I went through puberty the summer I turned 12. My “string bean” legs were replaced with thighs and wide hips. I went from wearing a training bra to trying on large, tan underwire bras to try to hide my DD breasts.
For the longest time I’d weigh myself every morning, and the scale told me I was 75 pounds. That summer ended, and I was 140 pounds. All my girlfriends were still thin and wispy, and then there was me. I felt big, clunky, curvy and out of place.
I was tall and not really overweight, but I was so aware of my size and how everyone thought I was older than I was.
My weight continued to creep when my height stopped. I loved food, though. It was comforting to me, and I enjoyed baking with my family. My appetite was huge, and I loved trying new foods. I looked forward to every meal, and often made meals and snacks for my younger sisters — something that gave me great pleasure.
I decided one day after seeing my reflection in the mirror before getting in the shower that I wanted to lose weight. I literally didn’t recognize myself and knew I wanted to be more active and healthy.
That was in the ’80s, a time when every magazine and diet had you depriving yourself, measuring everything and cutting out certain foods. I did all of those things and lost about 10 pounds. And I was miserable.
Fast forward to my mid-30s. I had continued the cycle so many times I lost count. My weight would creep up, and I’d swear off sugar, fat or entire food groups — thinking maybe this would be the time it would stick.
I once went five years without having things like brownies or cake. Instead, I’d try to fill myself up with things like rice cakes, fat-free cookies and candy. I was heavier than ever.