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5 Reasons Why Chubby Girls Need Chubby Friends

5 Reasons Why Chubby Girls Need Chubby Friends

Hear me out.

Years ago, I used to Hate (Yes, with a capital “H” because I mean business) when other overweight women would fat pride me. Especially women I am not friends with. Like, the woman working the dressing room of Target who was telling a waif of a woman how gorgeous she looked in her skinny jeans and then elbowed me saying, “Too bad we can’t wear stuff like that, amirite?”

My face burned with the fire of a thousand suns and I dumped my pile of skinny jeans on some detergent and left.

Before my body acceptance, I surrounded myself with thin women. I was the token fat friend. I took the role of the last one guys wanted to talk to and always shopped for purses at the mall because any stores we went to didn’t have my size.

Then, throughout my 20’s I met many amazing, curvy women. Let me tell you, these have been the best friendships. Here’s why:

  • They get it. Want to binge? Want to lose weight? Want to cry into your fat jeans because they don’t fit anymore and you don’t want to buy even fatter jeans? Call them. Talk to them. They’ve been there.
  • Your weight isn’t a dirty little secret. Before finding fellow chubbies like myself, I would have hung myself with my granny panties before telling a single, solitary soul how much I weighed. I lied so hard on my driver’s license it was laughable. Now? We can discuss our ups and downs. I actually just had a friend tell me that she started eating healthier and she couldn’t wait to weigh as much as me. AS ME! ME! What?! For once, I wasn’t being referred to as the “before” picture and someone actually liked my body better than their own! It’s like I have found Narnia.
  • You motivate each other. I have never found more motivation than when I have other people striving along side me. Losing weight is like carrying a mule on your back through the desert. I’m not talking about losing holiday weight before you can fit into your size twos. I’m talking about weight that takes months and years to disappear. When you see someone right alongside you doing it, there’s no better feeling. You’re not only proud of yourself, you’re just as excited for them.
  • You can swap clothes. This might be my favorite part. Fat clothes are swapped faster than STDs at Burning Man. What hangs off me, can be someone’s new skinny clothes and vice versa. I have an entire wardrobe filled with someone’s discarded fat clothes and while that might seem like a blow, it makes me happy for my friends who accomplished so much. It reminds me that it can be done.
  • You can tell them your dirtiest of secrets. Remember that time you hid in your car and went from fast McDonalds to Burger King juggling Big Macs with cheesecake and loving every sickening second of it? Or talking about how your FUPA no longer hides your vagina? They are there for you. They’ve done dirtier. They’ve seen it all. They’ve sobbed over their bodies and struggled to find the beauty in it.
  • They see your beauty. That’s the thing, that’s why they are so special. They strive to be like you and you strive to be like them. You are not their weight nightmare. Those days when you feel disgusting, they are there to tell you how much they envy you. Then you gag back sobs about how much you envy them. It’s friendship that cannot be duplicated. Treasure each other. You deserve it.

What do you love about your chubby friends? Leave me a message in the comments!

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5 Reasons Why Every Chubby Girl Needs Chubby Friends | Mrs. Mommy Mack | MrsMommyMack.com

Sweaty Jiggles: Why I Hate the Gym

Sweaty Jiggles: Why I Hate the Gym

There is a certain charm to the gym. Like the free childcare. That’s charming. However, when you have four kids and two get carted around in 25 pound car seats, just getting them into the free childcare is more than a workout.

Other than that, I hate the gym.

Normally, I just go for yoga or Pilates. Those classes are all right, but if I hate it and want to leave, I can’t stand the burning humiliation of: rolling up my mat early, pretend staring at the clock like I have an urgent motherly matter and then skeedaddling across the street for sub sandwich.

Last week, I made the hideous decision to go on the treadmill. I love walking outside. I fucking hate treadmills. When I was around 10, I tried to be some kind of new age American Gladiator and took to my mother’s treadmill with a blindfold. Obviously, I thought the only trick I could come near accomplishing would be walking with my eyes shut. Solid strategy. But, I ended up tripping, flying at Mach 20 speed backwards and blowing a hole in the drywall with my entire body. I had road rash, but that was nothing compared to the white rage my mom had after seeing the outcome of my trajectory. I’ve never felt safe on one of those death machines since.

However, this week, I decided to go for it. I got my lazy ass to the gym, and on the machine. Quickly, I realized that every single machine was lined up in front of a wall of mirrors. Like, everyone in the room just stares at their sweaty jiggles and their neighbors’ sweaty jiggles for an hour. It was so uncomfortable I got a nervous rash. I needed a new option or I was just going to lay down in a pile of chips and gain 100 pounds back.

In steps this week’s promotion to the rescue!

I have teamed up with the fantastic OnlineGym4Me to offer all my readers one year’s FREE online gym access! It’s like the Netflix of workout videos so you don’t have to even put on a bra, brush your teeth or stand up if you don’t want to! HALLELUJAH!

