FAT THEFT

After a bad hip injury left me limping, in pain and debilitated for three and half years, surgery spat me out the other end, a mess. Those years of dragging my left leg around, unable to walk down the street, well, it took a toll on me, not only mentally, but physically.

Being awake at 1am, from the pain, meant I was up late most nights, avoiding going to bed and snacking. The scales and the mirror were not my friends during this period.

My fat scared me.

My health was in a constant state of decline. I didn’t know how to get off the merry-go-round.

I wished most nights – tried hard – to conjure up a fat thief. They looked like a fat cat genie in Aladdin’s bottle. If only they would grant me one wish – I wasn’t greedy – and steal my fat away.

I wanted to be burgled, and I wanted to report to the police that it was a fat theft, and the thief had stolen my fat. Of course, I didn’t want to press charges, but perhaps if we could find them, we could bottle them up and they could steal fat from others that desperately needed their help.

Struggling to sleep from pain, I though this was reasonable. I just wanted my fat gone, stolen, taken, removed, thieved by the thief. They could have it, I would never ask for it back. Please come in by the stealth of night, and without force, steal my fat.

I yo-yoed through every diet and eating plan, you name it, I tried it. Yes, I lost weight, yes, I put it all back on.

Eventually, I came to realise this dastardly thief was never gonna come and it was going to be all up to me to organise the theft of my own fat.

Next stop – counselling – to get to the bottom of why. It goes back to my childhood. My displaced mum, being Greek, her love language was food and to be honest the only time I felt her love, was when I ate the food.

Bingo! I had all the answers, so I thought. Seems having the answers can make you feel better, but how to stop years of food abuse every time I hit an emotional barrier?

Now that I knew why, I thought I knew how to fix it. So back onto yo-yoing through every diet because this time it would be different, this time I knew what I knew, and it was all gonna work. Yes, I lost weight, yes, I put it all back on.

After much soul searching, I ended up sitting down with a weight loss surgeon and July last year, had gastric sleeve surgery. I had done a lot of work mentally to prepare and was hopeful and positive.

I knew this was a tool only and that for the rest of my life, I would need to be kind to myself and understand that I ate the food, because I felt Mum’s love. Only now, I couldn’t fit it in anymore. I loved this new arsenal in my toolbox.

I still get emotional, but instead of food, I do something personal, read, write, massage, go to the gym – something that gives me – me time – which in turn lets the emotions settle.

12 months in and 30kg down, the fat thief has been and gone, they’re now in my past, a figment of my imagination and one that I am hopeful will never return.