How did I get so overweight?

My weight at the first meeting is 80.6 kilos or 12.95, with a BMI of 31.4. Fanbloodytastic. How did I get to this? I wasn’t overweight as a child, or as a teenager. In fact, the first time I really put on proper overweight weight was a period in my early twenties. I had just started my first proper job after finishing a postgraduate degree, and my boyfriend had moved in with me. We both worked long hours, and our spare time revolved around going to the pub, going to the Indian restaurant at the end of the road, ordering out takeaway pizzas, beers and videos. We loved our food and drink. Still do. Yes, we are still together 15 or so odd years later, and our idea of a perfect night is still takeaway pizza and beers. True love eh?

Anyway, I saw the extra stone creep on, and made an effort to keep it in check. It wasn’t until we bought our first house, which involved a herculean commute involving lots of running for buses, that the weight dropped off properly. This was partly because I changed jobs, my hours were longer, which meant that I wasn’t eating gigantic meals, and I spent a lot of time walking. I was back to my teenage litheness. My work outfits were size 8 to 10. My figure was wonderful, in retrospect, but of course, like everyone, I didn’t quite see it. It was a period of confidence for me. I felt like I had power over myself and others. I applied for my dream job, got it, and cockily negotiated a payrise. My new job involved moving away, so I packed up my life, left my home, friends and family, and danced off into the unknown. It was scary but exhilarating. I was a hit. The pretty “bright young thing” of the mostly male company. And more than a bit of a flirt. I could get anything done by flashing a friendly smile. Clearly alarmed, my boyfriend decided to join me in my new city six months later. ;) He was still working away a lot, but by now I had made some friends from outside work and I continued to eat out and go to the pub every night. People used to marvel at how much I could eat and yet remain slim. I suppose it was a marvel. The only exercise I was getting really was the 40 minute brisk walk to work. But then there was the 40 minute walk back from work, and the 40 minutes brisk walks to the restaurants/pubs/friends houses. I walked everywhere.

Then, something happened. It's not something I really want to go into too much, but it brought me down to earth with a bump. The basics are that somebody got a tad obsessed with me, and stalked me a bit, and I felt like I was to blame for putting the image across as being someone available, for flaunting my feminine wiles if you like.

I don’t know why this all affected me so much, but it sunk me into a deep depression. Perhaps there were other things contributing, perhaps I was having misgivings about my relationship with my boyfriend, and then there was another friend I loved and depended upon so much for company who was moving to another country and I knew we would never be as close again. Perhaps I felt like I wasn’t good enough at work, but for whatever reason, I lost my mojo. I was already eating and drinking too much, but the combination of luck and exercise that had previously kept off the pounds began to wane. I probably started eating more too. I certainly started drinking more, and drinking more at home. The weight began to pile on. It piled on remarkably quickly too; within the space of 6 months or so. I was no longer the bright young thing in the company. I was the tired plump has-been. I felt like I had let people down, that I had underachieved, that people thought I could have done better. I don’t know how much of all this was in my head, but the pictures I saw of myself, when I saw myself in the mirror, this all reinforced this image.

I did pull myself together a bit over the next few years, and lost a bit of weight, but by now I was about 2 stone heavier than I was when I was when at my most comfortable. It was about then, aged 30 that I fell pregnant.

It was a very welcome pregnancy. I didn’t think I could get pregnant without help, as I had been diagnosed with PCOS at 19, and had basically given up on contraception for ten years, so it was a huge surprise. A delightful accident. Myself and boyfriend had already decided that we were ready for children, so the timing couldn’t have been better. Although, it would have been nicer to be more fit. It was a straightforward pregnancy, and I gave birth to a lovely baby girl. While pregnant, my boyfriends work had moved site to several hundred miles away, and he was earning a great deal more than me. Although I really liked my job, despite my slump in confidence, I decided to move with him as soon as the baby was born, and give up my job, concentrating on the baby. Although I loved being with my little girl, and the independence of being in charge of my own time (within the confines of the dictatorship of a small baby), I think it redefined who I was to myself. And I wasn’t quite sure what or who I was anymore. I also left my friends behind, and became quite a solitary person. As any new mother will tell you, having a baby is pretty much the most fundamental change in your life. Your focus utterly changes. Add that to suddenly being at home all the time rather than at work, and, in my case, a complete change of location, a new house removal of support network, and basically dropping my career, I guess it was more of a change than many would wish for. I didn’t know quite how to deal with it. But I muddled by, somewhat baffled by my new overwhelming love for my child, and a nagging suspicion that somehow I was doing it all wrong. The weight was piling back on again. I joined weightwatchers, and lost 11lbs over 6 weeks. I then lost interest as the loss fell to a half pound a week. Increasingly I found myself using up too much of my daily allowance with wine, and there is only so much 0 point soup you can tolerate!

I got pregnant when my daughter was almost three. This time it was planned. I was much heavier and less mobile for this pregnancy, and it didn’t help. It was an awful pregnancy. I was run down and sick throughout, and spent most of it in a lump on the sofa feeling sorry for myself. I clearly was suffering from ante-natal depression (yes there is such a thing!) but I didn’t realise it at the time. Like my daughter when she was born, I fell in love with my son from the moment I set eyes on him, but he was a demanding little fellow, and I felt consumed with guilt about neglecting my daughter to constantly attend to him. I don’t think I ever really recovered from that period of nothingness during the pregnancy. And physically, I was at my lowest ebb. Breastfeeding was difficult, but I kept it up until he was over a year. Eating more was a bonus, but I must have eaten for ten, not two.

Once I stopped breastfeeding, I didn’t think it possible to put on more weight, but I did. Although I hardly ever go to pubs or restaurants these days (kids eh?), I somehow manage to consume vast amounts of food and guzzle wine with alarming frequency. If I make a cheese toasty, I will make two at the same time “May as well, since I will feel like a second”, with lots of salad piled on top. Those M&S ready meals designed for 2, are just about enough for one meal. Despite having had a healthy overfull bowl of all bran in the morning with a chopped banana, if boy wants to head to the café for a cappuccino and cheese toastie at 10am, I’m in. Second breakfast, or brunch. Then lunch. In the evenings, half a bottle of wine never feels like quite enough, and I feel so gratified when boy just feels like a glass or has beer instead so I can have more.

So, in short, that’s how I got to weigh 12 stone and 9, the heaviest I have ever been. Which for my 5ft 3 frame puts me in the “obese” category.