Fat? It’s all in the mind. Maybe.

Yesterday, I was a size 12 for the first time since high school.

Disclosing this information to someone usually causes the same, predicatble reaction. There are congratulations, requests for the diet plan I used (answer: I didn’t), and probably the strangest, if most well meaning, comment. “So, how does it feel to go down a size?”

The only answer I can give is that it felt like any other day. I woke up, showered, ran some errands, did some shopping. No one stopped me in the street or held a parade in my honor. The parents were happy for me, but they wouldn’t have known if I hadn’t told them. The jeans I wore felt different than the ones I normally wear, a little tighter than the other ones a size up, but not to the point of being uncomfortable. I have lots of clothes that has been hanging loose and baggy for a while, and I know that at some point, I’m going to have to go out and buy new ones. There’s only one problem.

I’m still fat.

Some people would readily agree with this statement. Some would vehemently disagree. Some would worry that I suffer from poor body image, body dysmorphia, or anorexia. And there are some people who know exactly what I’m talking about. It’s the last group who would best understand what I’m currently going through. I don’t know if the last group has a formal name, but at the risk of sounding insensitive, I’ll just call them the Formerly Fat.

That’s not a judgment call. That isn’t to say that the currently fat are bad or less, or that thin people are good or more valued. Weight doesn’t speak for character, though our society likes to think it does. Nor does it say that one group is happier than the other. Being satisfied with your body is good, no matter how that body looks to the rest of us. But for those of us who have struggled with their weight (losing it, in particular), the success of seeing scale or pant sizes go down is haunted by the fear that we’ll see those numbers go up again. And again. And again.

I don’t know if I’ll ever be truly thin, but I have been fat. I’ve been chubby for as long as I can remember, from elementary school through junior high and on into high school. It was college that did the most damage. Embarrassing as it is to admit, there’s no way around it – I was a tight size 16 at one point, and extremely embarrassed about it. It wasn’t just mental and emotional suffering, either. While my body isn’t made to grace the covers of fashion magazines, it also isn’t designed to carry that much weight on its frame. I was masterful at denial at the time, but as I look back, I know that I was not healthy, that physical activity was more difficult, and that my diet was crap.

I think it was the graduation pictures that did it. I saw them after the ceremony and immediately decided that no one would ever see them again. And that it was high time I did something about my sad and sorry state. I started with exercise, since the denial of diets sets me up for automatic failure. Healthier food choices came next – be it either psychosomatic or a true physical change, heavy, salty or sugary foods no longer appealed to me. Rather, they were sickening, sometimes literally. I didn’t have a set goal in mind – no magic scale numbers or dress sizes. I just did what felt good, including occasional indulgences like a burger and a cherry Coke. I noticed changes in how I felt and how clothes fit, eventually dropping a size. Friends noticed differences and remarked on them. I’d thank them for what they said, but I wasn’t sure if I was right in doing so. Because I was still fat.

I know now that I was (and still am) “suffering” from D.J. Kirkbridge calls, “Fat Boy Syndrome”. (Is there a female equivalent, D.J.?) With the exception of timelines and methods, his story sounds similar to mine: heavy as a child, heavier as a teen, and finally, a “release” from fatdom, at least physically. Though we’re both no longer dealing with the physical, mental and emotional repercussions of being heavy, it’s our pasts that have shaped our present self-perceptions. And in our minds, in the present, we’re still fat. Maybe we always will be.

One one hand, it’s beneficial. A large part of why my past efforts to lose weight failed was the mindset that diet and exercise were just temporary. Once I’d dropped some pounds, I could go back to eating whatever I wanted and spending long hours of doing nothing, just as my thin friends could if they wanted to. I know now that my body doesn’t work that way; my weight issues may not always be a struggle, but they will always have to be managed. I have no problem with this now. I’ve grown up and learned a lot about responsibility, especially when it comes to my own affairs. Ultimately, I am responsible for my health. I like the way I feel now, I like wearing clothes that are designed to enhance rather than conceal, and I like the whole, unprocessed foods that have become a much larger part of my daily food intake. I want to keep it that way, and the knowledge that I could start seeing numbers creep up again is great incentive for those days or weeks or even months where nothing seems to go right, and all you want is cheese or ice cream or fish and chips.

But on the other hand, there’s the worry and the fear. My past experience has always seen at triumph such as this turn into a failure as I lapse back into old habits. I’m pretty certain that it won’t happen this time, as I’ve worked hard to make these lifestyle changes permanent, rather than a temporary fix. I’ve cut portions, learned to eat slowly, learned to eat when I’m hungry without feeling guilty, and not to eat for reasons like boredom or emotional distress. It isn’t always easy, but it’s becoming more routine and habitual. But I still have to fight the nagging insecurities, the little voice in my head that says, “This won’t last. It never has. It’ll be over in a few months, you just watch. And don’t get too excited. After all, you’re still fat.”

It’s the last sentence that’s hardest to extinguish, despite evidence to the contrary. My size 14 pants are too loose. Co-workers tell me I look thinner. Friends tell me I’m not fat. My boyfriend tells me that as well. In fact, while he is supportive of my efforts and has cheered me on about my latest accomplishment, he’s also requested that I, “don’t get too skinny, ok?” It’s all overwhelming evidence that while plenty of fashion designers may beg to differ, to the people that matter most, I am not fat.

But I am.

I don’t really know how to silence that reasoning, or if I really want to. It keeps me in check and helps me avoid excuses. (“Eh, I can have one more. I’ve lost weight, it’s cool.”) It’s not altogether bad. But then, it also makes me a little paranoid about backsliding. Even today’s breakfast (one egg, scrambled, no butter; one small piece of ham, cut up and tossed in with eggs for flavor; one piece of toast, touch of butter, strawberry jam; coffee with skim milk and one packet of Sweet n’ Low) came under my mental scrutiny. Was it too much? Should I have left that butter off the bread? What about the ham? Would this wreck all my hard work? Should I just have had some fruit instead? It’s no different than any of the other Sunday breakfasts I’ve had since my health and weight loss quest began, but since yesterday I’ve been a changed woman. On the outside, anyway. Whether I’ll ever change within remains to be seen.

Today’s Tune: The Smiths – What Difference Does It Make