Being fat

I remember thinking to myself when I was in high school that I was really fat. I remember wondering what it felt like to wear a bikini. I am 39 years old and I will never experience wearing a bikini in my entire life.

I hit puberty super early. I was in fourth grade when I started my period and that is around the same time I started wearing a bra. I was labeled a whore in 7th grade when I had never even kissed a guy before, due to my gigantic knockers. (I lived up to that title, shortly after.)

I look at pictures of myself in high school and grade school and I never had a fat roll. Not one. I looked like a woman yes, (thanks to puberty and a bad wardrobe), but fat I was not. I thought I was. And so did my Dad.

As early as I could remember my Dad had always said something about my weight. He would always tell me how beautiful I would be, if I lost some weight. He would always give me a hard time about what I was eating. Anytime I was at summer camp he would ask me how much weight I lost. I have countless letters in my trunk in the garage that he would write to me and somewhere in there, would be something regarding my diet. When I was in boarding school and had access to the cafeteria he’s ask me what I was eating.

I am not exactly sure where this came from or why. I actually did not become what I consider “fat” until I was about 21 years old. I was dating a giant loser who was a professional dart player and a severe alcoholic. Most of our date nights and extracurricular activities were around bar food and booze.

My Dad got remarried when I was around 21 years old. He and I were both pretty embarrassed of our pictures at that wedding. He was at his heaviest and so was I. I was a size 22 and that was crazy for my age.

When I dumped the boyfriend, I also dumped the weight and lost about 60 pounds. I kept it off pretty much my entire life until I had children. My weight has been a struggle for me ever since I was diagnosed with Thyroid Cancer. Not having the organ that regulates your metabolism kind of fucks up everything.

I saw girlfriend at a store once and I was wearing a baby doll dress. She ran up to me and said, “Oh my god you’re pregnant!” I wasn’t. I was so embarrassed though, I said I was.

I had an old lady at a rummage sale ask me when I was due. I actually WAS pregnant this time. 7 weeks.

My weight has had some great highs and some lows since I had my children. I gained 60 pounds with both of them and lost most of it, twice. I’ve been up to 284 before I gave birth to my son, and 205 just a year or so ago. 

I’ve never had sex with the lights on. Ever. 

Im at a time in my life where I just don’t give a fuck anymore. My body has been destroyed by crash diets. I’ve decided to accept me for who I am. Sure is it extremely embarrassing when your husband is giving it to you, and your fat stomach is moving around everywhere? Yes. But what is more unsexy to him is the daily self loathing.  He thinks I’m beautiful and I’m very thankful for that. 

What I care about most at this stage of my life, is just being healthy. I guess that’s what happens to all of us when we get old. Now that I have found love and am a mother, I just want to stay alive as long as I can. So instead of worrying as much if my ass looks good in jeans, I worry more about whether or not I’m going to die early.

Sure, do I enjoy looking sexy? Of course I do. I have some pretty kick ass lingerie that I will wear around the house when I’m heavily buzzed. It’s important that I stay is hot as I can for my husband. Am I ever going to be a size 5. No. Do I care anymore? Also no.

I’ve embraced who I am, stretch marks and all. My boobs aren’t as high as they used to be, but my husband loves to grab them every five minutes just the same.

My stomach is a waterbed of stretch marks, and I’ve excepted that my inner thighs just want to be together, because they really care about each other.

Who cares.

I took a long walk with my husband and the dog, yesterday. It felt really good. The weather here in Phoenix is finally nice enough to be able to exercise without wanting to kill yourself. I’m a little sore this morning because after that I cleaned out my entire garage and it took me hours. Possibly anxiety induced, who cares. My garage you can eat off the floor.

Anyway the purpose of this blog is just to embrace who you are. Embrace yourself as a good person, a great wife, wonderful mother, a good friend. Who gives a shit if you’re slightly moving towards comfort versus high fashion. I don’t. But every couple of days I will make an effort, hook myself up, snap a few selfie’s and remind myself I have not completely let go.

What’s important is that you live a long happy life.

The rest of it anyways.


Author: jtreska

My name is Julie Treska. I am a 39 year old maniac, mother of 2, step-mother of 2, and wife, to one amazing husband, Micah. I am a sister, a friend, an acquaintance, a colleague, a neighbor... possibly an enemy, a threat, an ex, but one thing I am known for is being 100% real. This is one more of many blogs I've written in my life. Maybe one that I'll keep. It's going to be one giant cluster fuck, of what makes me, me. I am a divorcee', a parent, a woman, a cancer survivor, a divorce survivor, a survivor of many, many things. I am a cook, a writer, a motivational speaker, a pain in the ass, and an inspiration. I am career driven and successful. I am a one percenter, but run out of money every two weeks. I am funny, I am honest, I am raw, and unapologetic. I hope I am able to relate to many, entertain some, and envy a few. I am a bad ass in most everything I do.

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