Ok for all those that havent already…there is one book you MUST read It is Good In Bed by Jennifer Weiner. This book has particular meaning for me as it changed my life…I remember reading it 2.5 years ago when I was at my biggest and I remember laughing and bawling (Sobbing) my way through it till finally I decided enough was enough and it was time for me to start learning to love myself instead of just ‘surviving’ my weight. It was at that point I decided that for myself, and my lifestyle and the sake of my child (only 1 at that stage) I was going to loose weight for me!

As I was sick the last couple of days I decided to take a walk down memory lane and read it AGAIN…I tell you… I enjoyed it as much the second time as I had 2.5 years ago.

Basically it is about a plus-sized heroine, Cannie, who comes to a turning point in her life when her ex boyfriend starts writing about her body, weight and their ‘sex life’ in a national magazine. The whole book is set in that next year of her life. I have to let you read an excerpt out of it that really touched my heart, I cried and cried:

When I was five I learned to read. Books were a miracle to me–white pages, black ink, and new worlds and different friends in each one. to this day, I relish the feeling of cracking a binding for the first time, the anticipation of where I’ll go and whom I’ll meet inside

.

When I was eight I learned to ride a bike. And this opened my eyes to a new world that I could explore on my own–the brook that burbled through a vacant lot two streets over, the ice-cream store that sold home-made cones for a dollar, the orchard that bordered a golf course and that smelled tangy, like cider, from the apples that rolled to the ground in the fall.

When I was twelve I learned that I was fat. My father told me, pointing at the insides of my thighs and the undersides of my arms with the handle of his tennis racquet. We’d been playing, I remember, and I was flushed and sweaty, glowing with the joy of movement. You’ll need to watch that, he told me, poking me with the handle so that the extra flesh jiggled. Men don’t like fat women.

And even though this would turn out not to be absolutely true–there would be men who would love me, and there would be people who’d respect me–I carried his words into my adulthood like a prophecy, viewing the world through the prism of my body, and my father’s prediction.

I learned how to diet–and, of course, how to cheat on diets. I learned how to feel miserable and ashamed, how to cringe from mirrors and men’s glances, how to tense myself for insults that I always through were coming: the Girl Scout troop leader who’d offer me carrot sticks while the other girls got milk and cookies; the well-meaning teacher who asked if I’d thought about aerobics. I learned a dozen tricks for making myself invisible–how to keep a towel wrapped around my midsection at the beach (but never swim), how to fade to the back row of any group photograph (and never smile), how to dress in shades of gray, black, and brown, how to avoid seeing my own reflection in windows or in mirrors, how to think of myself exclusively as a body–more than that, as a body that had fallen short of the mark, that had become something horrifying, unlovely, unlovable.

There were a thousand words that could have described me–smart, funny, kind, generous. but the word I picked–the word that I believed the world had picked for me–was fat.

When I was twenty-two I went out into the world in a suit of invisible armour, fully expecting to be shot at, but determined taht I wouldn’t get shot down. I got a wonderful job, and eventually fell in love with a man I thought would love me for the rest of my life. He didn’t. and then–by accident–I got pregnant. And when my daughter was born almost two months too soon I learned that there are worst things than not liking your thighs or your butt. there are more terrifying things than trying on bathing suits in front of three-way department store mirrors. there is the fear of watching your child struggling for breath, in the centre of a glass crib where you can’t touch her. There is the terror of imagining a future where she wont be healthy or strong.

And, ultimately, I learned, there is comfort. Comfort in reaching out to the people who love you, comfort in asking for help, and in realising, finally, that I am valued, treasured, loved, even if I am never going to be smaller than a size sixteen, even if my story doesn’t have the Hollywood-perfect happy ending where I lose sixty pounds and Prince Charming decides he loves me after all.

The truth is this–I’m all right the way I am. I was all right, all along. I will never be thin, but I will be happy. I will love myself, and my body, for what it can do–because it is strong enough to lift, to walk, to ride a bicycle up a hill, to embrace the people I love and hold them fully, and to nurture a new life. I will love myself because I am sturdy. Because I did not–will not—break.

I will savor the taste of my food and I will savor my life, and if Prince Charming never shows up–or, worse yet, if he drives by, casts a cool and appraising glance at me, and tells me I’ve got a beautiful face and have I ever considered Optifast?–I will make my peace with that.

And most importantly, I will love my daughter whether she’s big or little. I will tell her that she’s beautiful. I will teach her to swim and read and ride a bike. And I will tell her that whether she’s a size eight or size eighteen, that she can be happy and strong, and secure that she will find friends, and success and even love. I will whisper it in her ear when she’s sleeping. I will say Our lives–your life–will be extraordinary.

An Excerpt from ‘Good In Bed’ by author Jennifer Weiner

Now isn’t that just perfect…we all need reminding of that, we have all been there (or are there at present) but we need to get the point in our weight-loss journey where we can say to ourselves honestly…I am ok…Just as I am…even if I never loose another pound, even if I am always a size 18, I can still be happy, successful, and loved.

This is a journey for me…I have had my own ups and downs but I think I am just beginning to see the light! I am learning what it truly means to be happy…no matter what size I am. Life wont just magically begin for me when I get to my goal weight…Life is what I am living now…and if I cant make myself happy now– how do I EVER hope to be happy when I have lost the 60+ lbs that I aim to. I think I am going to have to read that excerpt every day for the next 12 months…to get it into my thick scull…that I am OK just the way I am…not that I want just to stay this way! hehe!

I don’t know whether you know but I love to read…usually soppy romances…but you wont hold that against me will you?

I have been on a mission lately to read curvy novels — that is novels with plus-size [real sized] heroines. Surprise, Surpise I haven’t found many but I discovered a great resource in Amazons Listmania It seems some other plus-sized beauties have had the same idea and have posted reviews on their finds. I am slowly going through the books and some a really rather good…However, I wanted to share this excerpt that I read on page 1(one) of a book by Louise Kean called “The Perfect 10″…I will share more of my thoughts on this book at a later date…but I thought this excerpt was very, very fitting.

“The colour of my eyes is dependent on how much I weigh today. They are either the silver grey of a morning mist accross a canadian lake as the sun rises and catches the cold gleaming water. Or they are the colour of dishwater, greasy and thick with grime, dirty with all of the family’s Sunday roasting pans, and forks and knives, and casserole dishes and baking trays -murky and grimy and ugly.

Depending on what I weigh, my hair might be the browns and caramels of a thick chocolate bar that melts and shines and drips promise by the fire. Or the flat brown of a library carpet, laid in 1972, and trampled on by cheap shoes and schoolchildren every day since – tired and thin and lifeless…

Depending on how much I weight today, my breasts may be round and full, reminiscent of a Russ Meyer vixen, ready to be grasped, voluminous and juicy. Or they are veiny and sagging, the skin at the top indented and ravaged by stretched tears, sitting lazily on my ribcage, flattened and blotchy, and dry.

I will love or hate myself, depending on how much I weigh today.”

Well the colour of MY eyes today are morbidly black, My hair colour is a dull’ish dark brown with tired blond specs, my hair hangs stringy and lifeless around my shoulders, my saggy breasts are hanging right down to my waist…you do the maths…what do you think the scales told me today….GRRRRR