Friday, April 15, 2016

He knows how much I really weigh


He knows how much I weigh. 
I know how much he weighs. 
He knows what size pants I wear. 
I know what size pants he wears. 
He knows what size shirts I wear. 
I know what size shirts he wears. 
He's seen my body imperfections. 
I've seen his imperfections 
He's seen my fattest picture (that survived. ) 
I've seen his worst picture. 
He's seen my fat pants.
I've see his fat pants (and tried them on) 
He's seen it all. 
I've seen it all. 

Never in my life did I think I would meet a man who would know all of the above. Every woman out there knows that telling your man how much you weigh can be the scariest thing....ever. We've all done it, we've all gave a "rough estimate" or deducted 10 (sometimes 20) pounds from the actual number. 

Since I have always been bigger (there really is no nice way to say that), I have never asked any man I was with how much they weighed for the fear that then he would ask me. And I had never been ready to cross that bridge with anyone. 

Until now. 

I am with someone now who is going through this journey with me. We both have a decent amount of weight to lose and we both get it. There is no judgement, there is no shaming, there is encouragement and support. He knows exactly what I weigh. He knows what I lose or gain every week and vise Versa. 

And now that it's all out there in the open with him, it's not so scary anymore. It just is. 

I love that he is honest with me. He is my go to shopping partner because he will tell me if it looks good or not. He's constantly challenging me to try in smaller/more fitting clothing. And let's face facts, when you are fat, if a shirt "hugs your body" it's too small. My days of wearing hoodies all fall/winter are numbered. 

When you have that openness with your partner through this journey, it is amazing. When someone else gets it and they understand it, it's easier to listen and accept their support. I know that if he's trying on clothes and I tell him "no it doesn't look good" he knows I'm not offending him or trying to hurt him, I'm being supportive and honest. 

I love that I have my girls to support me who are also going through the same journey. But I am blessed beyond anything to have my babe going through this with me. 


***side note, the pic of Mike is from Christmas/now. He's down 50.0lbs and he's gaining so much confidence 

Monday, April 4, 2016

I miss the smell of her cigarettes

 

I have tried for months to write about my mom. I never get past the first few lines. But I keep trying, because I know I have a lot of emotions and things I want to say. 

I miss her. Everyone keeps telling me it will get easier with time but I honestly think it's getting harder with time. Part of me feels like she is in treatment for a few months and she lost her phone privileges. Growing up a child of an addict, that actually happens. It has happened more than once in my lifetime. 

But with each passing day reality sets in that she is not in treatment, she did not lose her phone privileges and she really is gone.  

She's gone. 

I talk to her all the time. While I'm at home, when I'm driving, sometimes even when I'm walking through target. I feel like she hears me, but I would give anything for her to answer back. I listen to her voicemails all the time. Just to hear her voice, her take a drag of her cigarette and just to feel like she's replying to a message I just left her. 

I miss her smell the most. And anyone who truly knows me KNOWS I am the worst ex smoker on the planet and the smell of smoke is disgusting. BUT I miss the smell of her cigarettes. 

I miss so many things. I miss her calling to tell me to DVR some show on my DVR cause she couldn't figure hers out. I miss her talking baby talk to my cat aka her grand cats. I miss her guacamole. I miss her laugh. I miss playing cards with her. I miss cooking with her. I miss talking to her the most. 

I miss having a mom.

 She was the only parent I had and it's a shitty feeling when you realize you have no parents left. I don't care how old you are, you always want your mom. Every time I am sick or I had a fright with a friend or I found a new thing at target, I want to call her and tell her. 

Last summer I told her I met Mike. I didn't know him really well at the time so I didn't tell her much. I do remember telling her about his New Yorker accent and she told me "you would do well with a New Yorker." She never saw a picture of him and she never got to meet him. That will break my heart forever. 

Sometimes I play how I think them meeting would go in my head. I know she would have loved him. I know she would have asked him the most inappropriate questions and showed him the worst pictures of me in existence. I know she would have told him how desperately she wanted grandkids at to early and scared the crap out of him. I just know they would have hit it off. 

I still have a hard time driving by her apartment. I can't go into her old work. I struggle listening to some of her favorite songs. And I still can't throw away this ugly rug she gave me, it's still in my room. 

Will this ever get easier, I don't know. All I know is that I struggle every single day. I miss her. 

I miss having a mom. 

That's all I can say right now.