The Princess's New Clothes



As many of you know, I have been toying with the idea of a full blown weekend retreat for a couple of months now.  I’ve looked at monasteries, ashrams, yoga retreat centers and hippie tent camps out in the middle of nowhere, in search of something that felt like it might be a road to inner peace.  Every day I’ve spent at least an hour thinking “Should I go or should I stay home and save my money?”  A couple of times, I even filled out the registration form for a yoga center in the Berkshires, only to chicken-out when it came time to hit “send.”  Figuring out how to de-stress has been a very stressful endeavor.

Fast forward to yesterday.  Immediately after writing yesterday’s post, I thought about how, even if I am able to love myself a little, in spite of my weight, I am never able to love how I look.  Every day I wake up and squeeze myself into clothes that are either too small or simply unflattering to my new body shape.  I spend each day feeling a bit like a sausage, pulling at hems and sleeves and waist bands, willing the clothing to grow bigger.  As many women do, I have refused, for some time, to buy replacement “fat clothes.”  It feels like buying new bigger-sized clothing is equivalent to admitting defeat and rewarding myself for bad behavior, all at the same time.  I’ve bargained with myself for many months – “If you lose fifteen pounds, you can get a new outfit.”  Needless to say, I haven’t gotten a new outfit in a long time. 

Then, when the mail came yesterday, I received: a girly magazine containing a feature story about a department store’s new line of plus size clothing; a flyer for that store showing all of that store’s cute plus size spring line; a coupon for 50% off my purchases at the store; a coupon for an extra $10 off my purchases at the store; and, a gift certificate (from a friend of mine who knows I’ve been feeling down) for that same store.  Okay God of All Things Retail…you have my attention.

I’ve decided that it is time to stop punishing myself for my weight gain by denying myself clothing that fits.  I have decided to stop fretting over spending money on a weekend getaway that may or may not make me more at peace going into this donor cycle.  I have decided that I can kill two birds with one stone by spending the money I would have spent on a weekend getaway on clothes that make me feel pretty and happy each day.  I will no longer be stressing every day about whether I should go away the next weekend because that money will already be gone.  Decision made.  And, in return, I will get the inner peace that comes from being confident about how I look.  Good bye Sausage…Hello Saucy.  At least that’s the plan.  Who knows?  Maybe the confidence boost will even motivate me to get out and get some more exercise so that I feel even better about myself.  I am also able to rationalize this decision by saying, “If I do manage to lose some weight, I will have cute maternity clothes lined up for awhile.”

You heard it here first…a royal decree has been issued – Today is Retail Therapy Day!  This Princess is getting some new clothes…and not the invisible kind!



The Portly Princess...

This morning, as I woke up thinking “Do I take the pugs for a walk, or do I curl up on the couch,” I realized that I am twice the woman I used to be…literally!  When I was doing pageants and modeling as a teen, I weighed slightly less than half of what I weigh now.  I have doubled in size.  The guilt and self-shame came washing in with that realization but…holding firmly to my recently found sunny outlook…I decided to examine the positives associated with where I was and where I am now.

I am twice the size I used to be and that is undeniable.  But…I am also twice the age I was when I was a little twig.  I also am twice the person I used to be in terms of experience.  Since age 16, I have lived through a physically abusive relationship, a break-up with my first true love, completing a four year psychology degree in three years, putting myself through law school, taking custody of my teenage sister, raising my teenage sister, keeping my mentally ill mother from ending up on the streets, moving to a new part of the state (three times), dating causally for a few months, meeting my husband and getting married, buying a home, working in a private law firm, working for the state, undergoing a appendectomy, undergoing a gall bladder removal, beating bulimia and anorexia, undergoing 6 failed IUI’s, undergoing 6 failed IVF’s, undergoing 6 laparoscopies, undergoing 1 laparotomy, enduring the loss of one ovary and one fallopian tube, the loss of my grandmother and aunt, and the loss of my naivety.  Because of these experiences, I now know that I am more than twice as strong as I ever would have thought I could be.

Even the doubling of my weight has been “helpful” in developing my personality.  When I was a tiny teen, I really believed that my best assets were my hair, eyes and legs.  I thought the best way to get what you wanted in life was to flirt, relentlessly.  I knew I had a genius IQ but, while I always got good grades, I worked hard to play stupid so that people wouldn’t expect too much from me.  I didn’t want people to know I was smart because that meant that guys wouldn’t like me as much…which was all I really cared about back then.  Being fat, you learn to find friends and boyfriends who actually like you for who you are…not how you look and what you do.  You learn that it is helpful to be pretty, but in the adult world, you can overcome any deficiencies in your attractiveness by being smart and a hard worker.  The converse is not true…employers will only put up with the pretty but incompetent girl for so long.  Being fat forces you to find self-worth in accomplishments, rather than compliments.  Being fat also forced me to stop being the superficial, judgmental brat that I used to be.  The girls I picked on in high school are skinnier than I am now (thank you Facebook).  No one seems to remember how mean I was about weight.  Old high school classmates say “You were always so nice!”  But I remember at least thinking nasty things about people, solely based on their looks.  And I am so glad that I am not that person anymore.

