Me and food, we have a love hate relationship.

     My story from the beginning isn't long, or complicated. I didn't grow up with trauma or a hard life. I grew up a happy kid. A slim, skinny even, petite child. In high school I made new friends, one who used to call me fat a lot. I went through high school feeling like the fat girl, that's when I started binge eating and purging. When I graduated high school I was 98 lbs, and still had that fat girl mentality. After high school I started my first real long term relationship, which came with dates, eating out, and post secondary with the dreaded freshman 15. For me it was more like the freshman 50. It didn't bother me, I felt good at 110, 120 150 even... But I kept gaining. I ballooned up to almost 170 at my highest.

     I moved out, was living on my own taking care of myself. Working full time and enjoying my life. I started eating less, and less. Some days eating a 6 inch sub or wrap every second day. I felt so good, so free, so in control. I had lost 60lbs in 3 months. I felt amazing. I loved shopping.  3 months later, I met adrian. Things moved quickly and within weeks we were living together, the weight came back. By time we were married, clothes I had bought didn't fit. I didn't look the same. New lumps and bumps and... My very first stretch mark.
   
 I started a new job shortly afterwards and I remember thinking to myself, great if I'm at work all day, I don't have to eat. I did though, I ate, a lot. I couldn't stop. I had gone from complete control, to no control at all. I gave up. I gave up on myself.  That brings me to where I am now, taking back control. I realize now, with the restriction, that wasn't control. Not eating, eating too much that's black and white. Its staying in the grey, being healthy, that's what takes control and work, and strength. I just hope I can do it this time. I can't give up on myself again.