Chimera

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/robin-korth/sex-over-50_b_5563576.html
 
 

Naked, I stood at the closet doors with the lights on and made myself ready. I took a deep breath and positioned the mirrors so I could see all of me. I consciously worked to remove my self-believed inner image. I opened my eyes and looked very carefully at my body. And my heart lurched at the truth: I am not a young woman anymore. I am a woman well-lived. My body tells of all the years she has carried my spirit through life.
I am a 59-year-old woman in great health and in good physical shape. I stand five-feet, nine-inches tall and weigh 135 pounds. I wear a size six in both jeans and panties, and my breasts are nowhere near my navel. In fact, they still struggle to make it full-up in a B-cup bra. My thighs are no longer velvet and my buttocks have dimples. My upper arms wobble a bit and my skin shows the marks of the sun. There is a softness around my waist that is no longer perfectly taut, and the pout of my abdomen attests to a c-section that took its bikini flatness -- but gave me a son.
 
Why this brutal scrutiny of myself? It was time to counter the damage of my culture, my own soft-held fear and to pour warm love on my own soul. It was time to claim every mark and not-perfect inch of my own body -- a body that had been called "too wrinkled" by a man who was fetched by my energy and my mind, but did not like the bare truth of me. His name was Dave and he was 55 years old.
 
We met on a dating site. Dave was interesting, gentlemanly and bright. He held my hand and toured with me on long bicycle rides. He drove many miles to come to my door. He made meals for us both and ruffled my dog's happy head. I was enticed and longed for the full knowing of this man. And so, we planned a weekend together. That's when things got confusing, unspoken and just-not-quite there. We went to bed in a couple's way -- unclothed and touching -- all parts near. Kisses were shared and sleep came in hugs. I attempted more intimacy throughout the weekend and was deterred each time.
 
On Monday evening over the phone, I asked this man who had shared my bed for three nights running why we had not made love. "Your body is too wrinkly," he said without a pause. "I have spoiled myself over the years with young women. I just can't get excited with you. I love your energy and your laughter. I like your head and your heart. But, I just can't deal with your body."
 
I was stunned. The hurt would come later. I asked him slowly and carefully if he found my body hard to look at. He said yes. "So, this means seeing me naked was troublesome to you?" I asked. He told me he had just looked away. And when the lights were out, he pretended my body was younger -- that I was younger. My breath came deep and full as I processed this information. My face blazed as I felt embarrassed and shamed by memories of my easy nakedness with him in days just passed.
 
We talked for some time more, my head reeling at the content of the conversation. He spoke of special stockings and clothing that would "hide" my years. He blithely told me he loved "little black dresses" and strappy shoes. He said my hair was not long and flowing as he preferred, but that was okay because it was "cool looking." I felt like a Barbie Doll on acid as I listened to this man. He was totally oblivious to the viciousness of his words. He had turned me into an object to be dressed and positioned to provide satisfaction for his ideas of what female sexual perfection should be.
He explained that now that I knew what was required, we could have a great time in the bedroom. I told him no. I would not hide from my own body. I would not wear outfits to make my body more "tolerable." I would not undress in the dark or shower with the bathroom door closed. I would not diminish myself for him -- or for anyone. My body is beautiful and it goes along with my mind and my heart.
 
When I told Dave that I never wanted to see or hear from him again, he was confused and complained that I was making a big deal out of nothing. He whined that I had taken a small part of our relationship and made it a major event. I didn't even want to try to explain the hurt and the horror that he had inflicted upon me. I actually felt sickly sorry for this man as I hung up the phone. It was after this call that I went to the bedroom and gently stripped off my clothes.
As I looked in the mirror -- clear-eyed and brave -- I claimed every inch of my body with love, honor and deep care. This body is me. She has held my soul and carried my heart for all of my days. Each wrinkle and imperfection is a badge of my living and of my giving of life. With tears in my eyes, I hugged myself close. I said thank you to God for the gift of my body and my life. And I said thank you to a sad man named Dave for reminding me of how precious it all is.
 
Robin Korth enjoys interactions with her readers. Feel free to contact her at info@robininyourface.com or on Facebook.
To learn about her new book, "Soul on the Run," go to: www.SoulOnTheRun.com
You can also download her "Robin In Your Face" free daily motivational app by going to www.robininyourface.com/whats-new/

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/robin-korth/sex-over-50_b_5563576.html
 
 

Naked, I stood at the closet doors with the lights on and made myself ready. I took a deep breath and positioned the mirrors so I could see all of me. I consciously worked to remove my self-believed inner image. I opened my eyes and looked very carefully at my body. And my heart lurched at the truth: I am not a young woman anymore. I am a woman well-lived. My body tells of all the years she has carried my spirit through life.
I am a 59-year-old woman in great health and in good physical shape. I stand five-feet, nine-inches tall and weigh 135 pounds. I wear a size six in both jeans and panties, and my breasts are nowhere near my navel. In fact, they still struggle to make it full-up in a B-cup bra. My thighs are no longer velvet and my buttocks have dimples. My upper arms wobble a bit and my skin shows the marks of the sun. There is a softness around my waist that is no longer perfectly taut, and the pout of my abdomen attests to a c-section that took its bikini flatness -- but gave me a son.
 
Why this brutal scrutiny of myself? It was time to counter the damage of my culture, my own soft-held fear and to pour warm love on my own soul. It was time to claim every mark and not-perfect inch of my own body -- a body that had been called "too wrinkled" by a man who was fetched by my energy and my mind, but did not like the bare truth of me. His name was Dave and he was 55 years old.
 
We met on a dating site. Dave was interesting, gentlemanly and bright. He held my hand and toured with me on long bicycle rides. He drove many miles to come to my door. He made meals for us both and ruffled my dog's happy head. I was enticed and longed for the full knowing of this man. And so, we planned a weekend together. That's when things got confusing, unspoken and just-not-quite there. We went to bed in a couple's way -- unclothed and touching -- all parts near. Kisses were shared and sleep came in hugs. I attempted more intimacy throughout the weekend and was deterred each time.
 
On Monday evening over the phone, I asked this man who had shared my bed for three nights running why we had not made love. "Your body is too wrinkly," he said without a pause. "I have spoiled myself over the years with young women. I just can't get excited with you. I love your energy and your laughter. I like your head and your heart. But, I just can't deal with your body."
 
I was stunned. The hurt would come later. I asked him slowly and carefully if he found my body hard to look at. He said yes. "So, this means seeing me naked was troublesome to you?" I asked. He told me he had just looked away. And when the lights were out, he pretended my body was younger -- that I was younger. My breath came deep and full as I processed this information. My face blazed as I felt embarrassed and shamed by memories of my easy nakedness with him in days just passed.
 
We talked for some time more, my head reeling at the content of the conversation. He spoke of special stockings and clothing that would "hide" my years. He blithely told me he loved "little black dresses" and strappy shoes. He said my hair was not long and flowing as he preferred, but that was okay because it was "cool looking." I felt like a Barbie Doll on acid as I listened to this man. He was totally oblivious to the viciousness of his words. He had turned me into an object to be dressed and positioned to provide satisfaction for his ideas of what female sexual perfection should be.
He explained that now that I knew what was required, we could have a great time in the bedroom. I told him no. I would not hide from my own body. I would not wear outfits to make my body more "tolerable." I would not undress in the dark or shower with the bathroom door closed. I would not diminish myself for him -- or for anyone. My body is beautiful and it goes along with my mind and my heart.
 
When I told Dave that I never wanted to see or hear from him again, he was confused and complained that I was making a big deal out of nothing. He whined that I had taken a small part of our relationship and made it a major event. I didn't even want to try to explain the hurt and the horror that he had inflicted upon me. I actually felt sickly sorry for this man as I hung up the phone. It was after this call that I went to the bedroom and gently stripped off my clothes.
As I looked in the mirror -- clear-eyed and brave -- I claimed every inch of my body with love, honor and deep care. This body is me. She has held my soul and carried my heart for all of my days. Each wrinkle and imperfection is a badge of my living and of my giving of life. With tears in my eyes, I hugged myself close. I said thank you to God for the gift of my body and my life. And I said thank you to a sad man named Dave for reminding me of how precious it all is.
 
Robin Korth enjoys interactions with her readers. Feel free to contact her at info@robininyourface.com or on Facebook.
To learn about her new book, "Soul on the Run," go to: www.SoulOnTheRun.com
You can also download her "Robin In Your Face" free daily motivational app by going to www.robininyourface.com/whats-new/

Count down begins! I start my pre-op diet today and 2 weeks until my surgery date. EEEEEKKKK!!!! I am worried about being hungry this first few days. I brought a PowerAide Zero, two protein shakes and sugar free pudding. Lets see how this goes.
I am scheduled for my EGD on Thursday. I drove out to the surgery center on Saturday so I could make sure I know where it is and to also find a hotel for me and my husband to stay at the night before my surgey. The drive is AWFUL!!! Lots of traffic, construction and really far.
I found a great hotel right down the street so that is one more thing I can cross off my list of "to-do's".
I weighed myself this morning and I am at 199. I am hearing that you can lose up to 20 pounds during the pre-op diet phase. Fingers crossed.

http://www.stuff.co....r-says-shes-fat
 
Dear Mum,
 
I was seven when I discovered that you were fat, ugly and horrible. Up until that point I had believed that you were beautiful - in every sense of the word. I remember flicking through old photo albums and staring at pictures of you standing on the deck of a boat. Your white strapless bathing suit looked so glamorous, just like a movie star. Whenever I had the chance I'd pull out that wondrous white bathing suit hidden in your bottom drawer and imagine a time when I'd be big enough to wear it; when I'd be like you.
But all of that changed when, one night, we were dressed up for a party and you said to me, ''Look at you, so thin, beautiful and lovely. And look at me, fat, ugly and horrible.''
At first I didn't understand what you meant.
''You're not fat,'' I said earnestly and innocently, and you replied, ''Yes I am, darling. I've always been fat; even as a child.''
 
In the days that followed I had some painful revelations that have shaped my whole life. I learned that:
1. You must be fat because mothers don't lie.
2. Fat is ugly and horrible.
3. When I grow up I'll look like you and therefore I will be fat, ugly and horrible too.
Years later, I looked back on this conversation and the hundreds that followed and cursed you for feeling so unattractive, insecure and unworthy. Because, as my first and most influential role model, you taught me to believe the same thing about myself.
With every grimace at your reflection in the mirror, every new wonder diet that was going to change your life, and every guilty spoon of ''Oh-I-really-shouldn't'', I learned that women must be thin to be valid and worthy. Girls must go without because their greatest contribution to the world is their physical beauty.
 
Just like you, I have spent my whole life feeling fat. When did fat become a feeling anyway? And because I believed I was fat, I knew I was no good.
But now that I am older, and a mother myself, I know that blaming you for my body hatred is unhelpful and unfair. I now understand that you too are a product of a long and rich lineage of women who were taught to loathe themselves.
Look at the example Nanna set for you. Despite being what could only be described as famine-victim chic, she dieted every day of her life until the day she died at 79 years of age. She used to put on make-up to walk to the letterbox for fear that somebody might see her unpainted face.
 
I remember her ''compassionate'' response when you announced that Dad had left you for another woman. Her first comment was, ''I don't understand why he'd leave you. You look after yourself, you wear lipstick. You're overweight - but not that much.''
Before Dad left, he provided no balm for your body-image torment either.
 
''Jesus, Jan,'' I overheard him say to you. ''It's not that hard. Energy in versus energy out. If you want to lose weight you just have to eat less.''
That night at dinner I watched you implement Dad's ''Energy In, Energy Out: Jesus, Jan, Just Eat Less'' weight-loss cure. You served up chow mein for dinner. (Remember how in 1980s Australian suburbia, a combination of mince, cabbage, and soy sauce was considered the height of exotic gourmet?) Everyone else's food was on a dinner plate except yours. You served your chow mein on a tiny bread-and-butter plate.
As you sat in front of that pathetic scoop of mince, silent tears streamed down your face. I said nothing. Not even when your shoulders started heaving from your distress. We all ate our dinner in silence. Nobody comforted you. Nobody told you to stop being ridiculous and get a proper plate. Nobody told you that you were already loved and already good enough. Your achievements and your worth - as a teacher of children with special needs and a devoted mother of three of your own - paled into insignificance when compared with the centimetres you couldn't lose from your waist.
 
It broke my heart to witness your despair and I'm sorry that I didn't rush to your defence. I'd already learned that it was your fault that you were fat. I'd even heard Dad describe losing weight as a ''simple'' process - yet one that you still couldn't come to grips with. The lesson: you didn't deserve any food and you certainly didn't deserve any sympathy.
 
