(WARNING: this is gonna be a short version of my life, so if you don’t feel like reading a somewhat depressing story, click the back button now.)
Where do I begin?
When I was little, I never had an issue with food. I do feel however that I was born with depression. I am told stories all the time about how I would hate leaving the house since I was two or three years old, and would constantly ask my mom if we could go home. I could never be left with family members that were not my mom or dad, I would just cry until they came back- this lasted until I was like 8. I’m not exactly sure why I was so antisocial.
My dad was very physically and mentally abusive towards my mom and at sometimes my sister and I. I don’t remember much, but I knew he could fly off the handle over the silliest things. I have a distinct memory of my mom, sister and I hiding in the bathroom from my dad because we lost the remote control. Another time where my mom went out to a retirement party for my grandma. She stayed too late and my dad locked her out of the house. Then the next morning my dad let me talk to her on the phone and made me tell her that I loved her, because I would never see her again.
When I was 7 or 8, my mom decided she was done, and divorced my dad. We went through really difficult times because my mom was a stay at home mom and didn’t have much job experience. Although my dad had a really good job, we really struggled with money. She became a night shift CNA, and I had to learn to do a lot at an early age. The divorce was really hard, and when we would all have a bad day my mom would say “lets forget about it and have a really good dinner”.
I went from having a stay at home mom who cooked homemade meals from scratch, to a hardworking mom that was usually sleeping when we got home from school. We also lost out on all her attention and were left alone a lot. We started buying processed groceries and eating a lot of fast food. Whenever something bad happened, my mom would get us a special treat like McDonald’s or something. On the weekend when we went to my dad’s house, we went to restaurants for almost every meal because he didn’t know how to cook.
I started gaining weight when I was in fourth grade. I really worried all the time when I was little about my mom because I knew that she was depressed. I worried about money. I worried if we were gonna be okay. I worried about the weekend’s that I would have to spend with my dad. I never really stopped worrying, and the only thing that helped was food.
Food was my best friend, the one thing that made me happy. It was the one thing that calmed my anxiety.
I continued to gain weight all throughout middle school. Then when I was in seventh grade, I experienced more family trauma. My dad who is from Croatia, was taking his regular every other year trip to visit his family. One day before he left he nonchalantly told us that he was bringing a woman back with him and getting married. I was devastated. I still loved my dad and he actually changed a lot after my mom divorced him. I just remember crying and I felt like my heart was broken.
I kind of got over it by the time he got back, and I felt optimistic. I really wanted to remain loyal to my mom, but decided I would be cordial to her. The first time I met her she said hi, and I realized she didn’t speak English! It was very awkward but I decided just to go with the flow. Then the next couple of times I saw her, she stopped saying hello. What bothered me most was how nice my dad was to her. I couldn’t understand how he could beat my mom who was the perfect wife and mother, and be nice towards her. She then started spreading rumors about my sister and I at the Croatian church. I eventually stopped going over to my dad’s house and felt very unloved and unwanted.
I fell deeper into depression. I just couldn’t believe that my dad wouldn’t choose his children first, and I felt like there was something wrong with me as a daughter. I still saw my dad once every other week, but we would meet for breakfast instead of going to his house. When I was in high school, my sister had a Croatian friend translate a voicemail on my dads answering machine. It was a translator for the doctor, saying something about a pregnancy. My dad and his wife were expecting a baby, and he didn’t even tell us. I think this event absolutely crushed my soul, and gained a lot more weight in high school.
I stopped seeing my dad all together, we didn’t talk for a year. Then, eventually he started calling me and we started meeting for coffee. My mom became my best friend. At this time, I was fighting with my sister so much that she moved in my dad, and inherited his vicious temper.
Skip ahead to 2017. My dad just permanently relocated to Croatia with his evil wife, and apparently a half sister. I haven’t talked to my sister in over a year over a stupid fight. But with the negative, there are ALWAYS positives. I went back to school transferring to Mount Mary University, which I absolutely love. I am so close to graduation that I can smell it. I have a fantastic mom, and wonderful friends that support me 100%.
What’s the point of all this?
Everyone has struggles in life. That is not a reason to hate your body and stop living your life. I really want losing weight to be a positive experience, so this post has been very therapeutic for me. Hopefully with my story I can inspire others, or maybe even myself, who knows? I wanna give a shout-out to my beautiful, courageous mother who has sacrificed everything to give us a better life, and who is going on this weight loss journey with me. I want to thank God for all that He has given me, and the chance to start living my life to the fullest without my obsession with food.
Thanks all, peace and blessings!!!