Trust Your Gut is a series of stories about real people with weight issues, and complications arising from those issues. It will explain what the person is facing, what their options are, what they have decided to do to take action, and why they chose the path they are on. Each person’s story will be based on truth, so it won’t all be happy, but it will be real. The goal of this series is to get people talking about options that are available for people who have weight issues, on either end of the scale. If you would like to contribute to this series, there is a contact form linked on my Homepage for this blog. I know there are people out there that want to help people like them; as I do.
The names here may or may not reflect the person’s real name. If someone wants to remain unknown, we will choose a different name for that person’s story. The goal is to help people, and anonymity is a valid personal choice for contributors. I will use a person’s name only if they give permission to do so.
This week I am pleased to share another of my own stories.
Here is Trust Your Gut: Tish’s Story; Part 43
43, just like me! Sometimes, when I look at the number of the story I am writing, I just have to shake my head. I am still coming up with ideas, so I am still going to keep writing. Sometimes the stories are short, and other times I ramble on a little long, but there is usually a point or a lesson, or a laugh somewhere in it, right?
This story starts with my Zodiac sign. I was born in July, and that makes my sign Cancer, the Crab. It aligns with my fascination for water. I don’t like that it is called cancer, but I didn’t name it. I just live with it, and try to navigate life with all the knowledge I can gather. I have friends that believe in many different things, and that is fine by me. I don’t necessarily believe everything I read about the sign I am under, but it is fun to read my horoscopes once in a while.
Why am I writing about this? Well, I got to thinking this week that I have that sign, and years ago when I met my husband, I told him that I had a wall. To protect me from the rest of the world. It took time to build up the trust to let him in, to where my heart is. I have no regrets, we are still very much a united front in marriage, and he is my bull. His sign is Taurus. We are a good fit for each other.
I was thinking like I ALWAYS do, and I thought that the crab has a shell, like the metaphorical wall I used to keep around myself for protection. So in a way, the two are the same. But what does the shell do for the crab?
It keeps it from getting hurt. It keeps other animals from having crab legs for lunch. The world can be cruel and harsh, and the fear of being eaten alive, either literally for the crab, or metaphorically for me, is a real fear.
I have spent a lot of time keeping things to myself, over the years. When I started the blog, I also started putting myself out there. I write about how I am feeling, what I am doing, and whatever else I happen to think up.
The protective shell, physically, for a morbidly obese person, is fat. Layers and layers of fat. It doesn’t deflect every mean word or thing that it encounters. But if you are quiet, and try to stay under the radar, by just being a blob in the corner, you can minimize the number of attacks that you could encounter by hiding within it. It is almost like jello, but not everything bounces off the surface like it would after the jello is set.
My layers of fat are set. I have had them for years. I have hidden inside them for the majority of my life. It is not healthy, but it is the comfort that I know.
I know it isn’t easy to be a morbidly obese person. I know it might surprise you that I go to Zumba twice a week, every week that I can. I know it would be easier to just not care and eat my way into an early grave.
Do you hear that? It is a teeny, tiny little version of myself that is squeaking to get out. It wants to be free and to be healthy. It wants me to do the work, and be proud of myself for every little bit of progress that I make. I went to Zumba twice this week, even though my seasonal depression (which is not officially diagnosed) is starting to kick me into hibernation mode. It is cold outside. I might fall down, again. I am almost recovered from falling a week and a half ago. I got back up. I was bruised, but not broken. I am tougher than I look. Which was pretty bad about a week ago. I don’t want to go into the land of ice and snow at all, anymore. I am scared to fall down.
I got back up. Every morning that I fight my way out of dreamland and my warm bed to face a new day is just the same thing for me. It is a struggle, but I do it, every day.
One day I won’t be able to. I used to worry about that day a lot more than I do now. I am proud of what I have done, and I am setting some goals for the upcoming year. I have started cooking healthier food again. I am trying, and then I am doing the things that I need to do.
The easy way is lazy, cowardly, and hidden under layers of morbidly obese fat. I am tired of hiding. It is time to let my inner glow have a turn at making me shine for all the world to see. I am going to work harder on myself than I ever have before, in 2018. There are things I want to accomplish before my time is done, and I am determined (stubborn) enough to fight to get them done.