Hello there. My name is Brittany, a 20-year-old student with a passion for fashion, puppies, writing, and chocolate, in that very order. I currently live in Newport but my heart resides in New York City. My specialties include but are not limited to sarcasm and a host of endless witty banter. This blog (I’m hoping) will serve as a hint of motivation to pleasantly plump girls everywhere.
My journey to becoming less plump but still sufficiently pleasant began three years ago. It was my senior year of high school when I stood on a scale in my parent’s bathroom and saw the number that shocked me into fear. 225. I had reached a point where I knew, really knew, that if I did not make a change, I would one day be 400 pounds.
First, let me rewind to the beginning.
For as long as I can remember, back to the long-gone years of footie pajamas and a stuffed kitten named Kitty (I was quite the original child) I have always been… well rounded, literally. Let’s face it, at age 4, it is quite adorable to have chubby cheeks and round…everything. “It’s more to love!” as my Grandma would say.
However, as you grow older, the world grows colder and even a little more mean. Terms like “chubby” and “plump” become harsher and even transform into every woman’s worst nightmare… the F word… fat. So I was overweight and the world would not let me forget it. When I was 6, my neighbor called me jellyrolls. When I was 7, my uncle used to bounce pennies off my “tooshie”. When I was 9, my twin brother called me fatty and then laughed about it. My biggest fear growing up was a visit to the doctors, as it was always accompanied by an emotional lecture on losing weight.
When I was a sophomore in high school, my uncle picked me up at 2:15 pm. to take me home and hit me with what felt like a brick at the time. I unsuspectingly climbed into the car and entered into an unsolicited speech on the importance of being “slim and beautiful.” Being that my uncle is not my favorite person, I eventually shrugged it off and moved on. However, when prom season of junior year rolled around and I was the only one out of my group of friends (all thin and beautiful) to not have a date, the reality began to sink in.
The real eye-opener, though, came one night during my senior year of high school at a point where my weight was at an all time high. I was upstairs in my bedroom when I overheard a hushed conversation between my parents. My father, the most important person in my life, told my mother that my weight was out of hand and had to be dealt with. My dad has always been my motivator in life; so, to hear that he was unhappy with my appearance was one of the worst experiences I can remember to this day. It took a lot of time after that to pick up the pieces.
This is probably the point in the blog where I tell you what led to my weight gain but honestly, there’s no specific reason behind it. Food was never an escape for me. I grew up in a loving home in the suburbs, raised by the most supportive parents I could ever ask for. I’m not quite sure how it got to the point where I would see a picture of myself and say “oh my god, am I really that big?” but nonetheless, it did get to that point. The truth is I was never happy in my own skin.
And so, while it may seem that I began my journey to please the people in my life (and maybe keep them quiet), that isn’t the case at all. Those people, as harsh as they may come across in this story, gave me the push I needed to become someone I am comfortable with.
Three years later I am 80 pounds lighter.
The purpose of this blog is not to rant and rave about my success. Rather, by chronicling my journey, a journey I am still on by the way, I am hoping to provide mugs of my musings brewed with guidance and a hint of comical relief.