On Being Fat: Stick to Style, Not Size Number

First grade, homemade dress!

Once upon a time, I was a slam poet. I guess you don't ever really stop being a slam poet, but for me, my poetry juice appears to have dried up. I went through a period in my early/mid 20s where, when I put pen to paper, it made me proud and I worked up the courage to throw words into a crowd. Now, I'm lucky to find the time to blog right here, where I've been blogging for 10 years now.

One of those poems I penned during my slam renaissance was called "First Fat Miss America." It was inspired by an interaction I had as a child while watching the Miss America pageant, and it painted how I viewed myself and how I felt about myself for a long time. Yes, I was told that I, Amanda Jo Edwards, could be the first fat Miss America. I had the potential. Now, I suppose this could have been a compliment, the idea that I, a girl born and raised in the Midwest of the United States, could achieve such a fanciful goal. But I got stuck. Stuck on "fat." And I think that was the point.

I was never thin, and I was always depressed about my size.

I was a pretty cute baby, gosh darn't, but starting the moment I hit school, I was fat. I was basically fat up until I hit middle school and learned that I could skip lunch, I could dump it all in the garbage and my parents would be none the wiser. Yet, somehow, years of skipped lunches and grumbling stomachs didn't leave me thin. I just got fatter. My mom made my clothes for most of my younger years, and as I got older I ventured into the Pretty Plus section at Sears (the girls' equivalent of Husky), and when I entered middle school, I started noticing how different I was. I had a very tight-knit group of friends, 80 percent who were much, much thinner than me. By 6th grade I'd shot up in height, hit puberty, and was gigantic compared to both boys and girls in my class. I started wearing women's clothing, and it wasn't pretty.

Hello fifth grade.

In high school, I went through the same pattern of having extremely thin friends, tossing my lunch, and trying to stay as slim as I could. When I'd tell people how much I weighed, I was always told, "wow, you really wear your weight well." I worked at McDonalds for two years in high school and managed a steady diet of a plain grilled chicken sandwich with a touch of sweet and sour sauce and a small fry. I didn't succumb to the cravings; I had to watch my already-large figure.

Just before graduation in 2006.

By the time I graduated college, I was at an all-time high weight because the rigors of college newspaper life (80 hour work weeks and midnight runs to the local bar) left me drunk and with the munchies and that led me to fast food restaurants. Food was comfort, clothing was hell.

After I graduated college and moved to Washington D.C. in 2006, I lacked a social life, and I started to lose weight. I went vegetarian (it was cheaper), walked just about everywhere, and was depressed as hell. I moved to Chicago to be with a boy and gained 30 pounds because, well, I was still depressed and he cooked the most outlandishly fattening food and bars and late-night pizza were our jam. I was at another all-time high weight when I moved out and we broke up.

I went on Weight Watchers in 2008 and lost 25 pounds, bought a new wardrobe, and finally felt beautiful. I attempted to replicate that 25 pound weight loss, but despite a dozen times rejoining, it's been unattainable. Since then, I've basically been the same weight. I will proudly and boldly say I hover at around 210 pounds, and there's nothing I can do to budge those numbers, it seems.

2008 in Chicago

With Little T, I managed to gain about 25-30 pounds, quite the opposite of what happened with Asher, when I lost 25 pounds during and after the birth (and then regained them, of course). The funny thing is that right after I had Little T, I dropped those pounds and floated right back to my starter weight (yes, it was all fluid retention).

They say with every pregnancy and as you get older, your weight shifts and you wear it differently. My truth is that, yes, perhaps I wear my weight well, but I have always hated how I wear it. I've always been angry that my mom, my dad, and both of my brothers had skinny chunks of life. I've never had the opportunity to experience "skinny" like they did. They could lose the weight, I always told myself. They just don't. It's not fair. 

When I came home from the hospital with Little T and surveyed what was left of my pre-baby clothes and my pregnancy clothes, I cringed. Nothing fit right. Too loose, too baggy, too tight in the wrong places. Only my loose-fitting cotton Old Navy maternity skirts really fit well. I tried very hard to put the clothes on and feel comfortable, or beautiful, or whatever a woman who just gave birth and who has hated her body her whole life should feel. Toss on the fact that everything I wear needs to be nursing friendly and, well, I could have broken the mirror.

And then it happened.

