Fearful Tears

“Tears are words that need to be written.”
Paulo Coelho

This is my story. It is not always a happy one, nor is it always sad. But, there are always tears.

When I was 17 years old, just a few weeks before my 18th birthday, I met the love of my life (at least, at that time). He stayed that person for me for a really, really long time. In some ways, he is still. I had two children with him; we have a history. But, after half a decade or so, the sad times were more prevalent, and the happy times were not so happy anymore. At that point, it was time for both of us to take our leave from the relationship. Tears were shed by both of us, but I don’t think either one of us did much looking back after that.

I was single for seven years. And, to be completely honest, they were some of the most successful years of my life, so far. I went back to school and graduated. I started a career. I even fought for a job I wanted, and I got it. Everything was right on track. I don’t remember too many tears during that time — unless stress took over.

When I was 33 years old, I met a man who I thought was the true love of  my life. He had many flaws, some that were not easy to overlook, but I did — who doesn’t have flaws, right? At the time, I was sitting at 300 or so pounds, and it felt really nice to meet a man who didn’t try to get into my pants or play some game with me. We only knew each other a couple of months before he proposed, and we married two days after our one year anniversary. Then, the flaws that each of us thought we could overlook started to come out. Everything changed, and every day, you could cut the tension in our house with a knife. We both know that one misstep could set off a blowup. Finally, we came to the tipping point, and we separated. The tears flowed every night for the first two weeks, but there is no going back now.

Now, I sit here at age 34, reflecting on the last 16 years of my life. I have loved one man, and I have tried to save one man. I love and continue to raise two wonderful children. I love my family, and mourn the loss of an important member of it. But, where am I in all of this?

I don’t have any identity anymore. I have been someone’s daughter, girlfriend, wife or mother for my entire adult life. I’m tired of the tears. I’m tired of holding onto a man because I feel like I don’t have any identity without him. I’m tired of the fear that I feel when I’m leaving a relationship. I’m done with all of it. I’m starting to realize that maybe the love of my life shouldn’t be another man. Maybe…just maybe…the love of my life should be me.

Catching Memories

Pictures are really just captured memories, right? We’re lucky enough to have something better than our memory to recall them. I’ve often said that no obese person is born that way. Every pound has a story. Well, here is some of mine.

I don’t have any pictures of me prior to high school. My mother has them, but I don’t. I can assure you that from the time I was nine years old, I had a weight problem. Though my mother knew my diet and activity level hadn’t changed, the doctor assured her that my weight problem was a matter of me eating way too much. And from there, the pounds began to stack up.

1994

1994

This is me during the Christmas of my freshman year of high school. Yes, I am the second from the left — little Tabby, wearing clothing that made her look she was more suited for a nursing home than a high school. Plus clothing wasn’t as easy to find back then, so you had to get creative.

1997

Senior Pictures

19971997 2

A funny thing happened over the summer before my senior year of high school. I worked at a skating rink as a floor guard. I worked between 25-3o hours a week, and I was on skates the whole time. I loved every minute of it — and I shed 60 pounds. At this point, I was somewhere around 160 pounds.

1998

Summer after Graduation

1998

The summer after my senior year, I met the “man of my dreams.” Or at least I thought I did. I had been training to enlist in the Army (which was messed up because of a knee injury), and I got down to 140 pounds. This was the smallest I have been during my adult life. And, it was literally because I ate almost nothing and walked or ran every day with my recruiter.

After 1998, there is what I like to call a dark period. I was married to a man from 1999-2005. During that time, I became depressed, and the weight began to come on because of my issue with emotional eating. I was disgusted with myself, and I felt like I wasn’t good enough to be in a picture. There were spurts of time that I felt fine, and other times, I felt like I could never leave my house. As I said, it was a dark time. I lived on a Marine Corps base, surrounded by athletic or skinny men and women, and I was packing on more pounds every day. It was a terrible cycle that I never thought I would break. I also felt embarrassed for my husband at the time because he had to be seen with me. After we divorced, I actually told myself for a while that he had every right to do the things he did because he didn’t sign on to be married to a fat cow — he married a smaller woman, so it was okay.

After the separation, I moved with my children back to Ohio. It didn’t take me long to start smiling again.

2006

2007

As you can see from this picture with my friend, Blake, I still didn’t feel comfortable in front of the camera. Sure, I’d show my face, but anything to make me look a little smaller. I couldn’t look fat on camera, after all. That would be captured for a lifetime!

2008

2008

In 2007 and 2008, I met some friends in college who were larger women. They didn’t make apologies for it…didn’t care what other people thought. One of them went with me to a local bohemian community festival an hour from our home. I felt comfortable in a tank top for the first time. I even danced in the rain (hence the wet hair). That year, I got a grant from the college and went on a research trip for my senior honors thesis. It was the first time that grant had been awarded to someone in the English Department at my school.

2009

2009 2

In 2009, I started to make a name for myself in the writing community at my university. After winning five awards at the year-end assembly, I felt comfortable enough to let a friend take a half body picture. It was the first one in years.

