I grew up in an emotionally and physically abusive household. My mom was mentally ill, she had histrionic personality disorder. For those of you who are unfamiliar, let me run down the bullet points: constant seeking of reassurance or approval, excessive sensitivity to criticism or disapproval, pride of own personality/unwillingness to change or compromise, dramatic and severe mood swings, rage, blaming others for personal failures or disappointments, obsession with perfection and being perceived as perfect. Her criticism and rage would often turn physical and as a kid I felt she didn't love me. I used to be so afraid of her that I would get physically sick when she would come home from work. I would hide. The thing is now that I'm an adult, through many years of good therapy, I understand now that she did love me. She in fact loved me so much that she wanted to make me perfect so that the world could never hurt me with its judgement. <--not how it worked out...
My dad on the other hand tried to protect me, when he could, but was just as abused by her as I was. And why did he stay with her? Because he loved her. The truth? Because he grew up being abused and the experience was normal. My mom was abused too. My parents both had at least one alcoholic parent and were both sexually abused (by someone outside the family) as children and never received any kind of therapy for it. As a kid, my dad's sisters both tried to set him on fire and In addition, my dad was beaten by his father who escalated the abuse to the point of drunkenly putting a shotgun to my dads head one night while he was sleeping. My dad awoke and laid perfectly still till his father passed out, then left the house at age 16 and lived on his own.
All this is to say, my parents did love me but had so much untreated trauma they did not have the capacity to raise a child in a loving and nurturing way. My sole solace was my grandmother, who died when I was 8. She provided stability in the face of chaos and when she died I started packing on the pounds. The weight gain was complex, not only did I use food as comfort but I no longer had anyone there after school to make meals for me. I started making my own dinners at age 8, which usually consisted of cheese and pasta or bread and juice. Nutritional information was not something I had any knowledge of at age 8! In addition, the added pounds proved an effective method of protection. I was bigger and as a result got beat less often. The extra weight served as protection from a cruel world. It made my mom focus her criticism and abuse on one issue, making the chaos of abuse more predictable. And when I suffered rejection by my classmates I could blame it on the weight instead of internalizing the bullying as being a result of my natural defectiveness. So this weight gain continued through my teen years and into adult hood. My mom and I reconciled when she was diagnosed with cancer and she mellowed out. I became her primary care giver and her death in conjunction with an abusive boyfriend I had for 6 years caused me to gain another 80 pounds.
So three years ago I entered therapy after becoming suicidally depressed one summer. I worked through my family of origin issues, the abuse, my low self esteem, finding myself and now here I am- ready to tackle the oldest and most profound issue, my weight. I feel like I'm carrying around 200lbs of emotional baggage that I'm ready to let go of. If you're out there and you're reading this and you're ready, let's take this journey together!
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