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Out with the Old: How I Trained Myself to Get Healthy

Out with the Old: How I Trained Myself to Get Healthy

Having recently lost just shy of 100 pounds, I get added to quite a few weight loss groups. I also get asked a lot of questions. What’s your secret? What do you eat? Is it hard? I don’t want to feel like I am on a diet. Do you feel like you’re on a diet?

I feel like a bit of a disappointment that I am not Richard Simmons-ing across their computer screens screaming, “You can do it! Put that danish back and Jazzercise! We can all be size zero by the New Year!”

Well, I am here to tell you there are no easy answers. I know most of you are wishing I have a potion in the trunk of my car I will trade you for an internal organ, I do not.  I’m sorry. Believe me, I wish I did. I wish I did all those times I couldn’t zip up my pants. When I broke two toilet seats and blamed it on my kids. When I learned about mom gut and all the jiggles that go with it. Damn. I wish I had the cure all any of those times. Actually, knowing me, I would have overdosed on all of it and I would just be the size of a pool noodle right now.

Even though I am a very untrustworthy source, here’s what I have to tell you. All of you that are desperate. All of you hurting and living with a God-sized hole you’re filling with Chipotle and KFC. This is all I have to offer in ways of advice to get yourself started. I hope in some way it helps give you the answers you need.

Continue reading this guest blog at The Writing Shed

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For the Love of Food: My Life as a Binger

For the Love of Food: My Life as a Binger

*Disclaimer: There is an affiliate link on this page. Read more about my policies here.*

I have a LOT of issues when it comes to food. Yes, I recently lost 100 pounds, but those issues are still on my sleeve like a badge of honor. Binge eating or binging is probably my most tried and true food problem. We have been lovers since as long as I can remember. Our relationship blossomed during puberty and the love waxed and waned since then.

I can remember hiding dozens of empty boxes of my Girl Scout cookies behind my dresser before I even hit puberty. I remember always eating way more than any of my friends and pretending it didn’t matter. I ate and ate and ate and ate and never once looked back. I have tried to cut it off with my binging issues, but then I run and leap back into it’s arms and off into the sunset.

Here are the ways I am currently working to deal with this monster of an issue in my life:

  1. READ. THIS. BOOK. I am not kidding. Read Women Food and God by Geneen Roth. I have said this a million times, but can’t say it enough. This book moved my soul. I cried so hard and it was such a bitch slap of truth serum it took me months to finally finish it. Actually, I’m going to start it again.
  2. Accept it. Binging is something I can’t avoid. I feel this itch and burn deep down in my gut of desire that cannot be avoided. The longer I push it off, the worse it becomes. There are times when I can retrain myself, but sometimes I just need to eat a big shitty meal to avoid eating an entire Chinese buffet in one sitting.
  3. Move on. This is the hardest part. With the binge eating comes deep, painful regret. This regret spurs the desire to binge day after day after day. Don’t do it. Let it go. You ate a lot of food. Today is a new day. Let’s move forward. You are not a terrible person. No one weighs 600 pounds because once a month they ate half a tater tot casserole. This was the single best seed of advice I have given myself. I always thought once I fell off the healthy wagon I was a failure and beat myself up for weeks until I gained back all the weight I had lost. No, I’m not a failure. I’m a fucking human being and this is just something I do ONCE IN A WHILE.
  4. Try to set binge days. For me, if I know a holiday or special event is coming up, I know I’m going to eat good food in large quantities. So, for the days/weeks leading up to it, I can focus on that goal. I can stave off the desire because of that dangling carrot. Then, when the event is over, it’s back to eating healthy.
  5. Find people like you. When I was younger, all my friends and family were petite, athletic and ate grilled chicken and were happy about it. This made me feel like fatty, fatty two-by-four every time we ate together because I couldn’t understand why I wanted a footlong sub and they never finished a six-inch. Now, I have a group on Facebook with other women with the same struggles that I have. We vent to each other about our hate of the scale and love of all things bad for us. However, it’s more than that. It’s a place to feel like you’re not alone. That god-sized hole in your gut you’re trying to fill isn’t just something you struggle with. There are other women and men out there fighting the same battles. Find them. Talk to them. Build each other up and watch each other succeed. There’s no greater feeling than overcoming your demons.

What’s worked for you? What other struggles do you have when it comes to food? Leave me a message in the comments!

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4 Ways Losing 100 Pounds Made Me a Better Mom

4 Ways Losing 100 Pounds Made Me a Better Mom

Over the last year, I have nearly completed my goal of losing 100 pounds. I am a work-at-home mother of four who’s been overweight my whole life. But, after the birth of my twins, shit got real. I wasn’t just a fat girl who loved life, pizza and booze a little too much. I was a mom who had four kids, a husband, two cats and a dog relying on her. This weight thing needed to be addressed.

First of all, let me just start off by saying, I am in no way the best mom. Sure, I can multitask like a damn superhero and my kids are still alive, but most of the time I am mediocre at best.