2010

2010

This was snapped at a Chuck E. Cheese in 2010. My mother wasn’t exactly sure where to look (lol), but that’s okay. In 2010, I still had one more year of school, and I was dividing my time between work, school and raising two kids on my own. After a couple of years with my parents, my children and I had finally moved out — life was moving right along.

2011

Reading 2011Awards 2011

I was preparing to graduate in 2011. First, I had my award ceremony. I received seven awards that night, including a first place award for my poetry and the award for top senior for the campus. The picture at the podium is me giving a reading of my poem, and the other picture is my father, my daughter, me and my son at the reception after.

2011

Graduation!

2011

This is a photo of our graduation party. My sister, Becky, and I graduated the same day. This picture, from left to right, is me and my sisters Jennifer, Becky and Kimmy. As you can see, my sisters are not the same size as me. I am the only one in the family that is morbidly obese. I remember that it took me a LONG time to be okay with this picture. I was happy that I graduated. I was proud. But, I was wearing a gown that looked like a circus tent and made me look even bigger than I was. Looking back at it now, I see a nice picture with my sisters. 🙂

Grad 2

So, who do I look like? Yes, this is my sister, Becky, and I with our parents. Once again, it took me a long time to appreciate this picture. But, looking back, I see this picture of two people who were proud of both their daughters, despite either of their sizes. It makes me stand up a litter straighter now to know that my mother and father have never judged me negatively because of my weight.
2012

Last year was a busy one for me.

2012

This was me in early 2012, when I was a reporter for The Marion Star here in Marion, Ohio. The haircut was new. Everyone had told me for years that my round face could never pull off shorter hair. I think they were wrong — I got more compliments on this haircut than I ever had before.

2012 5k

I had been working on being more healthy because I was sick of being tired all the time. So, I decided to walk a 5K on my 32nd birthday in June 2012.

July 2011

In July 2012, I went to visit friends in Jacksonville, North Carolina, and had a job interview for The Daily News. This is a picture of me from the trip. Still not a lot of full body pics for me.

2012 at News

I got the job and moved to NC in August 2012. Here is a pic of me the second day at The Daily News. And below is a picture of how much I changed from my first day at the Marion Star to my first day at The Daily News (A year apart; the top pic is the older of the two):

2011-2012 badges

I felt better, and I had more confidence than ever before.

Present Day

Me today

This is me today. I have a double chin. I have a big face. And, I have a lot of weight that my skeleton is carrying around. Here is what I’ve learned in almost 20 years of photos — I am worth more than the image that appears in any of these pictures. I am a person. I am a fat person, but I’m still a person. I am a writer. I am a daughter. I am a mother. I am a sister. I am fat. This is who I am. There is definitely no need to make apologies for that.

Love Song for Fat

A few years ago, while taking a poetry class, someone introduced me to podslam.org. This website had several poetry slams about sexuality, relationships, family, etc. One of the ones that hit me the hardest was a piece called “Incisors” by JM Huscher.

After watching this video over and over again, I started to realize that there wasn’t one body part I could write a love poem for — I hated all of them, because they were covered in fat. So, instead of writing a love poem for my parts, as the poetry slam instructed, I wrote a love song for fat. Here it is:

Love song for fat

273…320…385

Fat is my worst enemy and
my constant companion.

I’ve had friends who have been there when I was thin
left when I wasn’t
but she will never leave me.

Soft ripples of dimpled flesh
stretch marked over my soul

I have blamed her for all the wrongs in my life:

Fat is the reason I have no husband.
Fat is the reason I have a nowhere job.
Fat is the reason I have no money.

When really my husband left because he had his own issues to work out.
When really my job is great, but I am uncomfortable in front of people.
When really I have money, but instead of investing in stocks and bonds, I invest in burgers and fries.

Someone once said to write a love song for the body part I hate the most.
I couldn’t choose just one — I hated them all.
I chose, instead, to write a love song to fat;
the girl who had taken over every part.

She rolls down my body,
wrapping me in warm comfort
while poking out from under straining cotton shirts,

but she’s there for me.

She doesn’t say, “Oh, you have a pretty face, but…”

I’ve heard that more times than I can count.

You have a great smile.
You have a great personality.
You have such pretty eyes.
You have gorgeous hair.

People try to act as though I don’t exist from the neck down.
But I do. I have a heart, a body, and a soul stuck within the pockets of skin that have a stranglehold on my senses, and theirs.

She doesn’t judge me.

She does, however, keep me running from cameras, knowing that pictures just pack on the pounds.
She does, however, keep me second guessing lovers. I mean, what would a man see in me?
She does, however, keep me at a distance from the world, a safety net like a child on a leash:

“Don’t go too far…you’ll get hurt.”

She will never leave me.

Fat is part of my life, one way or another.
I don’t always like what she does, but I have learned to love her.
I will never have a perfect body. I’ve learned not to waste my time on that.

Instead, I am working on the perfect mind.
Instead, I am working on the perfect heart.
Instead, I am working on the perfect soul.

I know that if I do that, eventually, she will begin fade and I will be able to see something besides her.

I will be able to see me.

 

Written by Tabitha Clark, 2009