You see, a friend from Facebook who I've never met in real life had invited me to this online "party" to buy clothes from this company called LuLaRoe that I'd never heard of. I ended up wanting to buy some things, but being anxious about the sizing, I opted out. After I had Little T, I popped into one of these "parties" and ended up buying a skirt on a whim based on some sizing instructions from a LLR consultant. Unfortunately, the sizing instructions, while perfectly accurate, were not really perfect for someone of my size trying to dress modestly.

On a whim, I went to the LLR website to see if there was a local consultant. I found a woman who happened to live right around the corner (I could walk to her house in about 10 minutes) and it turned out she was hosting an in-house popup that very week. Perfect. It was bashert (meant to be). I sent her a message about how excited I was because I needed to try on some of the styles to see what sizes were right for me. I explained I was Orthodox, and that I'd see her soon.

In the meantime, I was waiting for a skirt I'd purchased, again on a whim, from a small company called Jade Mackenzie to arrive, and guess what, it did. Perfectly. Like a glove perfectly. The funniest thing about it was that the size that I ordered would have once made me cringe or be depressed about my size, but it fit, and that was all that mattered. I found something that was stylish, comfortable, and fit my modesty needs. I felt like I was on to something.

At the LLR party I went to, I started trying on clothes. The sizing is a bit wonky until you get used to it, so I was able to buy a Large in one style and a 2XL in another, but again, the sizing didn't get me down. I found shirts that fit. Shirts that were stylish. And the consultant encouraged me to go for patterns, and when I picked one up and tried it on, I felt golden.

Now, for those of you who've never been fat, you might not understand what it's like to put on a patterned shirt. I'm not talking about something black and white that's lightly patterned, I'm talking bright, vibrant colors and loud patterns. As a fat person, you just don't wear that type of clothing. It draws attention, you're told. It makes you look like a clown, you're told. Fat people don't wear patterns, stripes, polka dots (+1 on the clown comment), or anything other than muted colors and, most importantly, most especially, black. You wear a lot of black. It's slimming on everyone, but especially larger women, of course.

My unicorn.

This patterned, size large, Irma was a gateway. I'm reimagining my wardrobe as we speak. I bought another patterned Irma, my "unicorn" as I'm calling it, because when I put it on (I could wear it every day), I feel invincible and beautiful and funky. It's the textile version of the ridiculous dialogue that's constantly running in my head. And the best thing about the Irmas? No crazy layering. As a fat, breastfeeding Orthodox woman, the truth is layering is my worst nightmare, especially in the summer, but in many cases, it's a necessity.

For the first time in a long time, maybe since 2008 when I dropped those 25 pounds and found my figure and self-confidence, after three years of hearing Mr. T say "stop insulting my wife" when I put myself down, I think I'm on to something. I think I'm on to feeling beautiful and throwing cautious attire to the wind. I'm not looking at sizes anymore, I'm looking at styles, colors, patterns, and what it does for my shape.

Size is just a number. A stupid, unnecessary number that makes people feel bad about themselves. Stick to style.

Some of my favorite brands right now, as a proudly fat, breastfeeding mother of two:

• LuLaRoe (and yes, I'm totally in line to become a consultant because I believe in beauty)
• Jade Mackenzie
• NakedTank (this thing is the most genius invention ... ever)
• KosherCasual (for shells, of course)

Note: Yes, I use the word "fat" to describe myself. By medical standards, I'm morbidly obese, oh my! I could use the words curvy or plus-size, but they're just masks. I'm okay with the word. Are you?

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A Plus-Size Confession from an Israeli Fatty

I started to write a post on Facebook, but it just kept growing and growing and growing (much like my waistline and the opposite of Mr. T's, which keeps shrinking). So here we are. This is probably one of the most stupid, open posts I've written in a while, but it's where my head is.

I'm slowly finding myself really disgusted at all the body image crap going around in my Facebook groups. People talking about how it's either horrifying that we're poo-pooing plus size models (OMG they can't be healthy!) or celebrating them (OMG they're so proud and amazing), but it's all ... sigh. I don't know.

I'm plus size. Curvy. Or as they call women in Israel, a "fatty" (shamenit was actually what a woman in a plus-size store called it). The country doesn't know how to accept or deal with its plus-size population, unfortunately, which I find deeply upsetting and disappointing.

Please ignore the hair. Ugh. 