But I was wrong, Mum. Now I understand what it's like to grow up in a society that tells women that their beauty matters most, and at the same time defines a standard of beauty that is perpetually out of our reach. I also know the pain of internalising these messages. We have become our own jailors and we inflict our own punishments for failing to measure up.
 
No one is crueler to us than we are to ourselves.
But this madness has to stop, Mum. It stops with you, it stops with me and it stops now. We deserve better - better than to have our days brought to ruin by bad body thoughts, wishing we were otherwise.
 
And it's not just about you and me any more. It's also about Violet. Your granddaughter is only 3 and I do not want body hatred to take root inside her and strangle her happiness, her confidence and her potential. I don't want Violet to believe that her beauty is her most important asset; that it will define her worth in the world. When Violet looks to us to learn how to be a woman, we need to be the best role models we can. We need to show her with our words and our actions that women are good enough just the way they are. And for her to believe us, we need to believe it ourselves.
 
The older we get, the more loved ones we lose to accidents and illness. Their passing is always tragic and far too soon. I sometimes think about what these friends - and the people who love them - wouldn't give for more time in a body that was healthy. A body that would allow them to live just a little longer. The size of that body's thighs or the lines on its face wouldn't matter. It would be alive and therefore it would be perfect.
Your body is perfect too. It allows you to disarm a room with your smile and infect everyone with your laugh. It gives you arms to wrap around Violet and squeeze her until she giggles. Every moment we spend worrying about our physical ''flaws'' is a moment wasted, a precious slice of life that we will never get back.
 
Let us honour and respect our bodies for what they do instead of despising them for how they appear. Focus on living healthy and active lives, let our weight fall where it may, and consign our body hatred in the past where it belongs. When I looked at that photo of you in the white bathing suit all those years ago, my innocent young eyes saw the truth. I saw unconditional love, beauty and wisdom. I saw my Mum.
Love, Kasey xx
 
This is an excerpt from Dear Mum, a collection of letters from Australian sporting stars, musicians, models, cooks and authors revealing what they would like to say to their mothers before it's too late, or would have said if only they'd had the chance.
All royalties go to the National Breast Cancer Foundation. Published by Random House and available now.

Ok, I was saving two pair of jeans because they were like new, they used to be so tight I couldn't wear them. I was looking forward to be able to put them on. I got them out yesterday to try to see if they would fit, and horrors of horrors, they are too big!!! I couldn't even get them to stay up comfortably with a belt. I'm crushed because now they have to go to the good will and I didn't even get to wear them!!! Oh well, I suppose that is a good thing. People have finally noticed that I'm losing weight, one at church and one saleslady at work. I told them thank you and yes it is hard work. I've lost 45lbs and I know I should be proud of that but somehow doesn't feel like enough. I know that I shouldn't compare myself to others but sometimes it's hard not to get weight loss envy. I was sort of complaining the other day and my son said to me that even though I'm losing weight I still look good and healthy unlike two of his co-workers that had the bypass procedure, he says they've lost a lot of weight but look like they've been sick. So i guess that losing slowly isn't so bad as long as I look healthy. I'm off all BP meds now, and have reduced my diabetes meds in half, Doc says probably will be off all soon. I am waiting to go back for another sleep study to see if I can go off my CPAP, I can't wait to get rid of it. I have 4 lbs to go before I hit one-derland, I can wait I'm so close.... but probably another 2-3 weeks. Oh well, slow and steady....

http://www.stuff.co....r-says-shes-fat
 
Dear Mum,
 
I was seven when I discovered that you were fat, ugly and horrible. Up until that point I had believed that you were beautiful - in every sense of the word. I remember flicking through old photo albums and staring at pictures of you standing on the deck of a boat. Your white strapless bathing suit looked so glamorous, just like a movie star. Whenever I had the chance I'd pull out that wondrous white bathing suit hidden in your bottom drawer and imagine a time when I'd be big enough to wear it; when I'd be like you.
But all of that changed when, one night, we were dressed up for a party and you said to me, ''Look at you, so thin, beautiful and lovely. And look at me, fat, ugly and horrible.''
At first I didn't understand what you meant.
''You're not fat,'' I said earnestly and innocently, and you replied, ''Yes I am, darling. I've always been fat; even as a child.''
 
In the days that followed I had some painful revelations that have shaped my whole life. I learned that:
1. You must be fat because mothers don't lie.
2. Fat is ugly and horrible.
3. When I grow up I'll look like you and therefore I will be fat, ugly and horrible too.
Years later, I looked back on this conversation and the hundreds that followed and cursed you for feeling so unattractive, insecure and unworthy. Because, as my first and most influential role model, you taught me to believe the same thing about myself.
With every grimace at your reflection in the mirror, every new wonder diet that was going to change your life, and every guilty spoon of ''Oh-I-really-shouldn't'', I learned that women must be thin to be valid and worthy. Girls must go without because their greatest contribution to the world is their physical beauty.
 
Just like you, I have spent my whole life feeling fat. When did fat become a feeling anyway? And because I believed I was fat, I knew I was no good.
But now that I am older, and a mother myself, I know that blaming you for my body hatred is unhelpful and unfair. I now understand that you too are a product of a long and rich lineage of women who were taught to loathe themselves.
Look at the example Nanna set for you. Despite being what could only be described as famine-victim chic, she dieted every day of her life until the day she died at 79 years of age. She used to put on make-up to walk to the letterbox for fear that somebody might see her unpainted face.
 
I remember her ''compassionate'' response when you announced that Dad had left you for another woman. Her first comment was, ''I don't understand why he'd leave you. You look after yourself, you wear lipstick. You're overweight - but not that much.''
Before Dad left, he provided no balm for your body-image torment either.
 
''Jesus, Jan,'' I overheard him say to you. ''It's not that hard. Energy in versus energy out. If you want to lose weight you just have to eat less.''
That night at dinner I watched you implement Dad's ''Energy In, Energy Out: Jesus, Jan, Just Eat Less'' weight-loss cure. You served up chow mein for dinner. (Remember how in 1980s Australian suburbia, a combination of mince, cabbage, and soy sauce was considered the height of exotic gourmet?) Everyone else's food was on a dinner plate except yours. You served your chow mein on a tiny bread-and-butter plate.
As you sat in front of that pathetic scoop of mince, silent tears streamed down your face. I said nothing. Not even when your shoulders started heaving from your distress. We all ate our dinner in silence. Nobody comforted you. Nobody told you to stop being ridiculous and get a proper plate. Nobody told you that you were already loved and already good enough. Your achievements and your worth - as a teacher of children with special needs and a devoted mother of three of your own - paled into insignificance when compared with the centimetres you couldn't lose from your waist.
 
It broke my heart to witness your despair and I'm sorry that I didn't rush to your defence. I'd already learned that it was your fault that you were fat. I'd even heard Dad describe losing weight as a ''simple'' process - yet one that you still couldn't come to grips with. The lesson: you didn't deserve any food and you certainly didn't deserve any sympathy.
 
But I was wrong, Mum. Now I understand what it's like to grow up in a society that tells women that their beauty matters most, and at the same time defines a standard of beauty that is perpetually out of our reach. I also know the pain of internalising these messages. We have become our own jailors and we inflict our own punishments for failing to measure up.
 
No one is crueler to us than we are to ourselves.
But this madness has to stop, Mum. It stops with you, it stops with me and it stops now. We deserve better - better than to have our days brought to ruin by bad body thoughts, wishing we were otherwise.
 
And it's not just about you and me any more. It's also about Violet. Your granddaughter is only 3 and I do not want body hatred to take root inside her and strangle her happiness, her confidence and her potential. I don't want Violet to believe that her beauty is her most important asset; that it will define her worth in the world. When Violet looks to us to learn how to be a woman, we need to be the best role models we can. We need to show her with our words and our actions that women are good enough just the way they are. And for her to believe us, we need to believe it ourselves.
 
The older we get, the more loved ones we lose to accidents and illness. Their passing is always tragic and far too soon. I sometimes think about what these friends - and the people who love them - wouldn't give for more time in a body that was healthy. A body that would allow them to live just a little longer. The size of that body's thighs or the lines on its face wouldn't matter. It would be alive and therefore it would be perfect.
Your body is perfect too. It allows you to disarm a room with your smile and infect everyone with your laugh. It gives you arms to wrap around Violet and squeeze her until she giggles. Every moment we spend worrying about our physical ''flaws'' is a moment wasted, a precious slice of life that we will never get back.
 
Let us honour and respect our bodies for what they do instead of despising them for how they appear. Focus on living healthy and active lives, let our weight fall where it may, and consign our body hatred in the past where it belongs. When I looked at that photo of you in the white bathing suit all those years ago, my innocent young eyes saw the truth. I saw unconditional love, beauty and wisdom. I saw my Mum.
Love, Kasey xx
 
This is an excerpt from Dear Mum, a collection of letters from Australian sporting stars, musicians, models, cooks and authors revealing what they would like to say to their mothers before it's too late, or would have said if only they'd had the chance.
All royalties go to the National Breast Cancer Foundation. Published by Random House and available now.

http://www.stuff.co....r-says-shes-fat
 
Dear Mum,
 
I was seven when I discovered that you were fat, ugly and horrible. Up until that point I had believed that you were beautiful - in every sense of the word. I remember flicking through old photo albums and staring at pictures of you standing on the deck of a boat. Your white strapless bathing suit looked so glamorous, just like a movie star. Whenever I had the chance I'd pull out that wondrous white bathing suit hidden in your bottom drawer and imagine a time when I'd be big enough to wear it; when I'd be like you.
But all of that changed when, one night, we were dressed up for a party and you said to me, ''Look at you, so thin, beautiful and lovely. And look at me, fat, ugly and horrible.''
At first I didn't understand what you meant.
''You're not fat,'' I said earnestly and innocently, and you replied, ''Yes I am, darling. I've always been fat; even as a child.''
 
In the days that followed I had some painful revelations that have shaped my whole life. I learned that:
1. You must be fat because mothers don't lie.
2. Fat is ugly and horrible.
3. When I grow up I'll look like you and therefore I will be fat, ugly and horrible too.
Years later, I looked back on this conversation and the hundreds that followed and cursed you for feeling so unattractive, insecure and unworthy. Because, as my first and most influential role model, you taught me to believe the same thing about myself.
With every grimace at your reflection in the mirror, every new wonder diet that was going to change your life, and every guilty spoon of ''Oh-I-really-shouldn't'', I learned that women must be thin to be valid and worthy. Girls must go without because their greatest contribution to the world is their physical beauty.
 
Just like you, I have spent my whole life feeling fat. When did fat become a feeling anyway? And because I believed I was fat, I knew I was no good.
But now that I am older, and a mother myself, I know that blaming you for my body hatred is unhelpful and unfair. I now understand that you too are a product of a long and rich lineage of women who were taught to loathe themselves.
Look at the example Nanna set for you. Despite being what could only be described as famine-victim chic, she dieted every day of her life until the day she died at 79 years of age. She used to put on make-up to walk to the letterbox for fear that somebody might see her unpainted face.
 
I remember her ''compassionate'' response when you announced that Dad had left you for another woman. Her first comment was, ''I don't understand why he'd leave you. You look after yourself, you wear lipstick. You're overweight - but not that much.''
Before Dad left, he provided no balm for your body-image torment either.
 
''Jesus, Jan,'' I overheard him say to you. ''It's not that hard. Energy in versus energy out. If you want to lose weight you just have to eat less.''
That night at dinner I watched you implement Dad's ''Energy In, Energy Out: Jesus, Jan, Just Eat Less'' weight-loss cure. You served up chow mein for dinner. (Remember how in 1980s Australian suburbia, a combination of mince, cabbage, and soy sauce was considered the height of exotic gourmet?) Everyone else's food was on a dinner plate except yours. You served your chow mein on a tiny bread-and-butter plate.
As you sat in front of that pathetic scoop of mince, silent tears streamed down your face. I said nothing. Not even when your shoulders started heaving from your distress. We all ate our dinner in silence. Nobody comforted you. Nobody told you to stop being ridiculous and get a proper plate. Nobody told you that you were already loved and already good enough. Your achievements and your worth - as a teacher of children with special needs and a devoted mother of three of your own - paled into insignificance when compared with the centimetres you couldn't lose from your waist.
 
It broke my heart to witness your despair and I'm sorry that I didn't rush to your defence. I'd already learned that it was your fault that you were fat. I'd even heard Dad describe losing weight as a ''simple'' process - yet one that you still couldn't come to grips with. The lesson: you didn't deserve any food and you certainly didn't deserve any sympathy.
 
But I was wrong, Mum. Now I understand what it's like to grow up in a society that tells women that their beauty matters most, and at the same time defines a standard of beauty that is perpetually out of our reach. I also know the pain of internalising these messages. We have become our own jailors and we inflict our own punishments for failing to measure up.
 
