After I had my baby, I lost about 30 pounds of baby weight. But a year later, I had shot back up to 200 pounds. Before pregnancy, I’d never even approached this weight. I’d thought 160 pounds was way too heavy for my height.
At Christmastime, a family member said, “We need to talk about the elephant in the room: your weight.”
I was too shocked to speak. This person went on about how they were worried about me, saying that I looked unhealthy.
“But I haven’t been eating any differently than before I was pregnant,” I said.
I felt so ashamed that I started working out furiously for five weeks. I tracked my calories on MyFitnessPal. This strategy had helped me lose 20 pounds before my wedding, but suddenly it wasn’t helping at all.
Each morning when I hopped on the scale, I wanted to weep
And, no, it doesn’t go away
I can eat salad and fruit all the next day and I’ll keep those two pounds forever.
You know what helps me cope with this? I have an excuse. It’s called PCOS.
There is no simple solution to the disease. No one diet or pill or amount of exercise that can solve things.
I’ve made an appointment with a respected OB-GYN to get a handle on things. I’m exercising as many days of the week as possible, waxing my chin every other day, and getting used to the idea of having an only child.
But, for now, I’m working on loving myself at this weight
I exercise and eat healthy, not to attempt to lose a certain amount of pounds, but to feel well and decrease the risk of uterine cancer, type 2 diabetes, and the host of other issues that can crop up due to PCOS.
To those well-meaning but misguided family members and friends who say there’s “no excuse” for my weight gain, I say, yes — yes there is.
It’s hard enough to deal with on its own, so please swallow your input unless I ask for it and join me in loving me — whatever my size.
