A Revelation and a New Beginning

So the question to ask is what does one do when they find out that they’re only 25 pounds from a weight that starts with a 4. I did anything that any self respecting woman would do. I polled my girlfriends with the general questions: how big do I look when I put on these clothes? If you had to guess what weight I was, what would it be? The resounding poll results came back just as I had expected… 310, at most. I sat and shouted with inner triumph and pain. The moment had to be: could I live for the rest of my life looking like I was 310 or could I actually get to 310 and look like I was 270 or even smaller yet. Though I hated what it would actually mean to start losing weight, I figured that getting smaller to look smaller couldn’t actually hurt. The only problem was that I had no job, no money, student loans kicking in, bad eating habits and the determination to prove another person that I didn’t know from a brick wall wrong. What was I thinking, and thank you God for letting me think it when I was 22.

I remember the day that I did the Darnisa unthinkable. I walked into the library and picked up a book on nutrition. The path of my life has always been one that steered toward the library, to the point of intervention status. “My name is Darnisa and I'm a Doritos snacking, weight-loss avoiding, driven, non sleeping bibliophile. Thank You.” But never had I gone in and checked out a book that would make people turn and shake their heads in agreement when I sat on the train. She should have done this years ago.Why do you look 30 when you’re only 22? [I still look back at those photos now at 24.5 and wonder why I looked so much older than I am right now] Those were the thoughts that I assumed people were thinking when they gave me that [ and I'm sure every “big” person out there knows it] stare. That look that pierces right through you and questions with a slight cock to the head how you could have let yourself go. Please let it be known that whoever invented that non subtle social cue to get yourself together should be jailed, and feathered, and maimed. It makes people feel belittled in the moment, and ashamed behind closed doors; left to find their own comforting vices.

So I got old fashioned. I walked into staples and bought some book covers, complete with a set of scotch tape to hide what I was attempting to do. I got ten, and figured with my fast reading pace I could check out ten books at a time [not sleeping and being able to read 100 pages an hr calls for a lot of nutrition reading!] I was never a person who dieted, never followed any statistics that stated the average American woman has dieted at least ten times in her lifetime. Hell no. If this is you and you’ve attempted the yo-yo dieting and the lose the last ten pounds for this event person I completely commend you. But how long did it stay off? For me, it’s you go big or you go home. I'm an extremist in the true sense of the word, and back then I wasn’t ready to take baby steps. I was ready to throw my whole life into a whirling dervish for the sake of living the life I always pictured in my head. I understood that I was never going to be a size 4; these bones would not support such a thing. Ive got big hands, big feet, and topped off with a big head… I could be happy with a healthy 10/12. Those numbers to me existed only in thought, only in nonplus size stores where I wanted to shop. I was tired of my trinity of stores: Lane Bryant, Macy's Plus, and Ashley Stewart. Casual clothes were bought from LB, more dressy/ going out wanting to look my age attempts from Macy's, and Ashley simply provided some color and acceptable jacket options. When I started this journey, I was a 26 and most definitely had not seen a 10/12 since I was ten or twelve. No pun intended but when I was 12, I was 206. 375 at 22 should have only been expected.

Shortly after picking up that first book, the thing that I realized was that my eating style was going to completely have to change. I grew up in a family of transplanted southerners by way of third generation Brooklyn kitchen smashers. And I too had followed the line of great cooking with lots of fried food infused with pasta and rice [an homage to my Italian Puerto Rican grandfather] with customary sides of greens, yams, potato salad and off course my beloved corn bread homemade stuffing. Yes, they were my friends and most times my confidants. The food listened to everything that I couldn’t express, and provided a shield to my confused rationale. Darnisa, do you know why you eat? NO. Darnisa, do you know why that guy you like doesn’t like you back? NO. Well that’s ok, but lets have another Dorito and think about it later.
I was convinced I was dealing with my problems! It became clear that dealing with my problems meant that I was going to have to divorce my food. I was not happy, I don’t believe in divorce and clearly we had a good thing going…. there could have been triangular-shaped round nosed babies in my future! What kind of sick person would deny me such a future. Apparently that sick person, who wanted to be healthy, had to be me. I broke up my own marriage and to this day still miss little pieces of that relationship. And while I'm glad I did it, it came with a lot of cost. I haven't had a Dorito since June 2, 2006 [ I off course had to have a binge the night after the doc told me his news], and the path to eating well would change the way I completely viewed myself and in affect the way I was viewed.

I was on my way from 375, size 26, size 55' waist, student loans and manned with a library card to 175, size 10/12 [thank you bones ;)], still having student loans and the ever present Brooklyn library card!