No one is crueler to us than we are to ourselves.
But this madness has to stop, Mum. It stops with you, it stops with me and it stops now. We deserve better - better than to have our days brought to ruin by bad body thoughts, wishing we were otherwise.
 
And it's not just about you and me any more. It's also about Violet. Your granddaughter is only 3 and I do not want body hatred to take root inside her and strangle her happiness, her confidence and her potential. I don't want Violet to believe that her beauty is her most important asset; that it will define her worth in the world. When Violet looks to us to learn how to be a woman, we need to be the best role models we can. We need to show her with our words and our actions that women are good enough just the way they are. And for her to believe us, we need to believe it ourselves.
 
The older we get, the more loved ones we lose to accidents and illness. Their passing is always tragic and far too soon. I sometimes think about what these friends - and the people who love them - wouldn't give for more time in a body that was healthy. A body that would allow them to live just a little longer. The size of that body's thighs or the lines on its face wouldn't matter. It would be alive and therefore it would be perfect.
Your body is perfect too. It allows you to disarm a room with your smile and infect everyone with your laugh. It gives you arms to wrap around Violet and squeeze her until she giggles. Every moment we spend worrying about our physical ''flaws'' is a moment wasted, a precious slice of life that we will never get back.
 
Let us honour and respect our bodies for what they do instead of despising them for how they appear. Focus on living healthy and active lives, let our weight fall where it may, and consign our body hatred in the past where it belongs. When I looked at that photo of you in the white bathing suit all those years ago, my innocent young eyes saw the truth. I saw unconditional love, beauty and wisdom. I saw my Mum.
Love, Kasey xx
 
This is an excerpt from Dear Mum, a collection of letters from Australian sporting stars, musicians, models, cooks and authors revealing what they would like to say to their mothers before it's too late, or would have said if only they'd had the chance.
All royalties go to the National Breast Cancer Foundation. Published by Random House and available now.

http://www.stuff.co....r-says-shes-fat
 
Dear Mum,
 
I was seven when I discovered that you were fat, ugly and horrible. Up until that point I had believed that you were beautiful - in every sense of the word. I remember flicking through old photo albums and staring at pictures of you standing on the deck of a boat. Your white strapless bathing suit looked so glamorous, just like a movie star. Whenever I had the chance I'd pull out that wondrous white bathing suit hidden in your bottom drawer and imagine a time when I'd be big enough to wear it; when I'd be like you.
But all of that changed when, one night, we were dressed up for a party and you said to me, ''Look at you, so thin, beautiful and lovely. And look at me, fat, ugly and horrible.''
At first I didn't understand what you meant.
''You're not fat,'' I said earnestly and innocently, and you replied, ''Yes I am, darling. I've always been fat; even as a child.''
 
In the days that followed I had some painful revelations that have shaped my whole life. I learned that:
1. You must be fat because mothers don't lie.
2. Fat is ugly and horrible.
3. When I grow up I'll look like you and therefore I will be fat, ugly and horrible too.
Years later, I looked back on this conversation and the hundreds that followed and cursed you for feeling so unattractive, insecure and unworthy. Because, as my first and most influential role model, you taught me to believe the same thing about myself.
With every grimace at your reflection in the mirror, every new wonder diet that was going to change your life, and every guilty spoon of ''Oh-I-really-shouldn't'', I learned that women must be thin to be valid and worthy. Girls must go without because their greatest contribution to the world is their physical beauty.
 
Just like you, I have spent my whole life feeling fat. When did fat become a feeling anyway? And because I believed I was fat, I knew I was no good.
But now that I am older, and a mother myself, I know that blaming you for my body hatred is unhelpful and unfair. I now understand that you too are a product of a long and rich lineage of women who were taught to loathe themselves.
Look at the example Nanna set for you. Despite being what could only be described as famine-victim chic, she dieted every day of her life until the day she died at 79 years of age. She used to put on make-up to walk to the letterbox for fear that somebody might see her unpainted face.
 
I remember her ''compassionate'' response when you announced that Dad had left you for another woman. Her first comment was, ''I don't understand why he'd leave you. You look after yourself, you wear lipstick. You're overweight - but not that much.''
Before Dad left, he provided no balm for your body-image torment either.
 
''Jesus, Jan,'' I overheard him say to you. ''It's not that hard. Energy in versus energy out. If you want to lose weight you just have to eat less.''
That night at dinner I watched you implement Dad's ''Energy In, Energy Out: Jesus, Jan, Just Eat Less'' weight-loss cure. You served up chow mein for dinner. (Remember how in 1980s Australian suburbia, a combination of mince, cabbage, and soy sauce was considered the height of exotic gourmet?) Everyone else's food was on a dinner plate except yours. You served your chow mein on a tiny bread-and-butter plate.
As you sat in front of that pathetic scoop of mince, silent tears streamed down your face. I said nothing. Not even when your shoulders started heaving from your distress. We all ate our dinner in silence. Nobody comforted you. Nobody told you to stop being ridiculous and get a proper plate. Nobody told you that you were already loved and already good enough. Your achievements and your worth - as a teacher of children with special needs and a devoted mother of three of your own - paled into insignificance when compared with the centimetres you couldn't lose from your waist.
 
It broke my heart to witness your despair and I'm sorry that I didn't rush to your defence. I'd already learned that it was your fault that you were fat. I'd even heard Dad describe losing weight as a ''simple'' process - yet one that you still couldn't come to grips with. The lesson: you didn't deserve any food and you certainly didn't deserve any sympathy.
 
But I was wrong, Mum. Now I understand what it's like to grow up in a society that tells women that their beauty matters most, and at the same time defines a standard of beauty that is perpetually out of our reach. I also know the pain of internalising these messages. We have become our own jailors and we inflict our own punishments for failing to measure up.
 
No one is crueler to us than we are to ourselves.
But this madness has to stop, Mum. It stops with you, it stops with me and it stops now. We deserve better - better than to have our days brought to ruin by bad body thoughts, wishing we were otherwise.
 
And it's not just about you and me any more. It's also about Violet. Your granddaughter is only 3 and I do not want body hatred to take root inside her and strangle her happiness, her confidence and her potential. I don't want Violet to believe that her beauty is her most important asset; that it will define her worth in the world. When Violet looks to us to learn how to be a woman, we need to be the best role models we can. We need to show her with our words and our actions that women are good enough just the way they are. And for her to believe us, we need to believe it ourselves.
 
The older we get, the more loved ones we lose to accidents and illness. Their passing is always tragic and far too soon. I sometimes think about what these friends - and the people who love them - wouldn't give for more time in a body that was healthy. A body that would allow them to live just a little longer. The size of that body's thighs or the lines on its face wouldn't matter. It would be alive and therefore it would be perfect.
Your body is perfect too. It allows you to disarm a room with your smile and infect everyone with your laugh. It gives you arms to wrap around Violet and squeeze her until she giggles. Every moment we spend worrying about our physical ''flaws'' is a moment wasted, a precious slice of life that we will never get back.
 
Let us honour and respect our bodies for what they do instead of despising them for how they appear. Focus on living healthy and active lives, let our weight fall where it may, and consign our body hatred in the past where it belongs. When I looked at that photo of you in the white bathing suit all those years ago, my innocent young eyes saw the truth. I saw unconditional love, beauty and wisdom. I saw my Mum.
Love, Kasey xx
 
This is an excerpt from Dear Mum, a collection of letters from Australian sporting stars, musicians, models, cooks and authors revealing what they would like to say to their mothers before it's too late, or would have said if only they'd had the chance.
All royalties go to the National Breast Cancer Foundation. Published by Random House and available now.

http://www.stuff.co....r-says-shes-fat
 
Dear Mum,
 
I was seven when I discovered that you were fat, ugly and horrible. Up until that point I had believed that you were beautiful - in every sense of the word. I remember flicking through old photo albums and staring at pictures of you standing on the deck of a boat. Your white strapless bathing suit looked so glamorous, just like a movie star. Whenever I had the chance I'd pull out that wondrous white bathing suit hidden in your bottom drawer and imagine a time when I'd be big enough to wear it; when I'd be like you.
But all of that changed when, one night, we were dressed up for a party and you said to me, ''Look at you, so thin, beautiful and lovely. And look at me, fat, ugly and horrible.''
At first I didn't understand what you meant.
''You're not fat,'' I said earnestly and innocently, and you replied, ''Yes I am, darling. I've always been fat; even as a child.''
 
In the days that followed I had some painful revelations that have shaped my whole life. I learned that:
1. You must be fat because mothers don't lie.
2. Fat is ugly and horrible.
3. When I grow up I'll look like you and therefore I will be fat, ugly and horrible too.
Years later, I looked back on this conversation and the hundreds that followed and cursed you for feeling so unattractive, insecure and unworthy. Because, as my first and most influential role model, you taught me to believe the same thing about myself.
With every grimace at your reflection in the mirror, every new wonder diet that was going to change your life, and every guilty spoon of ''Oh-I-really-shouldn't'', I learned that women must be thin to be valid and worthy. Girls must go without because their greatest contribution to the world is their physical beauty.
 
Just like you, I have spent my whole life feeling fat. When did fat become a feeling anyway? And because I believed I was fat, I knew I was no good.
But now that I am older, and a mother myself, I know that blaming you for my body hatred is unhelpful and unfair. I now understand that you too are a product of a long and rich lineage of women who were taught to loathe themselves.
Look at the example Nanna set for you. Despite being what could only be described as famine-victim chic, she dieted every day of her life until the day she died at 79 years of age. She used to put on make-up to walk to the letterbox for fear that somebody might see her unpainted face.
 
I remember her ''compassionate'' response when you announced that Dad had left you for another woman. Her first comment was, ''I don't understand why he'd leave you. You look after yourself, you wear lipstick. You're overweight - but not that much.''
Before Dad left, he provided no balm for your body-image torment either.
 
''Jesus, Jan,'' I overheard him say to you. ''It's not that hard. Energy in versus energy out. If you want to lose weight you just have to eat less.''
That night at dinner I watched you implement Dad's ''Energy In, Energy Out: Jesus, Jan, Just Eat Less'' weight-loss cure. You served up chow mein for dinner. (Remember how in 1980s Australian suburbia, a combination of mince, cabbage, and soy sauce was considered the height of exotic gourmet?) Everyone else's food was on a dinner plate except yours. You served your chow mein on a tiny bread-and-butter plate.
As you sat in front of that pathetic scoop of mince, silent tears streamed down your face. I said nothing. Not even when your shoulders started heaving from your distress. We all ate our dinner in silence. Nobody comforted you. Nobody told you to stop being ridiculous and get a proper plate. Nobody told you that you were already loved and already good enough. Your achievements and your worth - as a teacher of children with special needs and a devoted mother of three of your own - paled into insignificance when compared with the centimetres you couldn't lose from your waist.
 
It broke my heart to witness your despair and I'm sorry that I didn't rush to your defence. I'd already learned that it was your fault that you were fat. I'd even heard Dad describe losing weight as a ''simple'' process - yet one that you still couldn't come to grips with. The lesson: you didn't deserve any food and you certainly didn't deserve any sympathy.
 
But I was wrong, Mum. Now I understand what it's like to grow up in a society that tells women that their beauty matters most, and at the same time defines a standard of beauty that is perpetually out of our reach. I also know the pain of internalising these messages. We have become our own jailors and we inflict our own punishments for failing to measure up.
 
No one is crueler to us than we are to ourselves.
But this madness has to stop, Mum. It stops with you, it stops with me and it stops now. We deserve better - better than to have our days brought to ruin by bad body thoughts, wishing we were otherwise.
 
And it's not just about you and me any more. It's also about Violet. Your granddaughter is only 3 and I do not want body hatred to take root inside her and strangle her happiness, her confidence and her potential. I don't want Violet to believe that her beauty is her most important asset; that it will define her worth in the world. When Violet looks to us to learn how to be a woman, we need to be the best role models we can. We need to show her with our words and our actions that women are good enough just the way they are. And for her to believe us, we need to believe it ourselves.
 
The older we get, the more loved ones we lose to accidents and illness. Their passing is always tragic and far too soon. I sometimes think about what these friends - and the people who love them - wouldn't give for more time in a body that was healthy. A body that would allow them to live just a little longer. The size of that body's thighs or the lines on its face wouldn't matter. It would be alive and therefore it would be perfect.
Your body is perfect too. It allows you to disarm a room with your smile and infect everyone with your laugh. It gives you arms to wrap around Violet and squeeze her until she giggles. Every moment we spend worrying about our physical ''flaws'' is a moment wasted, a precious slice of life that we will never get back.
 