Secondly, I am in no way some transformed Extreme Makeover or a new person in the least. Losing 100 pounds can change in the drop of a hat. I am terrified every day that a Reese’s is going to send me over the edge and I will spiral down the chubby rabbit hole, yet again.

But, how have I changed? Yes, physically there is quite the difference, but what about my life? What is different?

Motherhood. That is the biggest improvement and I am eternally grateful. Here’s what I can do now that I am done losing 100 pounds:

  1. Keep up. This is the most obvious reason. Before, I couldn’t even climb into a bouncy castle without nearly shitting myself. Now, I can teach my squirrelly foursome yoga, wrestle on the floor, climb the stairs 1,257 times a day for: waters, blankets, monsters, etc.
  2. Keep calm. Mentally, losing weight has done wonders for my anxiety. Yes, I am still medicated. But, I feel like the cellulite has been removed from my brain. I don’t have as many chest clenching moments that end in screaming matches with a stubborn two year old. Don’t get me wrong, I am still a raving lunatic, just not quite as raving.
  3. Keep happy. So, you know how losing weight makes you feel sexy, agile and less apt to cringe when your husband gets that look in his eye? Yes, my kids benefit from mommy getting laid. Nothing says “happy, jolly, carefree motherhood” like a mom who just got a piece. Sorry, kids, I hope you’re not learning to read with this blog.
  4. Keep alive. Sure, I could get executed by sanctimommies tomorrow, but losing 100 pounds has increased the odds of me seeing another day. I have four little beings who need me to be here for: weddings, graduations, first kisses, mother/son dances, grandbabies and many, many more unexpected memories. I can’t leave my kids without a mom in high school. That kind of pain doesn’t leave your heart.

losing 100 pounds better mom mrsmommymack

Getting Jiggly with It: Let’s Talk About My FUPA

Getting Jiggly with It: Let’s Talk About My FUPA

I know what you’re thinking, FINALLY she is hitting the hard issues like the Fair Use Protection Act. But, no, this is definitely not the FUPA my title is referring to. 

 

I can remember being 12 years old getting ready for my Christmas concert. My mom took our Christmas concert attire extremely seriously. As if Bill and Hilary themselves were going to be gracing Crivitz Elementary School. So, as I stood perched on a stool in my underwear as she creatively doused me in Aqua Net and lace. As she sprayed and teased, she made a comment that puzzled me.

 

“Oh, you have a little belly pooch just like me,” she said without a passing glance.

 

Huh? What’s that mean? I thought as I stored that memory away like a worry stone to refer back to for the next 18 years. Didn’t everyone have that little banana bread loaf below their belly buttons? What am I missing? I racked my brain as I stared at my doughy midsection.

 

Shockingly, I lived before I was lambasted with information from the good old internet on a daily basis. I had not known that my stomach was much to write home about. But, I considered my mother one of the most beautiful women in the world, so I figured it couldn’t be that bad.

 

Little did I know.

 

As years went on, my Fat Upper Pubic Area (aka FUPA) began to gain ground. Bikinis were a no go. Underwear needed to reach belly button level in an attempt to stifle the jiggling. Shirts needed to be long enough to cover it. It was a part of me that needed to be considered for nearly every item of clothing.

 

Now, as I mentioned before, I am currently on a weight loss journey. Sadly, I would kill for that doughy little belly I had in middle school now that I stare at my ravaged body. Three pregnancies, one of which was with two babies, depleted all the elasticity my poor body had left to give. I had a discussion yesterday with two of my friends currently at war with their FUPAs. We all damned them to hell. One cheering that I am finally shrinking my FUPA enough able to see my lady bits and others just trying to find shirts long enough to pretend they don’t exist.

 

My FUPA as a whole just really depresses me. It makes me sad that after working as hard as I have been to lose 90 pounds (with more to go) I still feel like I’m not good enough. That feeling looking in the mirror that your body is still an eyesore but just in a new way is a hard pill to swallow.

 

I’m so very grateful for the internet and being able to stand in solidarity with other women like myself. We can laugh about looking like melting women. I can see other women who are proud of how far they’ve come and it makes me feel empowered. It’s nothing new that being a woman in this world is not easy. Now, I’m not about to burst into tears over this giant First World Problem, but I am going to say thank you to the other women who don’t give a fuck when talking about their bodies. Sometimes shit jiggles. Sometimes jeans aren’t an option. Sometimes I eat my weight in nachos and then stare at my jiggly bits and get sad.

 

And that’s okay.

 

It’s okay because, while I might not spring back like I used to, I can feel the depression and anxiety I battle loosening it’s death grip around my psyche. I can feel that I might just be on this earth with my four kids a little bit longer. Sure, they might jiggle my “chicken wings” and laugh, but hell, at least I am here for them to laugh with. And I can see myself do things I never thought possible. I can run. I can complete an entire yoga class without sobbing. I can wear knee-high boots and I can stop hiding.

 

It’s all going to be okay.

 


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