sitting next to people at a table made me feel so big and awkward. And Lord help me if there was a booth I had to squeeze into. Hard to be full of confidence when the table is jabbed into your huge stomach, or God forbid, when others are watching as you try to slide your big ass off the vinyl seat at the end of the meal. It sounds funny, and I suppose I can find some humor in it now, but trust me—back then, it was terrifying.
I was really good at my job, but I was horrible at the social responsibilities that go along with making it in business. I would avoid the company Christmas party every year. What in the world was I to wear? It was a black-tie affair, and most of my female coworkers would arrive in strapless gowns with slits up to there and stilettos. The only size-24 options for me were grandmother-of-the-bride-type selections. One year I found a black and gold long-sleeved sequined jacket and a long black velvet skirt. The jacket was kind of low cut, and I had to buy a special bra to try to create some somewhat attractive cleavage. Truly, I just wanted to crawl under a rock, but I knew I had to go, so I made the best of it. As I got ready for the evening, I tried to convince myself I was young and beautiful and glamorous,but the reality was anything but. The special bra nearly cut off my circulation, and the acts of contortion I had to perform to get into the shimmery off-black Just My Size pantyhose were nothing short of breathtaking. I tried not to be bitter as I considered the fact that the entire outfit cost me almost $500, and I didn’t even want to go! I spent the evening smiling and laughing and trying to talk to all the right people. But inside I was mourning the fact that I was dressed way beyond my twenty-eight years—and trying to ignore that I was about to pop out of my 3X top.
The price of being fat was sky-high for me in so many ways. It had robbed me of my dream of being an on-air news reporter. When I settled for wanting to make it in news management, my size kept me from feeling the confidence I needed in order to succeed. As I failed in my career, suffered in my marriage, and started wanting nothing more than to hide from the entire world, I began to realize there was no hiding, no escape. Being morbidly obese affects every single aspect of your life. And to me, there was no way out.
4
The Tale of Three Weddings
The dress didn’t fit.
I’m pretty sure that ranks at the top of the nightmare list for every bride-to-be. For months leading up to the big day, we sweat every detail: Should we serve chicken or beef? Will a DJ be enough, or should we splurge and hire a band? Can I get away with seating my future cousins-in-law with crazy Great Aunt Lucille? We make lists, we research bridal magazines, and we consult experts, trying to make sure it’s a day everyone will always remember. I was no exception in this regard; after five years with an absolute toad, I’d found my Prince Charming, and I couldn’t wait to become Mrs. Joyner. Like all girls, I’d always dreamed of a fairy-tale wedding, and my gown was the centerpiece of that fantasy. Because I got married in the early 1990s, bigger was definitely better, and the dress I picked out was long and flowing in a sea of ruffles and satin and tulle. In my mind I was going to be a vision.
There was one slight problem. Six weeks before the big day, I resigned myself to the awful truth: I couldn’t fit into my wedding dress. Not even close. And no amount of alteration was going to solve the problem.
My wedding was toward the beginning of my weight gain—I was bordering on 180 pounds, and I was in an absolute panic.When I picked out my gown eight months before the event, I felt sure that I could lose the weight necessary to get into the size-12 dress. After all, what better motivation could I find than looking good for my own wedding? I just knew that I could buckle down and do whatever it took to make my dreams come true.
Of course that
I was really good at my job, but I was horrible at the social responsibilities that go along with making it in business. I would avoid the company Christmas party every year. What in the world was I to wear? It was a black-tie affair, and most of my female coworkers would arrive in strapless gowns with slits up to there and stilettos. The only size-24 options for me were grandmother-of-the-bride-type selections. One year I found a black and gold long-sleeved sequined jacket and a long black velvet skirt. The jacket was kind of low cut, and I had to buy a special bra to try to create some somewhat attractive cleavage. Truly, I just wanted to crawl under a rock, but I knew I had to go, so I made the best of it. As I got ready for the evening, I tried to convince myself I was young and beautiful and glamorous,but the reality was anything but. The special bra nearly cut off my circulation, and the acts of contortion I had to perform to get into the shimmery off-black Just My Size pantyhose were nothing short of breathtaking. I tried not to be bitter as I considered the fact that the entire outfit cost me almost $500, and I didn’t even want to go! I spent the evening smiling and laughing and trying to talk to all the right people. But inside I was mourning the fact that I was dressed way beyond my twenty-eight years—and trying to ignore that I was about to pop out of my 3X top.
The price of being fat was sky-high for me in so many ways. It had robbed me of my dream of being an on-air news reporter. When I settled for wanting to make it in news management, my size kept me from feeling the confidence I needed in order to succeed. As I failed in my career, suffered in my marriage, and started wanting nothing more than to hide from the entire world, I began to realize there was no hiding, no escape. Being morbidly obese affects every single aspect of your life. And to me, there was no way out.
4
The Tale of Three Weddings
The dress didn’t fit.
I’m pretty sure that ranks at the top of the nightmare list for every bride-to-be. For months leading up to the big day, we sweat every detail: Should we serve chicken or beef? Will a DJ be enough, or should we splurge and hire a band? Can I get away with seating my future cousins-in-law with crazy Great Aunt Lucille? We make lists, we research bridal magazines, and we consult experts, trying to make sure it’s a day everyone will always remember. I was no exception in this regard; after five years with an absolute toad, I’d found my Prince Charming, and I couldn’t wait to become Mrs. Joyner. Like all girls, I’d always dreamed of a fairy-tale wedding, and my gown was the centerpiece of that fantasy. Because I got married in the early 1990s, bigger was definitely better, and the dress I picked out was long and flowing in a sea of ruffles and satin and tulle. In my mind I was going to be a vision.
There was one slight problem. Six weeks before the big day, I resigned myself to the awful truth: I couldn’t fit into my wedding dress. Not even close. And no amount of alteration was going to solve the problem.
My wedding was toward the beginning of my weight gain—I was bordering on 180 pounds, and I was in an absolute panic.When I picked out my gown eight months before the event, I felt sure that I could lose the weight necessary to get into the size-12 dress. After all, what better motivation could I find than looking good for my own wedding? I just knew that I could buckle down and do whatever it took to make my dreams come true.
Of course that
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