Let us honour and respect our bodies for what they do instead of despising them for how they appear. Focus on living healthy and active lives, let our weight fall where it may, and consign our body hatred in the past where it belongs. When I looked at that photo of you in the white bathing suit all those years ago, my innocent young eyes saw the truth. I saw unconditional love, beauty and wisdom. I saw my Mum.
Love, Kasey xx
 
This is an excerpt from Dear Mum, a collection of letters from Australian sporting stars, musicians, models, cooks and authors revealing what they would like to say to their mothers before it's too late, or would have said if only they'd had the chance.
All royalties go to the National Breast Cancer Foundation. Published by Random House and available now.

http://www.stuff.co....r-says-shes-fat
 
Dear Mum,
 
I was seven when I discovered that you were fat, ugly and horrible. Up until that point I had believed that you were beautiful - in every sense of the word. I remember flicking through old photo albums and staring at pictures of you standing on the deck of a boat. Your white strapless bathing suit looked so glamorous, just like a movie star. Whenever I had the chance I'd pull out that wondrous white bathing suit hidden in your bottom drawer and imagine a time when I'd be big enough to wear it; when I'd be like you.
But all of that changed when, one night, we were dressed up for a party and you said to me, ''Look at you, so thin, beautiful and lovely. And look at me, fat, ugly and horrible.''
At first I didn't understand what you meant.
''You're not fat,'' I said earnestly and innocently, and you replied, ''Yes I am, darling. I've always been fat; even as a child.''
 
In the days that followed I had some painful revelations that have shaped my whole life. I learned that:
1. You must be fat because mothers don't lie.
2. Fat is ugly and horrible.
3. When I grow up I'll look like you and therefore I will be fat, ugly and horrible too.
Years later, I looked back on this conversation and the hundreds that followed and cursed you for feeling so unattractive, insecure and unworthy. Because, as my first and most influential role model, you taught me to believe the same thing about myself.
With every grimace at your reflection in the mirror, every new wonder diet that was going to change your life, and every guilty spoon of ''Oh-I-really-shouldn't'', I learned that women must be thin to be valid and worthy. Girls must go without because their greatest contribution to the world is their physical beauty.
 
Just like you, I have spent my whole life feeling fat. When did fat become a feeling anyway? And because I believed I was fat, I knew I was no good.
But now that I am older, and a mother myself, I know that blaming you for my body hatred is unhelpful and unfair. I now understand that you too are a product of a long and rich lineage of women who were taught to loathe themselves.
Look at the example Nanna set for you. Despite being what could only be described as famine-victim chic, she dieted every day of her life until the day she died at 79 years of age. She used to put on make-up to walk to the letterbox for fear that somebody might see her unpainted face.
 
I remember her ''compassionate'' response when you announced that Dad had left you for another woman. Her first comment was, ''I don't understand why he'd leave you. You look after yourself, you wear lipstick. You're overweight - but not that much.''
Before Dad left, he provided no balm for your body-image torment either.
 
''Jesus, Jan,'' I overheard him say to you. ''It's not that hard. Energy in versus energy out. If you want to lose weight you just have to eat less.''
That night at dinner I watched you implement Dad's ''Energy In, Energy Out: Jesus, Jan, Just Eat Less'' weight-loss cure. You served up chow mein for dinner. (Remember how in 1980s Australian suburbia, a combination of mince, cabbage, and soy sauce was considered the height of exotic gourmet?) Everyone else's food was on a dinner plate except yours. You served your chow mein on a tiny bread-and-butter plate.
As you sat in front of that pathetic scoop of mince, silent tears streamed down your face. I said nothing. Not even when your shoulders started heaving from your distress. We all ate our dinner in silence. Nobody comforted you. Nobody told you to stop being ridiculous and get a proper plate. Nobody told you that you were already loved and already good enough. Your achievements and your worth - as a teacher of children with special needs and a devoted mother of three of your own - paled into insignificance when compared with the centimetres you couldn't lose from your waist.
 
It broke my heart to witness your despair and I'm sorry that I didn't rush to your defence. I'd already learned that it was your fault that you were fat. I'd even heard Dad describe losing weight as a ''simple'' process - yet one that you still couldn't come to grips with. The lesson: you didn't deserve any food and you certainly didn't deserve any sympathy.
 
But I was wrong, Mum. Now I understand what it's like to grow up in a society that tells women that their beauty matters most, and at the same time defines a standard of beauty that is perpetually out of our reach. I also know the pain of internalising these messages. We have become our own jailors and we inflict our own punishments for failing to measure up.
 
No one is crueler to us than we are to ourselves.
But this madness has to stop, Mum. It stops with you, it stops with me and it stops now. We deserve better - better than to have our days brought to ruin by bad body thoughts, wishing we were otherwise.
 
And it's not just about you and me any more. It's also about Violet. Your granddaughter is only 3 and I do not want body hatred to take root inside her and strangle her happiness, her confidence and her potential. I don't want Violet to believe that her beauty is her most important asset; that it will define her worth in the world. When Violet looks to us to learn how to be a woman, we need to be the best role models we can. We need to show her with our words and our actions that women are good enough just the way they are. And for her to believe us, we need to believe it ourselves.
 
The older we get, the more loved ones we lose to accidents and illness. Their passing is always tragic and far too soon. I sometimes think about what these friends - and the people who love them - wouldn't give for more time in a body that was healthy. A body that would allow them to live just a little longer. The size of that body's thighs or the lines on its face wouldn't matter. It would be alive and therefore it would be perfect.
Your body is perfect too. It allows you to disarm a room with your smile and infect everyone with your laugh. It gives you arms to wrap around Violet and squeeze her until she giggles. Every moment we spend worrying about our physical ''flaws'' is a moment wasted, a precious slice of life that we will never get back.
 
Let us honour and respect our bodies for what they do instead of despising them for how they appear. Focus on living healthy and active lives, let our weight fall where it may, and consign our body hatred in the past where it belongs. When I looked at that photo of you in the white bathing suit all those years ago, my innocent young eyes saw the truth. I saw unconditional love, beauty and wisdom. I saw my Mum.
Love, Kasey xx
 
This is an excerpt from Dear Mum, a collection of letters from Australian sporting stars, musicians, models, cooks and authors revealing what they would like to say to their mothers before it's too late, or would have said if only they'd had the chance.
All royalties go to the National Breast Cancer Foundation. Published by Random House and available now.

http://www.stuff.co....r-says-shes-fat
 
Dear Mum,
 
I was seven when I discovered that you were fat, ugly and horrible. Up until that point I had believed that you were beautiful - in every sense of the word. I remember flicking through old photo albums and staring at pictures of you standing on the deck of a boat. Your white strapless bathing suit looked so glamorous, just like a movie star. Whenever I had the chance I'd pull out that wondrous white bathing suit hidden in your bottom drawer and imagine a time when I'd be big enough to wear it; when I'd be like you.
But all of that changed when, one night, we were dressed up for a party and you said to me, ''Look at you, so thin, beautiful and lovely. And look at me, fat, ugly and horrible.''
At first I didn't understand what you meant.
''You're not fat,'' I said earnestly and innocently, and you replied, ''Yes I am, darling. I've always been fat; even as a child.''
 
In the days that followed I had some painful revelations that have shaped my whole life. I learned that:
1. You must be fat because mothers don't lie.
2. Fat is ugly and horrible.
3. When I grow up I'll look like you and therefore I will be fat, ugly and horrible too.
Years later, I looked back on this conversation and the hundreds that followed and cursed you for feeling so unattractive, insecure and unworthy. Because, as my first and most influential role model, you taught me to believe the same thing about myself.
With every grimace at your reflection in the mirror, every new wonder diet that was going to change your life, and every guilty spoon of ''Oh-I-really-shouldn't'', I learned that women must be thin to be valid and worthy. Girls must go without because their greatest contribution to the world is their physical beauty.
 
Just like you, I have spent my whole life feeling fat. When did fat become a feeling anyway? And because I believed I was fat, I knew I was no good.
But now that I am older, and a mother myself, I know that blaming you for my body hatred is unhelpful and unfair. I now understand that you too are a product of a long and rich lineage of women who were taught to loathe themselves.
Look at the example Nanna set for you. Despite being what could only be described as famine-victim chic, she dieted every day of her life until the day she died at 79 years of age. She used to put on make-up to walk to the letterbox for fear that somebody might see her unpainted face.
 
I remember her ''compassionate'' response when you announced that Dad had left you for another woman. Her first comment was, ''I don't understand why he'd leave you. You look after yourself, you wear lipstick. You're overweight - but not that much.''
Before Dad left, he provided no balm for your body-image torment either.
 
''Jesus, Jan,'' I overheard him say to you. ''It's not that hard. Energy in versus energy out. If you want to lose weight you just have to eat less.''
That night at dinner I watched you implement Dad's ''Energy In, Energy Out: Jesus, Jan, Just Eat Less'' weight-loss cure. You served up chow mein for dinner. (Remember how in 1980s Australian suburbia, a combination of mince, cabbage, and soy sauce was considered the height of exotic gourmet?) Everyone else's food was on a dinner plate except yours. You served your chow mein on a tiny bread-and-butter plate.
As you sat in front of that pathetic scoop of mince, silent tears streamed down your face. I said nothing. Not even when your shoulders started heaving from your distress. We all ate our dinner in silence. Nobody comforted you. Nobody told you to stop being ridiculous and get a proper plate. Nobody told you that you were already loved and already good enough. Your achievements and your worth - as a teacher of children with special needs and a devoted mother of three of your own - paled into insignificance when compared with the centimetres you couldn't lose from your waist.
 
It broke my heart to witness your despair and I'm sorry that I didn't rush to your defence. I'd already learned that it was your fault that you were fat. I'd even heard Dad describe losing weight as a ''simple'' process - yet one that you still couldn't come to grips with. The lesson: you didn't deserve any food and you certainly didn't deserve any sympathy.
 
But I was wrong, Mum. Now I understand what it's like to grow up in a society that tells women that their beauty matters most, and at the same time defines a standard of beauty that is perpetually out of our reach. I also know the pain of internalising these messages. We have become our own jailors and we inflict our own punishments for failing to measure up.
 
No one is crueler to us than we are to ourselves.
But this madness has to stop, Mum. It stops with you, it stops with me and it stops now. We deserve better - better than to have our days brought to ruin by bad body thoughts, wishing we were otherwise.
 
And it's not just about you and me any more. It's also about Violet. Your granddaughter is only 3 and I do not want body hatred to take root inside her and strangle her happiness, her confidence and her potential. I don't want Violet to believe that her beauty is her most important asset; that it will define her worth in the world. When Violet looks to us to learn how to be a woman, we need to be the best role models we can. We need to show her with our words and our actions that women are good enough just the way they are. And for her to believe us, we need to believe it ourselves.
 
The older we get, the more loved ones we lose to accidents and illness. Their passing is always tragic and far too soon. I sometimes think about what these friends - and the people who love them - wouldn't give for more time in a body that was healthy. A body that would allow them to live just a little longer. The size of that body's thighs or the lines on its face wouldn't matter. It would be alive and therefore it would be perfect.
Your body is perfect too. It allows you to disarm a room with your smile and infect everyone with your laugh. It gives you arms to wrap around Violet and squeeze her until she giggles. Every moment we spend worrying about our physical ''flaws'' is a moment wasted, a precious slice of life that we will never get back.
 
Let us honour and respect our bodies for what they do instead of despising them for how they appear. Focus on living healthy and active lives, let our weight fall where it may, and consign our body hatred in the past where it belongs. When I looked at that photo of you in the white bathing suit all those years ago, my innocent young eyes saw the truth. I saw unconditional love, beauty and wisdom. I saw my Mum.
Love, Kasey xx
 
This is an excerpt from Dear Mum, a collection of letters from Australian sporting stars, musicians, models, cooks and authors revealing what they would like to say to their mothers before it's too late, or would have said if only they'd had the chance.
All royalties go to the National Breast Cancer Foundation. Published by Random House and available now.

http://www.stuff.co....r-says-shes-fat
 
Dear Mum,
 
I was seven when I discovered that you were fat, ugly and horrible. Up until that point I had believed that you were beautiful - in every sense of the word. I remember flicking through old photo albums and staring at pictures of you standing on the deck of a boat. Your white strapless bathing suit looked so glamorous, just like a movie star. Whenever I had the chance I'd pull out that wondrous white bathing suit hidden in your bottom drawer and imagine a time when I'd be big enough to wear it; when I'd be like you.
But all of that changed when, one night, we were dressed up for a party and you said to me, ''Look at you, so thin, beautiful and lovely. And look at me, fat, ugly and horrible.''
At first I didn't understand what you meant.
''You're not fat,'' I said earnestly and innocently, and you replied, ''Yes I am, darling. I've always been fat; even as a child.''
 
