Tag Archives: my weight story

gorgeously full fat

This Woman Was Breathless Walking Around The Shops. What She Did Next Will Make You Gasp!

gorgeously full fat


It won’t really. I just fancied writing a blog title that sounded like clickbait!

I can put your mind at rest if you were thinking that my sudden breathless episode was a Kettle Chip and cheese related heart attack. Nope, it was a wine and party food related gastritis episode which has gone now. The next morning I got up and went for a walk, did three miles or so in zero temperatures and I was perfectly fine.

No more wine or vol au vents for a while. Well, maybe on Wednesday night…

I couldn’t sleep last night and I planned to write a “day in the life” type post about what it’s really like being fat, when you live a normal kind of life and not a tabloid imagined gorge fest.

So here’s today, warts and all. The reasons I want to get healthy again… This isn’t a whine and I’m not beating myself up. This is just how it is.

Do I really have to get out of bed?

I fully intended to hitch a lift to the gym with Moley at 7am. Had gym stuff all laid out. Then I didn’t sleep til about 2.30 and by 7am getting out into -3 cold and frost wasn’t top of my to do list. I stayed in bed a bit longer instead.

The first thing I do every day when I wake up is take a Lanzoprazole pill. These are for the gastritis and mostly they keep it under control. I really want to come off them as I think they make my IBS worse and I don’t want to be on them for the rest of my days! For now I’m taking them though. I phoned another prescription in this morning because if I run out and don’t take them I get terrible rebound pains that hurt so much I have to lie down and stay still for up to two hours. That’s boring.

I whizz up a pre gym protein shake for breakfast… My first one. Got them from Juice plus, the vanilla one is quite nice actually. Was expecting to grimace a bit.

Putting on my gym outfit meant issues. My sports bra won’t do up anymore, partly because I’ve put on weight, partly because it’s knackered and partly down to hormones making me go up a bra size. No running on the treadmill for me today then. I did feel a bit relieved, I hate running. Putting trainers on always means breathing in as my tummy gets in the way. Part of the logistics of being fat is finding ways to do things up or get things on and off while breathing in and squishing the fat bits.

Fat girl in gym session shocker…

I get the bus into the town and then walk the 15-20 minutes to the gym. Heard a Hi energy class going on as I walked in, really wished I had the fitness and coordination for it. I’ve done a few classes but even things like yogalates are hard for me, I can’t hold all the poses and I struggle to support my weight on one arm!

The gym was OK. I usually zone out with the iPod but I noticed a skinny girl giving me that look, the one you get when you’re fat and doing something skinny people do. I ignored it, and then shot the fat girl who sat next to me on the stationary bikes a look of solidarity…

Ten minutes into my cycling, my abdomen goes into spasm with no warning and I have to stop for a bit, concentrate hard and once the spasm subsides carry on. That’s IBS! I’m used to it and grit my teeth on the bike; at least I’m sitting down! It puts paid to the idea of finishing with 10 minutes on the cross trainer though… I wait until there nobody about in the changing room and… Well TMI. I don’t want to risk getting caught out on the walk back into town…

I look at myself in the gym mirror… Can’t help wishing my t shirt fitted better. I spent too much time pulling it down every time it rode up. When I wasn’t trying to ignore my knees hitting my squishy tum. Which gets in the way, as it does on the leg press too. And the back extension.

“Are you looking at my basket? “

In town I pop to get a few bits and as usual part of me always thinks I’m judged on what’s in my basket. OK so today it was eggs, bacon, low fat sausages, mushrooms, broccoli and butternut squash. But it isn’t always! I’m sure nobody gives a crap what I’m buying but if there’s crisps and goodies on there I almost expect a tut.

I get the bus home, put the drying on, make lunch, call the Spa to arrange my trip that Moley treated me to for Christmas, and decide that the windows look filthy so I’m going to clean them. Hmm. I have to reach across furniture to get to them and when I do the outside I have to reach up and scrub. The decision to clean the windows aggravates my back and my shoulder. I decide to have a shower and leave the hoovering till tomorrow.

I fire up the laptop to do some admin, I’m not supposed to be working but I have unpaid invoices I need to follow up and I planned to start working on ideas for my writing business next year, as they were keeping me awake last night. I realise I’m sitting at an awkward angle and my back starts aching but there’s stuff all I can do as there’s no room for a better desk in our flat. I dream of a decent size house!!

My confirmation email comes through for the spa day, do I want a normal or XL robe? I tick XL. And book a massage…

So many bras, so little choice

I finally make progress on the work stuff and also sign up as a distributor for juice plus. Yay! I decide to look for a sports bra online. Over 1000 bras, only 9 sports bras in my size. Both the ones I like are out of stock. I go for my third choice and that’s going to cost me £40 and take 14 days…

I cook tea when Moley gets home. Haven’t felt too much like hoovering up Christmas chocolates today, and dinner is mostly the butternut squash and broccoli I bought earlier, plus some chicken. I do give in to a few Lindt balls later. Damn they are good.

I try to read “Wheat Belly” later, as someone had told me her IBS and gastritis cleared up after giving up wheat and sugar. Toying with trying wheat free, just to see if it helps. The IBS settled this afternoon, sometimes it does, other times I resort to immodium. I try not to take the pills too often.

