Elle

If you think about it, PriorFatGirl is just another way of saying “girl.”

Regular girl.

Well, woman in this case, I suppose. My days of girlhood are gone, but there are still experiences to be had, and I’m finding they are every bit as challenging and confusing and altogether exciting as I’d hoped they might be. That’s the thing about being overweight; you have a lot of time to wonder about what it would be like if you weren’t.

I’ve been through my first real DTR (define-the-relationship) talk.

I’ve been rejected. And survived.

I’ve started to dream about one day having a family.

In some ways, I’m bolder; in some ways, more reserved.

I’ve learned how to spend more time thinking about others than I spend thinking about myself. (Do I look fat? Am I the fattest girl in the room? Are people watching what I eat? Do my rolls show when I sit down?) Self-obsessed thinking comes in many forms; none of them, I have come to discover, contribute to the development of a healthy personality.

Divorced from the restrictions naturally imposed by obesity, my interests have changed, and I’ve found a world burgeoning with pathways into uncharted territory I no longer feel afraid or unworthy to explore. There are a million possibilities out there, and the fear factor diminishes a little more with each passing day.

I’ve had conversations with countless individuals who have lost weight and continue to struggle with addiction to food, to the comfort of it, the texture, the taste. Sometimes simply the idea of it. When you go home, it’s waiting for you in the pantry or in brightly colored Tupperware on the refrigerator shelves, and lured by a longing for the familiar feeling and succor of a full belly, you yield one more time.

I don’t judge that—maybe I would have when I was in a harsher, more arrogant place, but I’ve been at this long enough now to know that it is only by grace (and certainly no amount of my own self control or ability to change) that my thoughts have been released from those same patterns of drifting always toward the time and content of my next meal. The magnitude of that victory hit me today, when the neon marquees of fast food restaurants passing in and out of my view didn’t cause distraction.

It was beautiful outside… 69 degrees and sunny with broken clouds staggered across a cobalt blue sky. It was the kind of day that required the window to be down, the radio to be up, and my arm to rest casually against the side of my car while a feisty breeze licked at my hair and neck and ears. And as I drove, the only thought I really had—the only thought I spent any time dwelling on—was of getting home and lacing up my running shoes.

How thankful I am to have moved into this phase. Where the minutes of my life aren’t idly passed by eating in solitude, but rather they are spent, given away to running trails that challenge my muscles, to dance floors in old buildings tucked into the historical streets of downtown Dallas, to new friends whom I would have never had the courage to approach before, to cooking classes at Central Market, and to volunteer work that pours richly back into my soul and opens yet even more doors to culture and relationships that I would have otherwise never discovered. My body no longer holds me back from all that the day has to offer, it is now my greatest ally in the pursuit of passion and adventure.

You can follow me on Twitter @PFG_Elle

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