In the days that followed I had some painful revelations that have shaped my whole life. I learned that:
1. You must be fat because mothers don't lie.
2. Fat is ugly and horrible.
3. When I grow up I'll look like you and therefore I will be fat, ugly and horrible too.
Years later, I looked back on this conversation and the hundreds that followed and cursed you for feeling so unattractive, insecure and unworthy. Because, as my first and most influential role model, you taught me to believe the same thing about myself.
With every grimace at your reflection in the mirror, every new wonder diet that was going to change your life, and every guilty spoon of ''Oh-I-really-shouldn't'', I learned that women must be thin to be valid and worthy. Girls must go without because their greatest contribution to the world is their physical beauty.
 
Just like you, I have spent my whole life feeling fat. When did fat become a feeling anyway? And because I believed I was fat, I knew I was no good.
But now that I am older, and a mother myself, I know that blaming you for my body hatred is unhelpful and unfair. I now understand that you too are a product of a long and rich lineage of women who were taught to loathe themselves.
Look at the example Nanna set for you. Despite being what could only be described as famine-victim chic, she dieted every day of her life until the day she died at 79 years of age. She used to put on make-up to walk to the letterbox for fear that somebody might see her unpainted face.
 
I remember her ''compassionate'' response when you announced that Dad had left you for another woman. Her first comment was, ''I don't understand why he'd leave you. You look after yourself, you wear lipstick. You're overweight - but not that much.''
Before Dad left, he provided no balm for your body-image torment either.
 
''Jesus, Jan,'' I overheard him say to you. ''It's not that hard. Energy in versus energy out. If you want to lose weight you just have to eat less.''
That night at dinner I watched you implement Dad's ''Energy In, Energy Out: Jesus, Jan, Just Eat Less'' weight-loss cure. You served up chow mein for dinner. (Remember how in 1980s Australian suburbia, a combination of mince, cabbage, and soy sauce was considered the height of exotic gourmet?) Everyone else's food was on a dinner plate except yours. You served your chow mein on a tiny bread-and-butter plate.
As you sat in front of that pathetic scoop of mince, silent tears streamed down your face. I said nothing. Not even when your shoulders started heaving from your distress. We all ate our dinner in silence. Nobody comforted you. Nobody told you to stop being ridiculous and get a proper plate. Nobody told you that you were already loved and already good enough. Your achievements and your worth - as a teacher of children with special needs and a devoted mother of three of your own - paled into insignificance when compared with the centimetres you couldn't lose from your waist.
 
It broke my heart to witness your despair and I'm sorry that I didn't rush to your defence. I'd already learned that it was your fault that you were fat. I'd even heard Dad describe losing weight as a ''simple'' process - yet one that you still couldn't come to grips with. The lesson: you didn't deserve any food and you certainly didn't deserve any sympathy.
 
But I was wrong, Mum. Now I understand what it's like to grow up in a society that tells women that their beauty matters most, and at the same time defines a standard of beauty that is perpetually out of our reach. I also know the pain of internalising these messages. We have become our own jailors and we inflict our own punishments for failing to measure up.
 
No one is crueler to us than we are to ourselves.
But this madness has to stop, Mum. It stops with you, it stops with me and it stops now. We deserve better - better than to have our days brought to ruin by bad body thoughts, wishing we were otherwise.
 
And it's not just about you and me any more. It's also about Violet. Your granddaughter is only 3 and I do not want body hatred to take root inside her and strangle her happiness, her confidence and her potential. I don't want Violet to believe that her beauty is her most important asset; that it will define her worth in the world. When Violet looks to us to learn how to be a woman, we need to be the best role models we can. We need to show her with our words and our actions that women are good enough just the way they are. And for her to believe us, we need to believe it ourselves.
 
The older we get, the more loved ones we lose to accidents and illness. Their passing is always tragic and far too soon. I sometimes think about what these friends - and the people who love them - wouldn't give for more time in a body that was healthy. A body that would allow them to live just a little longer. The size of that body's thighs or the lines on its face wouldn't matter. It would be alive and therefore it would be perfect.
Your body is perfect too. It allows you to disarm a room with your smile and infect everyone with your laugh. It gives you arms to wrap around Violet and squeeze her until she giggles. Every moment we spend worrying about our physical ''flaws'' is a moment wasted, a precious slice of life that we will never get back.
 
Let us honour and respect our bodies for what they do instead of despising them for how they appear. Focus on living healthy and active lives, let our weight fall where it may, and consign our body hatred in the past where it belongs. When I looked at that photo of you in the white bathing suit all those years ago, my innocent young eyes saw the truth. I saw unconditional love, beauty and wisdom. I saw my Mum.
Love, Kasey xx
 
This is an excerpt from Dear Mum, a collection of letters from Australian sporting stars, musicians, models, cooks and authors revealing what they would like to say to their mothers before it's too late, or would have said if only they'd had the chance.
All royalties go to the National Breast Cancer Foundation. Published by Random House and available now.

http://www.stuff.co....r-says-shes-fat
 
Dear Mum,
 
I was seven when I discovered that you were fat, ugly and horrible. Up until that point I had believed that you were beautiful - in every sense of the word. I remember flicking through old photo albums and staring at pictures of you standing on the deck of a boat. Your white strapless bathing suit looked so glamorous, just like a movie star. Whenever I had the chance I'd pull out that wondrous white bathing suit hidden in your bottom drawer and imagine a time when I'd be big enough to wear it; when I'd be like you.
But all of that changed when, one night, we were dressed up for a party and you said to me, ''Look at you, so thin, beautiful and lovely. And look at me, fat, ugly and horrible.''
At first I didn't understand what you meant.
''You're not fat,'' I said earnestly and innocently, and you replied, ''Yes I am, darling. I've always been fat; even as a child.''
 
In the days that followed I had some painful revelations that have shaped my whole life. I learned that:
1. You must be fat because mothers don't lie.
2. Fat is ugly and horrible.
3. When I grow up I'll look like you and therefore I will be fat, ugly and horrible too.
Years later, I looked back on this conversation and the hundreds that followed and cursed you for feeling so unattractive, insecure and unworthy. Because, as my first and most influential role model, you taught me to believe the same thing about myself.
With every grimace at your reflection in the mirror, every new wonder diet that was going to change your life, and every guilty spoon of ''Oh-I-really-shouldn't'', I learned that women must be thin to be valid and worthy. Girls must go without because their greatest contribution to the world is their physical beauty.
 
Just like you, I have spent my whole life feeling fat. When did fat become a feeling anyway? And because I believed I was fat, I knew I was no good.
But now that I am older, and a mother myself, I know that blaming you for my body hatred is unhelpful and unfair. I now understand that you too are a product of a long and rich lineage of women who were taught to loathe themselves.
Look at the example Nanna set for you. Despite being what could only be described as famine-victim chic, she dieted every day of her life until the day she died at 79 years of age. She used to put on make-up to walk to the letterbox for fear that somebody might see her unpainted face.
 
I remember her ''compassionate'' response when you announced that Dad had left you for another woman. Her first comment was, ''I don't understand why he'd leave you. You look after yourself, you wear lipstick. You're overweight - but not that much.''
Before Dad left, he provided no balm for your body-image torment either.
 
''Jesus, Jan,'' I overheard him say to you. ''It's not that hard. Energy in versus energy out. If you want to lose weight you just have to eat less.''
That night at dinner I watched you implement Dad's ''Energy In, Energy Out: Jesus, Jan, Just Eat Less'' weight-loss cure. You served up chow mein for dinner. (Remember how in 1980s Australian suburbia, a combination of mince, cabbage, and soy sauce was considered the height of exotic gourmet?) Everyone else's food was on a dinner plate except yours. You served your chow mein on a tiny bread-and-butter plate.
As you sat in front of that pathetic scoop of mince, silent tears streamed down your face. I said nothing. Not even when your shoulders started heaving from your distress. We all ate our dinner in silence. Nobody comforted you. Nobody told you to stop being ridiculous and get a proper plate. Nobody told you that you were already loved and already good enough. Your achievements and your worth - as a teacher of children with special needs and a devoted mother of three of your own - paled into insignificance when compared with the centimetres you couldn't lose from your waist.
 
It broke my heart to witness your despair and I'm sorry that I didn't rush to your defence. I'd already learned that it was your fault that you were fat. I'd even heard Dad describe losing weight as a ''simple'' process - yet one that you still couldn't come to grips with. The lesson: you didn't deserve any food and you certainly didn't deserve any sympathy.
 
But I was wrong, Mum. Now I understand what it's like to grow up in a society that tells women that their beauty matters most, and at the same time defines a standard of beauty that is perpetually out of our reach. I also know the pain of internalising these messages. We have become our own jailors and we inflict our own punishments for failing to measure up.
 
No one is crueler to us than we are to ourselves.
But this madness has to stop, Mum. It stops with you, it stops with me and it stops now. We deserve better - better than to have our days brought to ruin by bad body thoughts, wishing we were otherwise.
 
And it's not just about you and me any more. It's also about Violet. Your granddaughter is only 3 and I do not want body hatred to take root inside her and strangle her happiness, her confidence and her potential. I don't want Violet to believe that her beauty is her most important asset; that it will define her worth in the world. When Violet looks to us to learn how to be a woman, we need to be the best role models we can. We need to show her with our words and our actions that women are good enough just the way they are. And for her to believe us, we need to believe it ourselves.
 
The older we get, the more loved ones we lose to accidents and illness. Their passing is always tragic and far too soon. I sometimes think about what these friends - and the people who love them - wouldn't give for more time in a body that was healthy. A body that would allow them to live just a little longer. The size of that body's thighs or the lines on its face wouldn't matter. It would be alive and therefore it would be perfect.
Your body is perfect too. It allows you to disarm a room with your smile and infect everyone with your laugh. It gives you arms to wrap around Violet and squeeze her until she giggles. Every moment we spend worrying about our physical ''flaws'' is a moment wasted, a precious slice of life that we will never get back.
 
Let us honour and respect our bodies for what they do instead of despising them for how they appear. Focus on living healthy and active lives, let our weight fall where it may, and consign our body hatred in the past where it belongs. When I looked at that photo of you in the white bathing suit all those years ago, my innocent young eyes saw the truth. I saw unconditional love, beauty and wisdom. I saw my Mum.
Love, Kasey xx
 
This is an excerpt from Dear Mum, a collection of letters from Australian sporting stars, musicians, models, cooks and authors revealing what they would like to say to their mothers before it's too late, or would have said if only they'd had the chance.
All royalties go to the National Breast Cancer Foundation. Published by Random House and available now.

http://www.stuff.co....r-says-shes-fat
 
Dear Mum,
 
I was seven when I discovered that you were fat, ugly and horrible. Up until that point I had believed that you were beautiful - in every sense of the word. I remember flicking through old photo albums and staring at pictures of you standing on the deck of a boat. Your white strapless bathing suit looked so glamorous, just like a movie star. Whenever I had the chance I'd pull out that wondrous white bathing suit hidden in your bottom drawer and imagine a time when I'd be big enough to wear it; when I'd be like you.
But all of that changed when, one night, we were dressed up for a party and you said to me, ''Look at you, so thin, beautiful and lovely. And look at me, fat, ugly and horrible.''
At first I didn't understand what you meant.
''You're not fat,'' I said earnestly and innocently, and you replied, ''Yes I am, darling. I've always been fat; even as a child.''
 
In the days that followed I had some painful revelations that have shaped my whole life. I learned that:
1. You must be fat because mothers don't lie.
2. Fat is ugly and horrible.
3. When I grow up I'll look like you and therefore I will be fat, ugly and horrible too.
Years later, I looked back on this conversation and the hundreds that followed and cursed you for feeling so unattractive, insecure and unworthy. Because, as my first and most influential role model, you taught me to believe the same thing about myself.
With every grimace at your reflection in the mirror, every new wonder diet that was going to change your life, and every guilty spoon of ''Oh-I-really-shouldn't'', I learned that women must be thin to be valid and worthy. Girls must go without because their greatest contribution to the world is their physical beauty.
 
Just like you, I have spent my whole life feeling fat. When did fat become a feeling anyway? And because I believed I was fat, I knew I was no good.
But now that I am older, and a mother myself, I know that blaming you for my body hatred is unhelpful and unfair. I now understand that you too are a product of a long and rich lineage of women who were taught to loathe themselves.
Look at the example Nanna set for you. Despite being what could only be described as famine-victim chic, she dieted every day of her life until the day she died at 79 years of age. She used to put on make-up to walk to the letterbox for fear that somebody might see her unpainted face.
 
