
This is hard for me and I'm not sure how long I'll keep this post up or if it's even a good idea.
(Deep breath)
I'm fat.
I got fat! It happens but I can't believe it happened to me.
March of 2020 was devastating for me (and the world). I was divorced, unemployed, and moving back into my mother's house when COVID hit. I got sick (we'll never know if it was COVID or not) and after, things were well...different. I can't drink alcohol. Makes me sick immediately. No buzz. No relaxing. Only nausea, racing heart, and angst. So I lost my number one coping mechanism (which, obviously that's for the best) and I had a LOT to cope with - divorce, financial worries, recovering from spine surgery, constant pain, mystery ailments, and then, my ex-husband sued for custody again. I'm not going to go into that now but suffice it to say I was in a lot of mental pain. Everything I had known that was mine was no longer mine - home, stability, family, trust, child, even my body - all gone. My entire identity, already irrevocably changed by childbirth and abuse was gone. I had no idea who I was anymore. I was broken.
And then menopause hit me like a ton of bricks.
So I ate. I was ravenous. I ate everything - everything I'd denied myself for so long, I ate. I could barely take care of myself. Sitting up seemed like a CHORE. I was in the weeds, friends. It was ugly and I don't remember much of it. I was traumatized with no anchor to moor myself with. I had zero coping skills - I'd been co-dependent my entire life.
Had been. I can happily say I'm no longer co-dependent. And I'm figuring myself out but after a lifetime of men dimming my light to match theirs, it's been hard to rebuild my sense of self.
I remember, right after I won the first custody battle, my lawyer looked at me and said "You're different now Kiala. You've changed." (He had known me for years) I said "I know I've gained weight" and he said "No not that. You're just different." I was. I'd lost my entire sense of who I was. I had no idea how to take care of myself anymore.
I did not lose a great love. Let's get that straight. As soon as it was over it only took me a couple of weeks to completely let go. I still had enough self-esteem left for that. What happened to me was a full-blown identity and midlife crisis. It's been a wild ride and one I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy.
I've self-isolated because I'm embarrassed about gaining weight even though I KNOW all bodies are good bodies (except mine I guess). Watching friends who didn't know I had gained weight make fatphobic comments was enlightening and only contributed to my growing hermit status.
But I'm tired of hiding. I mean... I got fat! I didn't murder anyone. It's not the end of me. I can lose weight (or not!). I'm a woman, I've been dieting my whole life. But admitting it? Confessing it? To the world is my way of breaking free of this self-imposed prison. I'm a good person. I'm still attractive. I'm still me (whoever that person is). And I would like to participate in life now. One life, please and thank you.
yeah you are a sexy beast!