to create this little exercise routine that would eventually break my body entirely down. I remember the method like it was yesterday. Around 3 PM, I would open the garage and ride the stationary bike for 30-45 mins. I would do squats, curls, I would use the dumbbells. The first time I did it, I felt accomplished. After a couple of weeks, I started to notice I was losing inches. So, I decided to push a little harder. I started working out twice a day. I'll start my routine at 2 PM now. End it at 2:30 PM and go back out to the garage at 3 PM to repeat my exercise routine.

Let’s not forget that I still wasn't eating enough food to help gain my energy back. I again ate one meal a day. Then shortly after my exercise routine was three times a day. Same method. The semester before the summer break, I took a nutrition class, and it states that it is a must to give the body rest so it can repair itself. I didn't like those rules. In my mind, every time I didn't work out was a pound gained. I couldn't risk it. After a month, I started to recognize my body going into somewhat of a shock. Every squat my knees would buckle, I could barely pick up the weight to lift, and my whole body was in pain. After my last workout of the day, I laid in the middle of my bedroom floor. It felt like I stayed there for hours. I couldn't move, I couldn't lift my head, I was dehydrated, and more importantly, I was hungry. Again, I don't think my family knew what I was doing to my body. The only thing I would hear is, "You look good. Are you losing weight?" It was at that moment on the floor where I just stopped—no more working out.

After that experience, I hated anything that had to do with being healthy and working out. Slowly my weight started to creep back up. Mid-twenties I was in the 200 range. I was still sad about my weight but happy that I've finally gotten to a place where I didn't starve myself. During that time the guys no longer liked the girls skinny—they loved them thick. That was right up my ally. I was in paradise. I could eat what I wanted, and someone would still love it. That someone wasn't me. At 26, I thought I had it all figured out at this point. I finished school and started working. I felt financially powerful. Another family discussion about health and fitness came around, soon after I start going to the gym with my brother twice a week. Since it was with my brother who was into fitness at the time, I saw it as an opportunity to learn things the right way. I started to meal prep and Googled what to eat and what not to eat. I was getting lean and gaining muscle, and I loved it. But the fitness devil landed on my shoulders and whispered: "You're still fat."

It was evident that I was suffering from body dysmorphia. When I looked in the mirror, I still saw that chubby eighth grader that got teased. Although I was again hitting the gym, I also found myself eating once a day and resorting back to my old ways. With my back problems being so severe that I probably should've stopped and consulted a doctor. I decided to make the executive decision and kept going. That train slowly came to a stop when my job through the temp agency let me go. Confidence plummeted, back to negative thinking, back to feeling sorry for myself, back to eating. So, the cycle continues all over again.

Fast-forward to today, my health and eating habits start with "I'll start Monday." For the past five years, I've been dying to start on Monday. My attitude towards food is somewhat of an entitlement battle. The "I'm going to eat this because I can" has only led me to subconsciously have a lousy relationship with food and how I feel about myself. As I've gotten older, I've found myself become invisible when the health and fitness discussion begins around family. Sitting back and observing made me realize how self-absorbent we are about our image and how we look. 90% of the time, people can't recall when this obsession started. It always comes back to someone else who lit the flame. If we couldn't see, do you think we would still be this obsessed? The countless years we've missed out on because we didn't "feel or look good" or "nothing looks right on me." My head very well mentions to me that health and fitness are essential and that I need to preserve my youth. But my heart won't allow myself to fully commit to that with the fear of my resorting back to my old and unhealthy ways.

To change old ways, it's a must that we learn and study our old habits and continuously analyze your discoveries. When you finally be still and ask the right questions, you will surely be surprised by the answers you receive. With any weight loss, it's a must that we take it one day at a time. The focus isn't always about the look and more about if you can honestly look in the mirror and be happy with every inch of your body perfect or not. Who creates these rules? When did we decide that it was ok to abide by these rules? I allowed people to dictate how I should look and feel. My weak-mindedness allowed me to abuse my body in ways I wouldn't have imagined. At some point, your struggles will emotionally break you down. With that comes a large fry and a large diet Coke. You’ll be sad, depressed, angry and pessimistic. As you wipe away your tears you look in the mirror and you tell yourself the same four words Tyra Banks told her audience and the world on her talk show was to “Kiss my fat ass.”

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About the Creator

teisha leshea

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