I remember her ''compassionate'' response when you announced that Dad had left you for another woman. Her first comment was, ''I don't understand why he'd leave you. You look after yourself, you wear lipstick. You're overweight - but not that much.''
Before Dad left, he provided no balm for your body-image torment either.
 
''Jesus, Jan,'' I overheard him say to you. ''It's not that hard. Energy in versus energy out. If you want to lose weight you just have to eat less.''
That night at dinner I watched you implement Dad's ''Energy In, Energy Out: Jesus, Jan, Just Eat Less'' weight-loss cure. You served up chow mein for dinner. (Remember how in 1980s Australian suburbia, a combination of mince, cabbage, and soy sauce was considered the height of exotic gourmet?) Everyone else's food was on a dinner plate except yours. You served your chow mein on a tiny bread-and-butter plate.
As you sat in front of that pathetic scoop of mince, silent tears streamed down your face. I said nothing. Not even when your shoulders started heaving from your distress. We all ate our dinner in silence. Nobody comforted you. Nobody told you to stop being ridiculous and get a proper plate. Nobody told you that you were already loved and already good enough. Your achievements and your worth - as a teacher of children with special needs and a devoted mother of three of your own - paled into insignificance when compared with the centimetres you couldn't lose from your waist.
 
It broke my heart to witness your despair and I'm sorry that I didn't rush to your defence. I'd already learned that it was your fault that you were fat. I'd even heard Dad describe losing weight as a ''simple'' process - yet one that you still couldn't come to grips with. The lesson: you didn't deserve any food and you certainly didn't deserve any sympathy.
 
But I was wrong, Mum. Now I understand what it's like to grow up in a society that tells women that their beauty matters most, and at the same time defines a standard of beauty that is perpetually out of our reach. I also know the pain of internalising these messages. We have become our own jailors and we inflict our own punishments for failing to measure up.
 
No one is crueler to us than we are to ourselves.
But this madness has to stop, Mum. It stops with you, it stops with me and it stops now. We deserve better - better than to have our days brought to ruin by bad body thoughts, wishing we were otherwise.
 
And it's not just about you and me any more. It's also about Violet. Your granddaughter is only 3 and I do not want body hatred to take root inside her and strangle her happiness, her confidence and her potential. I don't want Violet to believe that her beauty is her most important asset; that it will define her worth in the world. When Violet looks to us to learn how to be a woman, we need to be the best role models we can. We need to show her with our words and our actions that women are good enough just the way they are. And for her to believe us, we need to believe it ourselves.
 
The older we get, the more loved ones we lose to accidents and illness. Their passing is always tragic and far too soon. I sometimes think about what these friends - and the people who love them - wouldn't give for more time in a body that was healthy. A body that would allow them to live just a little longer. The size of that body's thighs or the lines on its face wouldn't matter. It would be alive and therefore it would be perfect.
Your body is perfect too. It allows you to disarm a room with your smile and infect everyone with your laugh. It gives you arms to wrap around Violet and squeeze her until she giggles. Every moment we spend worrying about our physical ''flaws'' is a moment wasted, a precious slice of life that we will never get back.
 
Let us honour and respect our bodies for what they do instead of despising them for how they appear. Focus on living healthy and active lives, let our weight fall where it may, and consign our body hatred in the past where it belongs. When I looked at that photo of you in the white bathing suit all those years ago, my innocent young eyes saw the truth. I saw unconditional love, beauty and wisdom. I saw my Mum.
Love, Kasey xx
 
This is an excerpt from Dear Mum, a collection of letters from Australian sporting stars, musicians, models, cooks and authors revealing what they would like to say to their mothers before it's too late, or would have said if only they'd had the chance.
All royalties go to the National Breast Cancer Foundation. Published by Random House and available now.

I've just had my one year post op check up appointment this morning and I feel very positive after receiving wonderful feedback from my provider. Although my losses have slowed dramatically these last two months, Adam told me that I am 100% successful and ahead of the curve in terms of my success with the surgery.
My husband and I have really been focusing on getting more activity and my daily calories are in the range of 800-1200 a day - with protein first as always. I met with a trainer last week who has set up a program of simple strength training and cardio to help me get to my goal, which is a healthy BMI <25 - at 5'3" that is 140.
 
Hubby, who also had a VSG two weeks prior to my own, is essentially at goal and is focused on building muscle. I am statistically right where Adam projected me to be (175) though the number has been back and forth between 175- 178 these past weeks. Just about all of my co-morbidities are resolved - though osteo-arthritis does not have a resolution but rather is managed, my pain and mobility is astronomically better than it used to be.
 
Adam said that even if I do not lose another pound I am absolutely healthy - and that I have completely turned my health around from what it was 3 years ago. It feels great to know that I have made such great strides - finally, I am getting this monster under control. I showed him the alternate height/weight chart that factors in age and he said that absolutely as we get older it is fine if those numbers are a bit higher - it is still considered healthy.
 
I have a tendency to rip myself to shreds and to look upon myself as a failure, a history of depression, anxiety, and disordered thinking can tend to do that and I had started to do the same thing with my weight loss progress, beating myself up mentally because I had not yet achieved my ultimate goal - feeling like a failure and forgetting to celebrate the magnificent successes I have achieved. Feeling down because of all of the excess skin, the terrible toll so many years of carrying so many excess lbs. does to one's body - feeling guilt that I had done this to myself, defeated.
Feeling that I would never have ultimate success - it was a bit of a reboot to know that I am already a success in the eyes of this medical practitioner who was with me every step of the way with my surgery, the hematocrit levels that dropped to 19, the internal bleeding that followed, the multiple blood transfusions, the incisions that opened up at home when they finally let me return home from the hospital after a week - and sent me back to the ER. I was miserable for about 8 weeks after my surgery - it certainly took me a bit to recover.
 
I feel wonderful now, and am close to goal. I need to cherish the journey and recognize the incredible positive changes that my family and I have made over the past few years. It certainly takes a bit of practice to treat oneself well - just like this ongoing physical metamorphosis, it is a process, and there is no finish line. I will get to that goal eventually

I've just had my one year post op check up appointment this morning and I feel very positive after receiving wonderful feedback from my provider. Although my losses have slowed dramatically these last two months, Adam told me that I am 100% successful and ahead of the curve in terms of my success with the surgery.
My husband and I have really been focusing on getting more activity and my daily calories are in the range of 800-1200 a day - with protein first as always. I met with a trainer last week who has set up a program of simple strength training and cardio to help me get to my goal, which is a healthy BMI <25 - at 5'3" that is 140.
 
Hubby, who also had a VSG two weeks prior to my own, is essentially at goal and is focused on building muscle. I am statistically right where Adam projected me to be (175) though the number has been back and forth between 175- 178 these past weeks. Just about all of my co-morbidities are resolved - though osteo-arthritis does not have a resolution but rather is managed, my pain and mobility is astronomically better than it used to be.
 
Adam said that even if I do not lose another pound I am absolutely healthy - and that I have completely turned my health around from what it was 3 years ago. It feels great to know that I have made such great strides - finally, I am getting this monster under control. I showed him the alternate height/weight chart that factors in age and he said that absolutely as we get older it is fine if those numbers are a bit higher - it is still considered healthy.
 
I have a tendency to rip myself to shreds and to look upon myself as a failure, a history of depression, anxiety, and disordered thinking can tend to do that and I had started to do the same thing with my weight loss progress, beating myself up mentally because I had not yet achieved my ultimate goal - feeling like a failure and forgetting to celebrate the magnificent successes I have achieved. Feeling down because of all of the excess skin, the terrible toll so many years of carrying so many excess lbs. does to one's body - feeling guilt that I had done this to myself, defeated.
Feeling that I would never have ultimate success - it was a bit of a reboot to know that I am already a success in the eyes of this medical practitioner who was with me every step of the way with my surgery, the hematocrit levels that dropped to 19, the internal bleeding that followed, the multiple blood transfusions, the incisions that opened up at home when they finally let me return home from the hospital after a week - and sent me back to the ER. I was miserable for about 8 weeks after my surgery - it certainly took me a bit to recover.
 
I feel wonderful now, and am close to goal. I need to cherish the journey and recognize the incredible positive changes that my family and I have made over the past few years. It certainly takes a bit of practice to treat oneself well - just like this ongoing physical metamorphosis, it is a process, and there is no finish line. I will get to that goal eventually

I've just had my one year post op check up appointment this morning and I feel very positive after receiving wonderful feedback from my provider. Although my losses have slowed dramatically these last two months, Adam told me that I am 100% successful and ahead of the curve in terms of my success with the surgery.
My husband and I have really been focusing on getting more activity and my daily calories are in the range of 800-1200 a day - with protein first as always. I met with a trainer last week who has set up a program of simple strength training and cardio to help me get to my goal, which is a healthy BMI <25 - at 5'3" that is 140.
 
Hubby, who also had a VSG two weeks prior to my own, is essentially at goal and is focused on building muscle. I am statistically right where Adam projected me to be (175) though the number has been back and forth between 175- 178 these past weeks. Just about all of my co-morbidities are resolved - though osteo-arthritis does not have a resolution but rather is managed, my pain and mobility is astronomically better than it used to be.
 
Adam said that even if I do not lose another pound I am absolutely healthy - and that I have completely turned my health around from what it was 3 years ago. It feels great to know that I have made such great strides - finally, I am getting this monster under control. I showed him the alternate height/weight chart that factors in age and he said that absolutely as we get older it is fine if those numbers are a bit higher - it is still considered healthy.
 
I have a tendency to rip myself to shreds and to look upon myself as a failure, a history of depression, anxiety, and disordered thinking can tend to do that and I had started to do the same thing with my weight loss progress, beating myself up mentally because I had not yet achieved my ultimate goal - feeling like a failure and forgetting to celebrate the magnificent successes I have achieved. Feeling down because of all of the excess skin, the terrible toll so many years of carrying so many excess lbs. does to one's body - feeling guilt that I had done this to myself, defeated.
Feeling that I would never have ultimate success - it was a bit of a reboot to know that I am already a success in the eyes of this medical practitioner who was with me every step of the way with my surgery, the hematocrit levels that dropped to 19, the internal bleeding that followed, the multiple blood transfusions, the incisions that opened up at home when they finally let me return home from the hospital after a week - and sent me back to the ER. I was miserable for about 8 weeks after my surgery - it certainly took me a bit to recover.
 
I feel wonderful now, and am close to goal. I need to cherish the journey and recognize the incredible positive changes that my family and I have made over the past few years. It certainly takes a bit of practice to treat oneself well - just like this ongoing physical metamorphosis, it is a process, and there is no finish line. I will get to that goal eventually

I've just had my one year post op check up appointment this morning and I feel very positive after receiving wonderful feedback from my provider. Although my losses have slowed dramatically these last two months, Adam told me that I am 100% successful and ahead of the curve in terms of my success with the surgery.
My husband and I have really been focusing on getting more activity and my daily calories are in the range of 800-1200 a day - with protein first as always. I met with a trainer last week who has set up a program of simple strength training and cardio to help me get to my goal, which is a healthy BMI <25 - at 5'3" that is 140.
 
Hubby, who also had a VSG two weeks prior to my own, is essentially at goal and is focused on building muscle. I am statistically right where Adam projected me to be (175) though the number has been back and forth between 175- 178 these past weeks. Just about all of my co-morbidities are resolved - though osteo-arthritis does not have a resolution but rather is managed, my pain and mobility is astronomically better than it used to be.
 
Adam said that even if I do not lose another pound I am absolutely healthy - and that I have completely turned my health around from what it was 3 years ago. It feels great to know that I have made such great strides - finally, I am getting this monster under control. I showed him the alternate height/weight chart that factors in age and he said that absolutely as we get older it is fine if those numbers are a bit higher - it is still considered healthy.
 
I have a tendency to rip myself to shreds and to look upon myself as a failure, a history of depression, anxiety, and disordered thinking can tend to do that and I had started to do the same thing with my weight loss progress, beating myself up mentally because I had not yet achieved my ultimate goal - feeling like a failure and forgetting to celebrate the magnificent successes I have achieved. Feeling down because of all of the excess skin, the terrible toll so many years of carrying so many excess lbs. does to one's body - feeling guilt that I had done this to myself, defeated.
Feeling that I would never have ultimate success - it was a bit of a reboot to know that I am already a success in the eyes of this medical practitioner who was with me every step of the way with my surgery, the hematocrit levels that dropped to 19, the internal bleeding that followed, the multiple blood transfusions, the incisions that opened up at home when they finally let me return home from the hospital after a week - and sent me back to the ER. I was miserable for about 8 weeks after my surgery - it certainly took me a bit to recover.
 