I am not saying that I wouldn’t give up a toe (maybe not a big toe) to lose all of the weight I’ve put on and go back to the pleasantries that go along with being thin and attractive…but only because I believe that I would never lose the lessons that I’ve learned as a fat person.  It has not been easy being twice the person I used to be…in any sense.  And I NEVER want to be three times the person I used to be…no matter what emotional self-growth that might foster.  But, today, instead of beating myself up over my weight gain…or obsessing over how long it would take me to lose all of that weight, only to declare defeat before I even get started…I am going to just relax and chalk it up to a life lesson.  My girth may have grown, but so has my heart…and for that, I am thankful.



There Lived A Beautiful Princess...but she got fat on infertility meds

“Inside some of us is a thin person struggling to get out, but they can usually be sedated with a few pieces of chocolate” ~Author Unknown

The third phrase in a fairy tale is frequently something to the effect of “there lived a beautiful princess.”  Beauty is a tough thing when you’re dealing with infertility.  I’ve taken an injection of HcG, the pregnancy hormone, lots of times to trigger ovulation for an IUI or IVF.  No one has ever said to me, during this process, “Oh…You are positively glowing.”  No.  Usually I get a comment from my husband like “Sweats, again?”   To which I have to shamefully reply, “I’ve really grown to appreciate elastic waistbands.”

I don’t know about the rest of you, but infertility has not been kind to my waistline.  In fact, this weekend, I reached a milestone…and not a good one.  As of Saturday, I am officially 60 pounds heavier than I was when I first started treating for infertility.  That’s right…not a typo…60!!!  And, to paint the picture in all its ugliness, I was not thin when I started this journey.  In fact, my first RE was on my case about my weight from the beginning, repeatedly telling me how much being overweight would hurt my chances of being pregnant (needless to say, he is no longer my RE).  I won’t give my exact weight to you…even in an anonymous blog I am too ashamed to share that little tidbit.  But the number that stared back at me from my scale’s display screen on Saturday was like a big slap in the face.  And I might have needed it.

I’ve been in denial about the weight I’ve been packing on for a year or two now.  I don’t lie about the fact that Ben & Jerry have become two of my closest friends.  How could I?  But I have lied to myself and to others about the extent of the problem.  Food has become my drug of choice and with infertility, there are a lot of emotions to be numbed.  Some nights I can feel sad, angry, scared and bored all at the same time.  Those are typically pizza nights.  I never reach for a salad in times of despair. 

So, reaching Saturday’s milestone made me face up to the fact that, not only has my weight been on a steady incline since finding out getting pregnant wasn’t going to be easy, I have also been on a binge for a long time.  I am eating enough calories for two or three people a day and I truly didn’t even realize it.  I tried to trace the binge back to its beginnings and, to my astonishment, I can recall the exact moment that it started.

A few days before Thanksgiving, I received the news that my IVF cycle was cancelled because, after 24 days on stimulating medications, I still had no follicles growing.  I was devastated.  I went for a drive to gather my thoughts and when I got home, I had a text message from my husband’s younger (and only) sister, announcing that she was pregnant with the family’s first grandchild.  I literally threw-up when I read the message.  I love my sister-in-law.  She rocks!  And I am really happy for her, but her pregnancy has been devastating to me.  She got married a year and a half ago and she and her husband had decided to wait to have a baby until they bought a house.  I was so relieved when I heard about their plan because I thought “Well, at least we’ll have chance to get pregnant first.”  Awful, I know…but I couldn’t get past the fantasy about having the first grandchild.  So, my sister-in-law and her husband closed on their house in October…and she announced her pregnancy in November.  That is the day the binge began.

I initially pulled it together to be the supportive person that I am expected to be, but the pregnancy was always there in the back of my mind and sometimes in the forefront of my mind.  Then, I had to deal with Christmas.  I was having panic attacks about how I was going to deal with Christmas at my husband’s family’s house, as it would inevitably become a celebration of the pregnancy.  My husband’s response was not to comfort me…oh, no.  He got irritated with me, said he couldn’t understand how I could be mad at his sister for being pregnant (sometimes guys really don’t get it), and told me not to ruin having a niece or nephew for him and not to ruin Christmas for his family by moping around.  He has been put in his place for these comments, but he did serious damage to my already fragile self esteem that day.  In addition to feeling miserable that I wasn’t pregnant, I now had to feel guilty about feeling miserable.  I made it through Christmas without making a scene, but I have only recently pulled out of what I can best describe as alternating bouts of mild depression and severe anxiety.  That was how the binge that I am on began and how it kept being fueled through the holidays.  After that, I think momentum just took hold and carried me through January.

So how do I fix this situation?  I’m not sure, but I think it is good that I at least am asking the question.  I know taking away my own excuses would be helpful.  Yeah the stimulating medications make you put on weight, but not 60 pounds and not when you aren’t even on the meds anymore (which I’m not).  I think that dealing with my own guilt and self esteem issues (related to my infertility) would help, too.  I’m hoping that admitting this issue to all of you will also be helpful…accountability never hurt anyone.  If anyone else has tackled this issue and has some advice for me, I would be so appreciative if you shared.  I know I can’t be alone on this one.