I think it’s possible that I’ve said more or less all I’m qualified to say in terms of this particular subject. But first: It wasn’t that one day I woke up and said, “Right – that’s it – I’m going to lose all this pesky weight!” It was more like there had been too many days on which I’d woken up and said, “How did this happen…again?” And there’s sort of a gazillion reasons why any of us find ourselves in a situation we really hate and somehow feel responsible for, even if we’d never have wished it upon ourselves in the first place. And if that situation is of the downward-spiral variety – i.e., feeling bad about it makes us perpetuate it, ad infinitum – well, it’s tricky at best and downright agonizing at worst.
Finding myself clinically obese was the result of a lot of different factors. I had a bad injury that put me on crutches for 6 months. That wasn’t so bad, because crutches are damn hard work and so my weight was well within control during that period, but as soon as I had to put weight on the injury, the pain was debilitating and I was afraid of the pain. I was also working quite a lot in a very demanding job and volunteering as much as possible, and my living situation wasn’t ideal, as we were in London and so sharing small flats with friends where no one really had enough space. So I was stressed, frustrated, tired, and filled with all sorts of self-pity…which created the perfect environment for me to indulge in unhealthy behaviors like eating too much and too often and almost never the right things. This was of course compounded by my pain and fear thereof, because I obviously wasn’t moving nearly as much as I should have been. I’m willing to bet anyone struggling with their weight has undergone a similarly complicated set of circumstances.