I feel wonderful now, and am close to goal. I need to cherish the journey and recognize the incredible positive changes that my family and I have made over the past few years. It certainly takes a bit of practice to treat oneself well - just like this ongoing physical metamorphosis, it is a process, and there is no finish line. I will get to that goal eventually

I've just had my one year post op check up appointment this morning and I feel very positive after receiving wonderful feedback from my provider. Although my losses have slowed dramatically these last two months, Adam told me that I am 100% successful and ahead of the curve in terms of my success with the surgery.
My husband and I have really been focusing on getting more activity and my daily calories are in the range of 800-1200 a day - with protein first as always. I met with a trainer last week who has set up a program of simple strength training and cardio to help me get to my goal, which is a healthy BMI <25 - at 5'3" that is 140.
 
Hubby, who also had a VSG two weeks prior to my own, is essentially at goal and is focused on building muscle. I am statistically right where Adam projected me to be (175) though the number has been back and forth between 175- 178 these past weeks. Just about all of my co-morbidities are resolved - though osteo-arthritis does not have a resolution but rather is managed, my pain and mobility is astronomically better than it used to be.
 
Adam said that even if I do not lose another pound I am absolutely healthy - and that I have completely turned my health around from what it was 3 years ago. It feels great to know that I have made such great strides - finally, I am getting this monster under control. I showed him the alternate height/weight chart that factors in age and he said that absolutely as we get older it is fine if those numbers are a bit higher - it is still considered healthy.
 
I have a tendency to rip myself to shreds and to look upon myself as a failure, a history of depression, anxiety, and disordered thinking can tend to do that and I had started to do the same thing with my weight loss progress, beating myself up mentally because I had not yet achieved my ultimate goal - feeling like a failure and forgetting to celebrate the magnificent successes I have achieved. Feeling down because of all of the excess skin, the terrible toll so many years of carrying so many excess lbs. does to one's body - feeling guilt that I had done this to myself, defeated.
Feeling that I would never have ultimate success - it was a bit of a reboot to know that I am already a success in the eyes of this medical practitioner who was with me every step of the way with my surgery, the hematocrit levels that dropped to 19, the internal bleeding that followed, the multiple blood transfusions, the incisions that opened up at home when they finally let me return home from the hospital after a week - and sent me back to the ER. I was miserable for about 8 weeks after my surgery - it certainly took me a bit to recover.
 
I feel wonderful now, and am close to goal. I need to cherish the journey and recognize the incredible positive changes that my family and I have made over the past few years. It certainly takes a bit of practice to treat oneself well - just like this ongoing physical metamorphosis, it is a process, and there is no finish line. I will get to that goal eventually

I've just had my one year post op check up appointment this morning and I feel very positive after receiving wonderful feedback from my provider. Although my losses have slowed dramatically these last two months, Adam told me that I am 100% successful and ahead of the curve in terms of my success with the surgery.
My husband and I have really been focusing on getting more activity and my daily calories are in the range of 800-1200 a day - with protein first as always. I met with a trainer last week who has set up a program of simple strength training and cardio to help me get to my goal, which is a healthy BMI <25 - at 5'3" that is 140.
 
Hubby, who also had a VSG two weeks prior to my own, is essentially at goal and is focused on building muscle. I am statistically right where Adam projected me to be (175) though the number has been back and forth between 175- 178 these past weeks. Just about all of my co-morbidities are resolved - though osteo-arthritis does not have a resolution but rather is managed, my pain and mobility is astronomically better than it used to be.
 
Adam said that even if I do not lose another pound I am absolutely healthy - and that I have completely turned my health around from what it was 3 years ago. It feels great to know that I have made such great strides - finally, I am getting this monster under control. I showed him the alternate height/weight chart that factors in age and he said that absolutely as we get older it is fine if those numbers are a bit higher - it is still considered healthy.
 
I have a tendency to rip myself to shreds and to look upon myself as a failure, a history of depression, anxiety, and disordered thinking can tend to do that and I had started to do the same thing with my weight loss progress, beating myself up mentally because I had not yet achieved my ultimate goal - feeling like a failure and forgetting to celebrate the magnificent successes I have achieved. Feeling down because of all of the excess skin, the terrible toll so many years of carrying so many excess lbs. does to one's body - feeling guilt that I had done this to myself, defeated.
Feeling that I would never have ultimate success - it was a bit of a reboot to know that I am already a success in the eyes of this medical practitioner who was with me every step of the way with my surgery, the hematocrit levels that dropped to 19, the internal bleeding that followed, the multiple blood transfusions, the incisions that opened up at home when they finally let me return home from the hospital after a week - and sent me back to the ER. I was miserable for about 8 weeks after my surgery - it certainly took me a bit to recover.
 
I feel wonderful now, and am close to goal. I need to cherish the journey and recognize the incredible positive changes that my family and I have made over the past few years. It certainly takes a bit of practice to treat oneself well - just like this ongoing physical metamorphosis, it is a process, and there is no finish line. I will get to that goal eventually

So, I started the couch to 5k program this week, using the online support and the app I downloaded to my Android phone for free- I like it. It just vibrates my phone when it's time to switch from fast walk/run. I started it Monday and did ok- it's a big change from being off pretty much all activity other than walking to an actual regimented work out...I did a walk yesterday, and then the couch to 5k day two is today.
I'm pretty proud of myself, I was 240 post op, and today weighed in at 216 Can't complain about that. I'm not in new clothes just yet- but my old ones are falling off of me, which is finally a good feeling. I still don't see it in my body, I guess a bit in my face- and that's what people seem to tel me- plus my wedding ring is spinning like crazy on my finger- time to get one of those adjustable band attachments until my weightloss settles in and then I can go get it resized. Kinda exciting stuff if you ask me
 
Hope all is well with everyone else!!

I have watched every minute of all 14 season of The Biggest Loser. There are some pretty intresting findings from the study.
 
When Science Met The Biggest Loser
 
http://health.usnews.com/health-news/blogs/eat-run/2013/01/23/when-science-met-the-biggest-loser
 
By Yoni Freedhoff
January 23, 2013
 

Yoni Freedhoff
It's NBC's Monday night television juggernaut and the guilty pleasure of over 7 million viewers. Now in its 14th season, The Biggest Loser is a an industry unto itself, with a 2009 estimate by the New York Times pegging its worth at $100 million in annual revenue.
Viewers tuning in week after week can watch as Americans with severe obesity are routinely yelled at, exercised until they vomit, injured, weighed nearly naked on a giant scale, and seemingly taught that the numbers on that scale measure not only their weight, but also their self-worth and represent the only true value of their health and success.
 
[see Are You Exercising for the Right Reasons?]
Consequent perhaps to the show's immense popularity and polarizing approach, The Biggest Loser has led to the publication of a number of peer-reviewed medical studies that look at its impact on both the participants and the viewers. Their results are anything but pretty.
Two studies have been conducted that examine how watching The Biggest Loser affects viewers' attitudes towards those with obesity. Perhaps not surprisingly, given the apparent tenor of the show—that obesity is a consequence of personal laziness and gluttony—the first study, published in the journal Obesity, showed that watching even a single episode of The Biggest Loser led viewers to dramatically increase their own hateful and negative biases towards those with obesity.
 
[see How to Spot and Stop Bullying]
This result may be explicable on the basis of the second study, published in the journal Health Communication, which found that watching The Biggest Loser led viewers to be much more likely to believe that weight is well within an individual's locus of personal control. And, of course, that message echoes the show's­—that if you just want it badly enough, you can make it happen.The corollary is that if you don't make it happen, you must simply be lazy, which in turn may explain the increase seen in viewers' weight biases.
 
[see We're Not Fat Because We're Lazy]
Interestingly, those same viewers who, consequent to the show, might attribute being overweight to laziness, were reported to be less inclined (go figure) to want to exercise or expect it to be enjoyable after watching a 7.5 minute workout on the show, according to a study published this month in the American Journal of Health Behavior. "People are screaming and crying and throwing up, and if you’re not a regular exerciser you might think this is what exercise is—that it’s this horrible experience where you have to push yourself to the extremes and the limits, which is completely wrong," said the study's lead author Tanya Berry of the University of Alberta.
And what of the participants? Will being on The Biggest Loser change their lives forever? According to a paper published in the Journal of Clinical Endocrinology and Metabolism, the answer is yes, but perhaps for the worse. The researchers, including the show's own Robert Huizenga, looked at the metabolisms of participants following the completion of their first seven months with The Biggest Loser. As expected, due to weight loss and an effect broadly referred to as "metabolic adaptation," the participants' burned fewer calories at rest following their massive weight losses.
What wasn't expected was the the magnitude of that decrease; researchers found that participants metabolisms slowed by an average of 504 more calories than would have been expected simply as a consequence of losing weight. In other words, participants' metabolisms slowed down to a much greater degree than was predicted. In turn, this suggests that the show's approach to weight loss may have risks unto itself and led the researchers to state: "Unfortunately, fat free mass preservation did not prevent the slowing of metabolic rate during active weight loss, which may predispose to weight regain unless the participants maintain high levels of physical activity or significant caloric restriction."
This may explain why, when I interviewed three alumni of the TV show, they reported that 85 to 90 percent of participants regain most, if not all, of the weight that they lose, and that those who keep it off are generally the participants who have turned their losses into careers as personal trainers or motivational speakers.
Ultimately the current state of the evidence on the phenomenon known as The Biggest Loser is far from flattering. It suggests that the show may be detrimental to both viewers and participants in that its combination of derision, personal blame, and extremes of exercise and dieting fuel societal weight bias while simultaneously discouraging people from exercising. Meanwhile, for participants, it seems to disproportionately slow down their metabolisms to the point where they're burning a full meal fewer calories than would be expected by their losses.
 
[see Why We're So Fat: What's Behind the Latest Obesity Rates]
If you're a regular viewer here's my suggestion. Instead of spending two hours a week watching The Biggest Loser, why not use that same amount of time to ensure you pack your lunch for work each and every day and take three 20-minute walks a week with a friend or a loved one. No doubt the impact of those behaviors will be far more valuable and positive to your mental and physical well-being than watching a show that science suggests may be doing more harm than good.
 
[see 7 Mind-Blowing Benefits of Exercise]
 
Yoni Freedhoff, MD, is an assistant professor of family medicine at the University of Ottawa, where he's the founder and medical director of the Bariatric Medical Institute—dedicated to non-surgical weight management since 2004. Dr. Freedhoff sounds off daily on his award-winning blog, Weighty Matters, and is also easily reachable on Twitter. Dr. Freedhoff's latest book Why Diets Fail and How to Make Yours Work will be published by Random House’s Crown/Harmony in 2014.

We had a great support group meeting today and the topic was "Understanding the Desire to Eat" presented by Katie Mckenna, a specialist in both nutrition and psychology - her visits are always incredibly enlightening.
http://www.mckennaco...om/default.html
 
Our nutritionist also shared a new resource that looks interesting that I will most likely check out - the paste is from the bariatric section of thier website. I am of the belief that one can never have too many resources to help us long the way on this journey.
 
http://www.amihungry...c-Surgery.shtml
 
Am I Hungry? Mindful Eating Program
for Bariatric Surgery
 
 

 
The Am I Hungry? Mindful Eating Program for Bariatric Surgery helps resolve the mindless habits and emotional eating issues that lead to problems after bariatric surgery. It includes TWO books (both paperback)*:
Am I Hungry? Mindful Eating Program for Bariatric Surgery Companion Workbook and Journal *
Eat What You Love, Love What You Eat: How to Break Your Eat-Repent-Repeat Cycle

The award-winning book Eat What You Love, Love What You Eat is the foundation of this program; the Bariatric Surgery Companion Workbook and Awareness Journal shows you how to apply this life-changing approach after you've had bariatric surgery. (This program is appropriate for people who have had or are considering gastric bypass, the band, or the sleeve.)
Each of the eight workshops in the Bariatric Surgery Companion Workbook and Awareness Journal helps you apply what you’ve read in Eat What You Love, Love What You Eat to your daily life and explore issues that are unique to people who have had bariatric surgery. Each of the eight workshops also has a special section called "Adjust" to guide you through the necessary skills to adjust to your "new normal." (See Dr. May's article below: It's STILL Not About the Food.)
Download the Am I Hungry? Mindful Eating Program for Bariatric Surgery Companion Workbook and Journal table of contents and an excerpt from Workshop 8 listing the key concepts here.
*Available only as a set because the Bariatric Surgery Workbook and Awareness Journal is a companion to Eat What You Love, Love What You Eat: How to Break Your Eat-Repent-Repeat Cycle. It is not intended to be used alone. If you have already purchased Eat What You Love, Love What You Eat from us, you may email Orders@AmIHungry.com with your name so we can look it up (or you can email us a copy of your receipt). We are sorry for the inconvenience but it is very important that you use both books together!
 