I’m knackered by 9.30 and in bed by 10, writing this before I forget. Really tired now. That’s what 4.5 hours sleep does to my brain.

Gorgeously Full Fat and knackered

That’s my day. My starting point for getting healthy. I don’t have anything seriously wrong but what I do have impacts on my daily life and I don’t want it to anymore…. It’s also an exercise in how much my weight affects me in little ways all the time. It doesn’t stop me doing things but it affects how I do them. It surprised me if I’m honest. that even someone like me who’s plus size positive actually thinks about things like what strangers in shops and gyms think of me. Guess I need a boost of confidence too…

I’d love to know if any of this resonates with you??

Night night xx


small version green dress

‘Princess Fiona’

Numb. That’s the word I used to describe my life from 2007-2008. A constant state of ‘Meh’ about life, love and weight loss.

It wasn’t all bad, I’d put in for voluntary redundancy and got it, planning to set up my own business as a copywriter. I had to work for six months after they relocated my communications post to Liverpool, doing absolutely nothing of any interest or value, but I discovered Facebook and did a lot of research in that time!

I didn’t have a lot of confidence back then, Husband #2 and ‘L’ had conspired to convince me I was dyspraxic and would walk behind me sniggering at the way I walked. I remember comments from L about things I wore, like, “Where did you get those shoes? They’re….interesting” and from H#2 “Why don’t you get your hair cut at ‘L’s hairdresser?”

I felt as if I was being watched. All the time.

Getting a bit of attention…

Back in the office, my work buddy was applying for jobs all over the country. We were hanging out a lot together but I was completely oblivious to the fact he fancied me. I mean, why would he? We went out to celebrate my birthday one Friday afternoon, got drunk in a pub in Cambridge and had the best laugh. The next day, I was on my way to Brighton on my birthday with H#2, on a trip I’d organised myself, and my mobile beeped. “Happy Birthday Gorgeous!”

Oh crap. It was my mate. I blushed, replied “Thanks sweetie” and deleted it, just in case. I didn’t think H#2 ever checked my phone but I wasn’t taking any chances.

I never said any more about the incident and put it down to my mate being friendly. Then, after a lunchtime bitching session, he emailed me something really cheeky, which really DID make me blush, and I couldn’t look at him. I replied telling him to behave himself, and laughed it off. but I secretly liked it. I had been compliment-starved for ages!

H#2 and I moved to Ely in 2007 and it was the week we moved that my mate left the office to take a job hundreds of miles away. By now, he’d admitted he fancied me and was plying me with compliments over MSN and text when H#2 was working away. He knew I wasn’t up for anything, and it was all playful – but it did put a spring in my step. I did invite him to see the new place (while H#2 was there) and as a result got accused of having an affair with him. Truth was, it would have been ideal if I had felt the same way, and if he wasn’t moving miles away, but I only ever saw him as a good friend and nothing ever happened. So off he went and I was back to normal again. We kept in touch but work was miserable without my bitching companion and I couldn’t wait to leave.

I stPlus Size Divaarted ‘Fat Girls are Fab Too‘ a plus size blog, much to H#2 and L’s disgust. I thought it was great fun. I just wanted to make a difference, in my own little way.

I set up the copy writing business in 2007. It was slow at first but I had the money from my redundancy to fall back on. My brother AND sister both got married in 2007, so I got to be a bridesmaid and wear a posh frock. I thought I looked like Princess Fiona in my green bridesmaids dress, but my Mum thought I looked lovely. H#2 grudgingly came to both weddings, although only because L&P were invited.

At my brother’s wedding I’d managed to lose a bit of weight and wore a gorgeous purple dress…which I tucked into my knickers while in the loo at Costa Coffee in Ipswich before the reception, and stood in Ipswich town centre with my arse hanging out. Not such a good look…

Anyway, at the start of 2008 I knew I had to do something. H#2 had said we’d talk about kids again when we moved, but changed the subject every time I brought it up. In early 2008 the excuse was that we couldn’t have kids as we were renting our house. I put him on the spot – were we ever going to do it? He said he didn’t want kids, he’d made up his mind, and that was that. My biological clock was ticking so damn hard you could have heard it in the next county so that was a huge blow to me. On top of that, I found out that our plans for emigrating to Canada had been scuppered…and he hadn’t told me. He’d applied for a transfer and his manager was helping him find a job in Calgary, but it all went very quiet. He lied and told me that there were no jobs when he’d actually withdrawn his application without telling me because L&P wouldn’t be able to come. I found this out when L told me and I was so angry I turned the air in the car blue.

I was listening to seriously grumpy music ALL the time. Like this:

and this:

All the stress meant I was putting on weight again, too. It had to get better, didn’t it?


You Can Heal Your Life. But not with chocolate.

Sarah_01_031999aI should really be writing about something else at the moment but my brain has gone into uncooperative teenager mode and all it wants to do is play Bubble Island and surf the Internet. I’m on the verge of a decision that’s going to cost me a chunk of my income but in the interests of slaying my people-pleasing dragon, there’s someone that needs removing from my working day.

