Sink or Swim

***Possible trigger warning: I won't give ultimate numbers, but this post is about weight gain.  Just so you know.***

I guess, given that little note above, I'll start by saying.... it's not really that bad.  I'm not a wreck, I'm not a mess, I'm not (really) freaking out.  So these are good things in my opinion.  In case you were wondering how the tone of this post would go, given that it's about weight gain which is my least favorite thing in the universe, the answer is: it'll be fine.  Shouldn't be too triggering but I had to post that because I'm going to give number of pounds gained, but no starting weight or current weight.  Just FYI.

On Thursday of last week, I was talking to someone who has 2 kids now, ages 2 and 3.  She was telling me that for a good amount of her early pregnancy, she didn't want to leave the house.  

"Why not?" I asked.

"Weight gain," she explained.

"Oh..." I said, nodding in an understanding fashion.

Because I do understand!  She did go on to tell me how much weight she gained in the first trimester, and I knew immediately that the amount she had gained in the first trimester was most likely more than I've gained even at 8 months pregnant, but I most certainly did not judge her for that!!!  I'll say again that for me, weight gain judgement pertains only to myself.  I really couldn't care less about anyone else's weight.  So the fact that she was telling me she gained a lot of weight was like... no big deal.  I don't care.  She's my friend and that's what matters.

But regardless of how much weight she gained or I've gained, I do understand what it's like to be embarrassed of your body in pregnancy.  If you read my last post, you'll know that I have gained 20 pounds.  There.  I said it.  I won't tell you where I started or where I am, but I've gained 20 pounds.  Damn... those words are scary and hard to write.  I cried for hours about that number at first.  I didn't know until last Thursday how much I weighed or how much I'd gained.  I thought that was for the best.... but I was wrong!

If you read the "About Me" section on this blog, you'll see where I talk about a treatment place I went to in 2007 that put a lot of weight on me.  THAT WAS HORRIBLE!!!  And here is the reason I cried so much upon learning I'd gained 20 pounds... the number I weigh now is 3 pounds higher than the weight I was when I came out of that program.  Oh my freaking god... that was horrible to realize!  All the trauma, the "food rape" (as I call it), the depression and self-hatred that came about because of that place, it all came rushing back and it was like I was back there again.

But let me tell you an amazing thing that happened.  I looked in the mirror and said the number out loud to myself, over and over, and I stared and stared at my reflection, and I started to realize.... this is different!  Originally I was repeating that number to torture myself because my eating disorder thought I deserved it.  But as I looked at my arms and said it, looked at my legs and said it, looked at my face and said it, looked at my silhouette and said it.. I realized that I've had it wrong all this time.  I thought it was about the NUMBER when I got out of there.  But really it's about how that number came about.

This time, I'm in control.  No one is forcing me to do anything, except for Mara.  No one is making me eat only whole fat dairy products and frying everything and supplementing with Boost and Benecal.  It's just not happening.  The weight that I'm putting on is from different things, in different places, for different reasons and this is my chance to re-write that whole fucking experience.  I can heal from this.  I can grow from this!

I called my mom and cried to her over the phone about it.  She told me, "Kate.. you look nothing like how you looked when you left that place."

This was reassuring, because I didn't think I looked like that either but how can I trust my eyes?

When I found out the number, for a second I wanted to crawl in a hole and never come out.  But life doesn't stop for things like this.  I had to try to move on.  Even though it felt like a rock tied to my waist, I had to try to tread water anyway because I've got shit to do.  I've got  a baby coming in like a month.  She kicks me hard all day long to remind me that she's there (as if I could forget), that she's coming and that I'd better be ready because she's not going to wait for me!