From Fat to Fit; My Struggle with Weight Loss

This is me 5 months back. Double chinned, pre-diabetic and feeling like a piece of shit.

This is me, now. Non-diabetic, almost 10kgs lighter and happier. But I still feel like a piece of shit, sometimes. I still battle with my demons at times. I can still feel the heaviness of the elephant’s foot that crushes my heart, like it used to, in the past almost 4 years. Sure, it’s lighter; but it’s not entirely gone. The pain it caused me lingers on every corner I turn to; whether it be eating my favourite dish, or having a quiet moment alone.

Growing up, I was thin; about 45 – 50 kg throughout my teenage years. However, the environment I grew up in was quite stressful, with a lot of generational trauma and family pressure in the background. This stress continued into my university years, where I found myself turning to stress eating as a coping mechanism. Sweets and carbs were my friend; my comfort and peace.

But do you know the worst part about getting fat? It’s the criticism from the people that I’ve been nothing but nice to. I was using a birth control pill, which led to even more weight gain. People don’t see the struggle, the stress, or the pain behind it, but they judge and whisper every chance they get. Every disdain glance, every snide comment, cuts deeper than they know, adding to the burden, and worsening my wounds. The confidence, and self-esteem I once had started to disappear and were replaced with doubt and insecurity. My anxiety started to scream; I couldn’t sleep, and I started to lose interest in everything. I felt empty and hopeless to the point I couldn’t find the will to get out of bed in the morning. It’s not just the weight I carry, but the weight of their contempt—a constant reminder of my silent, inner pain. If it wasn’t for my husband’s unconditional support, understanding and acceptance, I don’t think I would have survived all that.

I tried losing weight for the longest time, by trying out different diets and working out at home, but none of them seemed effective. Joining a gym was the last option I had on my list because I was worried that it would affect my mental health even more. I was at a stage where I’d compare myself with pretty much anyone I met. So easily intimidated, while feeling inadequate and vulnerable.

Nonetheless, I did it and man oh man, I’m glad I did so because nothing has been this effective in shedding pounds. I can see my body is transforming for the better, along with my mental state. I see a happier, more stable person in the mirror, and that has helped me regain my confidence, to some extent.

But I wish it was that simple. Yes, the disparaging comments aren’t there anymore, but I know that they would come rushing back the minute I gain weight again. This worries me at a level that I didn’t anticipate. I feel guilty whenever I eat something sweet, I freak out whenever I miss a day at the gym, and I panic whenever I notice a twitch on the scale. I know that it could be due to my body storing water, or building muscles, but the point is, it makes me uneasy. While I intend to continue my fitness journey, I don’t want to become this obsessive, nervous woman who constantly frets over every calorie consumed or burned, losing sight of the joy and balance that should come from living a healthy lifestyle. I simply want it to be a part of my daily routine, that contributes to my overall well-being, without compromising my mental health.

While maintaining a healthy weight is an essential part of life, does it really define your worth? I think not. Should anyone be pressured into living up to an unrealistic standard of a perfect body image to become more acceptable? God, I really hope not. Should anyone feel any less than a human being if their body standards are different to yours? Absolutely not.

My heart is still heavy. The scars of those bitter memories are etched so deeply that even with progress and positive changes, I can still feel their presence. There are days that my demons rear their heads; they suffocate me, overwhelm me, and drain my soul, once again. My journey towards healing and self-acceptance is ongoing, just as my journey towards becoming fit from fat. I’m utterly happy with the strides I’ve made so far, not just in terms of becoming healthy, but also as a stronger person. Nonetheless, there are moments when the struggle persists, reminding me that the weight of past trauma needs time to shake off completely. So here’s hoping for better days, kinder people and more inner strength to rise with resilience and grace.