Am I Hungry? Mindful Eating Program for Bariatric Surgery (set of two books) $39.90
Am I Hungry? Mindful Eating Workshops for Bariatric Surgery - Webinar
 
Participate in this workshop from the convenience and privacy of your own home!
Facilitator: Jeff Butts (Read Jeff's personal story here)
Dates: Wednesdays, March 6, 2013 - April 24, 2013
Time: 5:00 - 6:30 pm PST/6:00 - 7:30pm MST/7:00 - 8:30pm CST/8:00 - 9:30pm EST
Investment: $199
Click Here to Register
 
Email training@AmIHungry.com to receive advanced notification of future webinar dates.
Am I Hungry? Mindful Eating Workshops for Bariatric Surgery - Facilitator Training
 
Do you work with bariatric surgery patients? Now available: Facilitator Training to offer Am I Hungry? Mindful Eating Workshops for Bariatric Surgery in your bariatric center, office, or community! Please download the Facilitator Training information packet and contact us at 480 704-7811 or Training@AmIHungry.com to learn more.
About the Author Michelle May, M.D.
 
Michelle May, M.D. is a recovered yoyo dieter and the founder of the Am I Hungry?® Mindful Eating Workshops and Facilitator Training Program (www.AmIHungry.com). She is the award-winning author of Eat What You Love, Love What You Eat: How to Break Your Eat-Repent-Repeat Cycle that guides readers to eat fearlessly and mindfully. Eat What You Love, Love What You Eat received seven publishing awards including best book in the categories of health, best self-help, best nutrition, and mind-body-spirit and was named one of the Top 10 Diet Books in 2010 by Time.com (though Michelle insists that it is a how-not-to-diet book!). She is also the author of Eat What You Love, Love What You Eat with Diabetes.
Margaret Furtado, M.S., R.D. served as a consultant on this project:
 
Margaret Furtado, M.S., R.D. has specialized in bariatric surgery at bariatric surgery centers of excellence for over a decade, including Tufts Medical Center, Massachusetts General Hospital, and The Johns Hopkins Center for Bariatric Surgery. She is currently a Bariatric Nutrition Specialist at The University of Maryland Medical Center, in Baltimore, Maryland. Margaret has co-authored 3 patient-centered books on bariatric surgery and nutrition, including her newly-revised Recipes for Life After Weight Loss Surgery and The Complete Idiot's Guide to Eating Well After Weight Loss Surgery. She was one of the authors of the 2008 bariatric nutrition guidelines published by the American Society of Metabolic and Bariatric Surgery. Margaret speaks internationally on bariatric surgery and nutrition.
Bariatric Surgery: It's STILL Not About the Food!
 
Michelle May, M.D. writes about why mindful eating is so helpful for bariatric surgery patients:
 
Bariatric Surgery is Only a Tool
 
While bariatric surgery may be controversial, even bariatric surgeons agree that bariatric surgery is a tool, not a quick fix. This is a critical point because a tool can do nothing on its own; it requires skillful management by a knowledgeable user to work effectively. Therefore results following bariatric surgery depend on learning to use that tool optimally to develop and maintain a healthy lifestyle.
 
Adjusting to a New Normal
 
When people ask my opinion about bariatric surgery, I have to admit that it's a tough question because many people who decide to try surgery believe that they've tried everything else. Most have never even heard of intuitive or mindful eating.
 
Some believe or hope that having bariatric surgery will solve all of their problems—but nothing could be further from the truth. For example, if you’re an “emotional eater,” the situations and emotions that triggered eating in the past are unlikely to disappear simply because you’ve chosen to have bariatric surgery. As one patient said, “They didn’t operate on my brain!”
 
Some discover that they “miss” their friend—food—leaving them with a feeling of loss. As one person told me, "I've cut out my coping skill!"
 
Others believe that after surgery they won’t need to think about their eating anymore. In fact, it is just the opposite. You need to become very thoughtful about eating in order to use this tool optimally. If you’re not mindful about your eating, this “tool” can cause you to experience uncomfortable, even serious consequences—and you’ll be far less likely to get the results you hoped for.
 
Bottom line: It breaks my heart to see people invest so much yet continue to struggle in their relationship with food.
Bariatric Surgery and Mindful Eating
 
Since 1999, tens of thousands of people have used the Am I Hungry? Mindful Eating Program and/or read Eat What You Love, Love What You Eat, to resolve their difficult eating issues. There are often people in our workshops who have had also bariatric surgery. They explain that surgery did not fix their real problem and/or that they need additional skills to cope with their "new normal."
 
Mindfulness is beneficial because it teaches us to focus our attention and awareness on what is happening right now, which in turn, helps us disengage from habitual, unsatisfying, and unskillful habits and behaviors.
 
Specifically, mindful eating skills help resolve the mindless habits and emotional eating issues that lead to problems after bariatric surgery:
Eating too quickly
Taking large bites
Not chewing thoroughly
Eating while distracted leading to overconsumption
Not savoring food and therefore having difficulty feeling satisfied with small volumes of food
Eating too much, leading to vomiting and/or distention of the pouch
Grazing throughout the day
Eating "slider" foods and high-calorie soft foods and liquids, often in response to emotional triggers
Not consuming enough protein or nutrient-rich foods
Feeling deprived or left-out in social situations
Struggling to establish consistent physical activity
Transfer addictions
And many other issues...

Further, most people who make the difficult decision to have bariatric surgery want to improve their health and energy so they can live the vibrant life they crave. Yet without the additional tool of mindful eating, bariatric surgery can feel like a permanent diet that continues to consume your life. One of the most meaningful changes that happens when you learn to eat mindfully (whether you've had surgery or not!) is that it allows you to think about eating when you need to and free up your energy and attention to focus on living in between.
Am I Hungry? Mindful Eating Program for Bariatric Surgery
 
For all these reasons we felt that it was time to create a mindful eating program especially for people who have had (or who are considering) bariatric surgery. We have a brand new Bariatric Surgery Workbook and Awareness Journal and will also begin offering additional workshop training for Am I Hungry? Facilitators who work with bariatric surgery patients.
 
Am I Hungry? Mindful Eating Program for Bariatric Surgery (set of two books) $39.90
 
(For a sneak peek, download a pdf of the key concepts covered in this Am I Hungry? Mindful Eating program for Bariatric Surgery.)
 
I am personally very excited about bringing the life-changing concepts of intuitive and mindful eating to the many people who, despite having surgery, still find themselves stuck in an eat-repent-repeat cycle. After all, even after bariatric surgery, it still isn't really about the food.
 
Eat Mindfully, Live Vibrantly!
Michelle May, M.D.

I have watched every minute of all 14 season of The Biggest Loser. There are some pretty intresting findings from the study.
 
When Science Met The Biggest Loser
 
http://health.usnews.com/health-news/blogs/eat-run/2013/01/23/when-science-met-the-biggest-loser
 
By Yoni Freedhoff
January 23, 2013
 

Yoni Freedhoff
It's NBC's Monday night television juggernaut and the guilty pleasure of over 7 million viewers. Now in its 14th season, The Biggest Loser is a an industry unto itself, with a 2009 estimate by the New York Times pegging its worth at $100 million in annual revenue.
Viewers tuning in week after week can watch as Americans with severe obesity are routinely yelled at, exercised until they vomit, injured, weighed nearly naked on a giant scale, and seemingly taught that the numbers on that scale measure not only their weight, but also their self-worth and represent the only true value of their health and success.
 
[see Are You Exercising for the Right Reasons?]
Consequent perhaps to the show's immense popularity and polarizing approach, The Biggest Loser has led to the publication of a number of peer-reviewed medical studies that look at its impact on both the participants and the viewers. Their results are anything but pretty.
Two studies have been conducted that examine how watching The Biggest Loser affects viewers' attitudes towards those with obesity. Perhaps not surprisingly, given the apparent tenor of the show—that obesity is a consequence of personal laziness and gluttony—the first study, published in the journal Obesity, showed that watching even a single episode of The Biggest Loser led viewers to dramatically increase their own hateful and negative biases towards those with obesity.
 
[see How to Spot and Stop Bullying]
This result may be explicable on the basis of the second study, published in the journal Health Communication, which found that watching The Biggest Loser led viewers to be much more likely to believe that weight is well within an individual's locus of personal control. And, of course, that message echoes the show's­—that if you just want it badly enough, you can make it happen.The corollary is that if you don't make it happen, you must simply be lazy, which in turn may explain the increase seen in viewers' weight biases.
 
[see We're Not Fat Because We're Lazy]
Interestingly, those same viewers who, consequent to the show, might attribute being overweight to laziness, were reported to be less inclined (go figure) to want to exercise or expect it to be enjoyable after watching a 7.5 minute workout on the show, according to a study published this month in the American Journal of Health Behavior. "People are screaming and crying and throwing up, and if you’re not a regular exerciser you might think this is what exercise is—that it’s this horrible experience where you have to push yourself to the extremes and the limits, which is completely wrong," said the study's lead author Tanya Berry of the University of Alberta.
And what of the participants? Will being on The Biggest Loser change their lives forever? According to a paper published in the Journal of Clinical Endocrinology and Metabolism, the answer is yes, but perhaps for the worse. The researchers, including the show's own Robert Huizenga, looked at the metabolisms of participants following the completion of their first seven months with The Biggest Loser. As expected, due to weight loss and an effect broadly referred to as "metabolic adaptation," the participants' burned fewer calories at rest following their massive weight losses.
What wasn't expected was the the magnitude of that decrease; researchers found that participants metabolisms slowed by an average of 504 more calories than would have been expected simply as a consequence of losing weight. In other words, participants' metabolisms slowed down to a much greater degree than was predicted. In turn, this suggests that the show's approach to weight loss may have risks unto itself and led the researchers to state: "Unfortunately, fat free mass preservation did not prevent the slowing of metabolic rate during active weight loss, which may predispose to weight regain unless the participants maintain high levels of physical activity or significant caloric restriction."
This may explain why, when I interviewed three alumni of the TV show, they reported that 85 to 90 percent of participants regain most, if not all, of the weight that they lose, and that those who keep it off are generally the participants who have turned their losses into careers as personal trainers or motivational speakers.
Ultimately the current state of the evidence on the phenomenon known as The Biggest Loser is far from flattering. It suggests that the show may be detrimental to both viewers and participants in that its combination of derision, personal blame, and extremes of exercise and dieting fuel societal weight bias while simultaneously discouraging people from exercising. Meanwhile, for participants, it seems to disproportionately slow down their metabolisms to the point where they're burning a full meal fewer calories than would be expected by their losses.
 
[see Why We're So Fat: What's Behind the Latest Obesity Rates]
If you're a regular viewer here's my suggestion. Instead of spending two hours a week watching The Biggest Loser, why not use that same amount of time to ensure you pack your lunch for work each and every day and take three 20-minute walks a week with a friend or a loved one. No doubt the impact of those behaviors will be far more valuable and positive to your mental and physical well-being than watching a show that science suggests may be doing more harm than good.
 
[see 7 Mind-Blowing Benefits of Exercise]
 
Yoni Freedhoff, MD, is an assistant professor of family medicine at the University of Ottawa, where he's the founder and medical director of the Bariatric Medical Institute—dedicated to non-surgical weight management since 2004. Dr. Freedhoff sounds off daily on his award-winning blog, Weighty Matters, and is also easily reachable on Twitter. Dr. Freedhoff's latest book Why Diets Fail and How to Make Yours Work will be published by Random House’s Crown/Harmony in 2014.

I am currently reading 703: How I Lost More Than a Quarter Ton and Gained a Life by Nancy Makin. It is a well written memoir about her struggle with obesity. I Googled her this morning and came across an excerpt from an old blog post of hers that resonated with me. This same struggle will be one I deal with for as long as I am alive, hopefully I can continue on this path with honesty and grace.
http://www.amazon.co...-1&keywords=703
 
 
http://nancymakin.wordpress.com/
 
Your plan may be vastly different. Small steps make for big changes down the road. If you can’t do a lot, do what you can; excuses are just that… excuses for not moving forward. If you do this, you are sabotaging your future. If you act like a victim, you’ll always be a victim. If you want change, change the things you can, however insignificant they seem right now. Each positive act will bring results, just as surely as negative ones do…. they will change what you think, about you, your capabilities and about the world around you.
Do it for yourself, because you are valuable. Exercise, ie: activity, is only one aspect of a human being’s life. We are a mixture of body, mind and spirit. Neglecting any one of the “whole” causes the disconnect that leaves us faltering, unsure and feeling incomplete. Give your love and time to someone else today in any way you can and watch the magic that’s released. You will begin to treat yourself as you treat others… Little gestures move mountains.
 
Believe.