Imagine falling asleep one day and waking up three months later with 10 kgs more. That’s pretty much how I felt after weeks in my pajamas, nursing some sort of tropical pneumonia I got at a Christmas party. Suddenly the brain fog was gone. I felt alive and energized. I wanted to exercise, go places… and then, I discovered The Fat Suit.
I had put on so much weight that my rolls were on the way of everything. I couldn’t bend forward doing yoga because there was something unfamiliar blocking the way between my chest and my pelvis: My pregnancy like belly. I never had much of a backside and now my butt jiggled like jelly as I walked. The feeling was so foreign to me it felt like I had put on butt implants. Sitting was fun. Like having a chair cushion made to measure. It was amusing at times and at times disturbing, but my lovely boyfriend The Troglodyte was more than happy to welcome my new Latin Ass to the family.
My thighs now rubbed each other when I walked. Reminding me with every step that they didn’t use to do that in the recent past. It was entertaining to discover the changes. There was like a soft padding all around them that had a life of its own. Nigella Lawson once described the perfect texture for her peanut butter cheesecake as inner thigh wobble. Perfect analogy. The inner, the outer, the front and the back. It was all wobbling like a gorgeous cheesecake.
For months I could not see the weight accumulating. I was too busy being happy. I was having fun and enjoying life. Going out with my friends, making new friends, dating and falling in love with The Troglodyte. Eating and drinking the same copious amounts he gulps should have rang a bell. I’m half his size and have a fourth of his fitness level. It was not surprising that I put on weight. It was simply not important.
It was going take a while to get used to. My brain did not have any recollection of the new volumes so it still thought I was my usual weight. The brain fog was gone it could not process the changes fast enough so I found myself hitting the furniture in occasions. It was a bit like having an Audi A3 all your life, suddenly changing to an A4 and drive around hitting every curb. I have to admit it was pretty hilarious.
I was wearing a Fat Suit I couldn’t take off. I was fat and happy, bubbly like Bubbles DeVere from little Britain. Very much willing to celebrate I was finally felling well. Champagne for everyone!
It was just a few extra happy pounds. But as you can imagine, I didn’t fit in ANY of my clothes. Strangling bras and panties are the closest to Chinese torture I have ever experienced. When I had to go shopping for a new size of everything, I found myself caught in a dilemma. Should I invest on a new wardrobe or not? Am I really an ogre like Princess Fiona from Shrek and I was just under a spell all this while? Or was this the actual reality? Where did all those tiny clothes hanging in my closet come from? and why where they bothering me so much?
Let’s rewind a bit.
A year ago I was 10kgs lighter. I was super super skinny like I have never been in my entire life. I had lost a lot of weight in a short period of time. Some weight that I wanted to lose, and some I didn’t want to lose and went away anyway. I always thought it was temporary, that I would go back to my normal weight. So I stopped thinking about it or doing anything about it.
All my clothes hanged on me like sacks. I did not look good. I looked sick. I had severe anxiety, hyperthyroidism, and digestive problems. My eyes were sunken. My cheekbones protruded out of my face. I sometimes didn’t even wear a bra because there was nothing there to hold. My butt was flat. The skin on my face was paper thin. To the point that my dermatologist suggested I get fillers to look better. Yet, a lot of people were so willing to praise my figure and discover the key to my epic weight loss . What diet did you do? What was the magic formula? It was body shaming, but I could not tell them that. I was not aware back then.
The constant body remarks I was hammered with, slowly killed my appetite and wounded my spirit. It was presented to me as a challenge, a chance to try something I have never done before. Something we could do together. How fit could I get, how thin could I get. I never thought my body needed massive renovations, but I did have my insecurities like everybody else. Manipulators prey on insecurities and feed on your frustrations. I jumped to it half heatedly, more to learn about something that was important to HIM than anything else. But HE, the man that treated waiters badly, never had enough. I was never enough. I was never trying hard enough or was committed enough to having the body he wanted me to have.
I lost appetite for food and appetite for life. Why did I jump in? To prove myself I have will power? No. It was to feel accepted by somebody I loved that obviously didn’t love me back in the same way.
When the the body shaming and the relationship finished, I decided to buy a bunch of fancy expensive clothes in celebration. I wanted to feel pretty, attractive and desirable again. Something I had not felt for a very long time. And it did the job. It helped me feel normal again.
Months later the fat suit materialized itself all around me to everybody’s entertainment. I felt happy, I was healthy and even felt sexy, but It seemed the weight was the thing people noticed the most. I found strangers and familiar faces staring and my belly all the time and asking if I was pregnant. ‘I’m not pregnant. I’m just fat. Get over it!’ – I used to tell them. It was like a constant reminder that something was wrong with me, but there is really nothing wrong with me anymore. I have a healthy functional body that allows me to do anything I have to do. There is something really wrong with them, and by them I mean society. We need to teach our children realistic body standards.
What really bothered me at the end of the day is that the tiny clothes were very beautiful and I just wish they were my size. I like beautiful things. Will I go to an extreme to fit back in them? NO. I don’t know if I will eventually sell them or keep them as a reminder of those times. The fact is that It’s really not that important.