didn’t happen. It was my sophomore year of college, and I was taking a full load of courses. I’d recently landed the on-air reporting job in Florence, which meant I spent three days a week commuting more than three hours. And the wedding I was trying to plan, on my own, was two hours away from where I lived. And we all know how I handled stress.
As the wedding drew near, I took drastic steps. I would vow to fast for several days during the week, only allowing myself to drink liquids and eat Popsicles. When the hunger drove me mad, I would alter the plan, restricting my diet to about 250 calories a day. Of course this strategy was disastrous and only led me to binge eat out of starvation and frustration. Six weeks before the wedding, I could deny it no longer—the dress just didn’t fit.
Here’s where my saint of a mother came in. She should have been furious. She should have let me have it on both sides for being so irresponsible, but she’s not built that way. When I tearfully told her on the phone that the dress wasn’t going to work, she soothingly talked me down, assuring me it would be all right. And it was, at least for a little while. The next day she called with the great news: Her best friend’s daughter was willing to loan me her wedding dress. It was a size 16, so it should be plenty big, my mom told me. I’d been to her wedding, and I remembered the dress as being quite beautiful. She and I wereabout the same height, so I knew the length would work just fine. It was awful to think I would not be able to wear the gown I’d chosen for myself, that I would have to rely on the charity of others for one of the biggest days of my life. But I pushed those disappointments away, realizing I really had no other choice. Of course I didn’t tell my mom that I had recently started buying work clothes in size 18; my size 16s were getting a little snug.
No problem,
I told myself.
I’ll lose just a little weight, just to be sure. No problem.
I had six weeks before hundreds of my friends and family would gather to watch me exchange vows with the man of my dreams. My parents were spending thousands of dollars on my wedding, and I wasn’t sure I would have a dress to wear. Sure, I had a backup plan, but who really knew if it was a realistic one? I had to work every weekend leading up to the wedding; my new reporting job would only allow me a few days off for a honeymoon—there was no extra time. My weekdays were spent in classes, and I simply couldn’t make the two-hour trip home to try on the dress. In my moments of panic, I assured myself it would fit, that everything would be all right. Surely this had happened before—surely I wasn’t the first bride to do this, right? When my breathing got harder and my head got dizzy, I would have a little something to eat to settle my nerves, promising myself that I would do better the next day.
I lost zero pounds before my wedding.
I finally made it home the Thursday night before the Saturday evening ceremony. You would think the first thing I would do would be to rush right over to try on the dress, making sure that it was going to work. In fact my mom’s friend was going tobring the dress right over, but I feigned an excuse, saying I was meeting friends who were coming into town. I just couldn’t face it—I was terrified at the thought of the dress not fitting, so I buried it away and refused to deal with it. My mom looked a little worried, but as I walked out the door I assured her it would all be fine.
I needed to try on the dress, but I couldn’t make myself. I was scared to death, and I just didn’t want to know.
But you’re going to have to know sooner or later!
that rational voice inside my head insisted. But once again, rational thinking was not at play.
Friday dawned, and a full day of activities stretched before me: final trip to the florist, lunch with out-of-town guests, quick trip to the mall for some last-minute bridesmaid’s gifts. I had a lot
As the wedding drew near, I took drastic steps. I would vow to fast for several days during the week, only allowing myself to drink liquids and eat Popsicles. When the hunger drove me mad, I would alter the plan, restricting my diet to about 250 calories a day. Of course this strategy was disastrous and only led me to binge eat out of starvation and frustration. Six weeks before the wedding, I could deny it no longer—the dress just didn’t fit.
Here’s where my saint of a mother came in. She should have been furious. She should have let me have it on both sides for being so irresponsible, but she’s not built that way. When I tearfully told her on the phone that the dress wasn’t going to work, she soothingly talked me down, assuring me it would be all right. And it was, at least for a little while. The next day she called with the great news: Her best friend’s daughter was willing to loan me her wedding dress. It was a size 16, so it should be plenty big, my mom told me. I’d been to her wedding, and I remembered the dress as being quite beautiful. She and I wereabout the same height, so I knew the length would work just fine. It was awful to think I would not be able to wear the gown I’d chosen for myself, that I would have to rely on the charity of others for one of the biggest days of my life. But I pushed those disappointments away, realizing I really had no other choice. Of course I didn’t tell my mom that I had recently started buying work clothes in size 18; my size 16s were getting a little snug.
No problem,
I told myself.
I’ll lose just a little weight, just to be sure. No problem.
I had six weeks before hundreds of my friends and family would gather to watch me exchange vows with the man of my dreams. My parents were spending thousands of dollars on my wedding, and I wasn’t sure I would have a dress to wear. Sure, I had a backup plan, but who really knew if it was a realistic one? I had to work every weekend leading up to the wedding; my new reporting job would only allow me a few days off for a honeymoon—there was no extra time. My weekdays were spent in classes, and I simply couldn’t make the two-hour trip home to try on the dress. In my moments of panic, I assured myself it would fit, that everything would be all right. Surely this had happened before—surely I wasn’t the first bride to do this, right? When my breathing got harder and my head got dizzy, I would have a little something to eat to settle my nerves, promising myself that I would do better the next day.
I lost zero pounds before my wedding.
I finally made it home the Thursday night before the Saturday evening ceremony. You would think the first thing I would do would be to rush right over to try on the dress, making sure that it was going to work. In fact my mom’s friend was going tobring the dress right over, but I feigned an excuse, saying I was meeting friends who were coming into town. I just couldn’t face it—I was terrified at the thought of the dress not fitting, so I buried it away and refused to deal with it. My mom looked a little worried, but as I walked out the door I assured her it would all be fine.
I needed to try on the dress, but I couldn’t make myself. I was scared to death, and I just didn’t want to know.
But you’re going to have to know sooner or later!
that rational voice inside my head insisted. But once again, rational thinking was not at play.
Friday dawned, and a full day of activities stretched before me: final trip to the florist, lunch with out-of-town guests, quick trip to the mall for some last-minute bridesmaid’s gifts. I had a lot
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