People pleasing. It’s got me into so much trouble over the years, and it works hand in hand with my ‘please like me’ nature and inability to confront just about anyone, even if they are standing on my foot, and say “You’re hurting me. Please stop.”

Back in 1998, I wasn’t in a good place. I should have been, really. I’d just moved H#2 in with me, we were OK, he still wasn’t speaking to my parents even though they’d apologised for the way they’d treated him when we first met, but it wasn’t a massive deal as I still lived in the same town as them so I got to see them, and my friends, without too much aggravation. He made his feelings known about some of my friends; the male ones all wanted to sleep with me, the female ones were ‘weird’ and the only one he really approved of was ‘L’ who he was still in love with. I mean in touch with. Silly me.

But he wasn’t the problem. V was. In 1998 I went to my doctor, and told him about my food issues, being bullied and humiliated by V, my stress, how miserable I was, and the fact I had come out in eczema so badly that it was all down my legs, arms, shoulders and back and nothing would shift it. He was great! He listened and suggested that I saw an eating disorders specialist at Ipswich Hospital. At last – a cure. I bought books on eating disorders; Geneen Roth advised anyone with a binge eating problem to stock up on the things they were scared to have in the house, so that there was always enough of them and no need to binge. Right. I was too scared to do this in case H#2 thought I was a fruit loop. I bought Overcoming Binge Eating by Dr Christopher Fairburn and I sat there and read it, stunned as he described me. Shit. I had an eating disorder. I was officially a looney Sarah_Christmastune. I told H#2 with some trepidation that I had an appointment to see someone and he didn’t get it. He laid into me for lying to him about having an eating disorder. “I only just realised” I remember saying. “I thought I was just crap at dieting until recently.”

It was another step down off the pedestal, was that. He was already unhappy in his job in Ipswich, and I was miserable and being bullied at work. He hid it from me that he was being bullied as well. You can see how this is going to end, can’t you? Shame I didn’t.

So I made it to the hospital, really excited about getting help at last.

I poured my heart out. The sympathetic consultant, or whatever he was, nodded, murmured support and then told me that I seemed very self aware and that I clearly realised I had a problem with food. “Yes, yes” I was thinking. “Please help me!”

He then pronounced me intelligent enough to find my own solutions, and said that the NHS unfortunately only had the resources to help people who were causing themselves dangerous harm through their eating disorder. I should have lied and told him I was throwing up. I cried all the way home. So, next time you hear someone in government lecturing about obesity being a killer, remember that in 1998 just being a fat binge eater wasn’t considered dangerous at all. I was on my own.

I couldn’t talk to H#2 because he didn’t understand. I’d stumbled upon ASED, a community of people with eating disorders online, and that was a help although I could only access it at work. There were people with full on anorexia and bulimia venting about their self hatred, and it did put things into a bit of perspective for me if nothing else. I started to feel valued because I was more of a ‘counsellor’ to the others when I was having a good day. I did have a lot of bad days, and they’d support me too. It was a wonderfully nurturing community and I think it helped me feel less powerless and useless. I listened to Alanis Morisette a LOT in 1998. My favourite three albums were:

  • Alanis Morisette – Supposed Former Infatuation Junkie
  • The Manic Street Preachers – This is My Truth, Tell Me Yours
  • Placebo – Without You I’m Nothing

I still can’t listen to any of them without going right back to that time! Here’s a taste of Alanis:

It was a REALLY depressing playlist.

All the good ASED was doing for me was being cancelled out by V and her bitching. In the summer of 1998 I went with her to the Suffolk Show for two days, two 12 hour days in a hot marquee giving consumer advice. Typical of my luck, I came down with yet another viral infection, this time in my eye. I couldn’t handle sunlight! My eyes were streaming and there was no way I could have called in sick so I spent the entire time with dark glasses on, in the marquee, out of the sun. She KNEW I was ill – she was with me the whole time. I assumed that when I called in sick the day after the event, when I was due back in the office, she would understand that I was poorly and that looking at a VDU screen all day wasn’t going to be a good idea. Instead, she called me into the dreaded office for a meeting with her and another manager, put me on report for my sick leave and blasted me for faking it.

I called the council’s staff welfare department and asked for help. I was offered six sessions of free one to one counselling. Great, I Louise Haythought, this will help. I had to tell the cow where I was going though, because it was in work time. Great, just give her more ammunition! It turned out that the counsellor was new to the game and very much of the “Blame it on your parents” persuasion. He had me dredging up every incident I could think of from my childhood, cuddling my inner child and being hypnotised.

I still ate everything in sight when I thought nobody was looking and weighed more than I ever had. He didn’t last long. The only good thing I got from him was a recommendation to read Louise Hay’s “You Can Heal Your Life” which introduced me to the idea of positive thinking. I thought it was a bit woo-woo but a lot of it did sink in.

I was so down. I got yelled at by a group of morons who passed me in a car one night on the way home, yelling, “Stop eating pies and go on a diet, fat bitch” or words to that effect. I cried all the way home.

I didn’t join any diet clubs during those years. There was no point, no point at all.