I weighed 180 pounds my senior year of high school.  I've been a size 14/16 or 18/20 most of my adult life, heading into even larger sizes during periods of depression, but I've never "looked it." I look at Tess Holliday and she's only a size up from me in many clothing lines, and I don't think I look that close in size to her. I feel that close in size, but I don't think I look it. Do I?

Am I happy with my body size? No. Of course not. I have back aches, I have knee problems, my foot would probably heal faster if I didn't have extra weight. I'm an emotional binge eater (Shabbat is the worst ... no husband to feel embarrassed in front of as I eat half a package of cheese). I eat primarily vegetarian and my fridge is full of spring greens, tomatoes, asparagus, portobello mushrooms -- but everything in moderation does not always compute for me. I have what is known as a difficulty in understanding and recognizing the sensation of being full. And sometimes, even when I am full, food is a comfort.

Funny thing about that. I realized this week, that the first thing we do when a child is fussing or upset is ask them if they're hungry. Give them a snack. Food heals all wounds, right? We start so young.

Do I love myself? In the right outfit, on the right day, I can and do love the way I look. I think my curves complement my attitude and disposition. I don't argue with certain endowments HaShem blessed me with, but on some days I wish there was quite a bit less junk in my trunk.

Where am I going with this? I don't know. I look at Tess Holliday and I think, yay! Maybe they'll stop putting all the plus-size clothes next to the maternity clothes in Target. Then again, I think, I rarely have to shop in the plus-size department because somehow I can still manage an XXL there. Then I think, maybe I won't have to sell a kidney to buy a nice outfit or skirt at Lane Bryant, but I think that's probably a pipe dream for plus-size girls everywhere. But then I look at Tess Holliday and think, would I, could I, ever have been in her position? Celebrated for my size and the way my body makes that size look? Probably not.

This is me in late February. The wig is a $16 piece from Amazon.
Do I look like a marshmallow?

I lost 25 pounds during and after my pregnancy with Ash. But I didn't look any different. My weight simply shifted (apparently into my thighs or something), keeping me at the same clothing size and same shape. It's weird. The body. Weight. Image.

And, of course, I'm writing this post after spending the whole of Shabbat inside (Ash had a mean cough), where all there was to do was roll around on the floor and eat. Cereal, cucumbers, cheese, rice cakes, lentils, yogurt-granola pops (homemade!), tomatoes, more cereal, lots of water ... by the looks of it, nothing seems bad. And yet, here I am, feeling overly full and angry at myself.

Sometimes I think that I'd have an easier time if my addiction was drugs or alcohol. Those are the kind of things you have to seek out if you don't have them in the house. Food is always there. No one has a completely empty cabinet or fridge. There's a market selling food on every corner (you'll only find a bar on every corner in Chicago).

Anyhow. That's where I am with Tess Holliday and plus-size models and body image. It's an internal dialogue that I can't shut off. Eight months now separated from my husband, me gaining the weight from stress, depression, anxiety, and him losing it with working again and walking everywhere. It's probably my greatest fear about his return: the way I look.

Funnily enough, the moment in my life when I was most happy and comfortable with my body was when I was pregnant. It was like I had an excuse to be the size I was, and I was okay with it.

Harrumph.

When You Feel Like a Hippo

Yes, I also sleep with an eye mask. That is, when I sleep. 

The weirdest thing about being pregnant is that you feel huge -- like hippopotamus huge -- even though you don't always look it in the first half or so of the process. I'm in that awkward phase of the pregnancy (20 weeks, about halfway through the pregnancy) where my weight has shifted and the clothing I've been getting by in just isn't necessarily working. Everything feels snug, and the things that I have that are naturally oversized make me look more huge (I think, anyway). 

I'm blessed with an amazing husband who -- on the first date -- told me that he thinks pregnant women are beautiful (it means they work, come on, how is that not attractive?) and that a woman's body changes more rapidly and frequently than a man's body and that he's cool with that. 

I've spent the past few months in anticipation of going to the U.S. and doing a crazy shopping adventure at Old Navy and Target to pick up maternity maxi dresses and skirts and sleeveless tops that I can modest-up with the the shells I own in abundance. When I canceled my U.S. trip, I thought, well, I'll just keep wearing what I'm wearing and if it stretches out, it stretches out and I'll figure out what to do when our finances are more in a mode of being able to afford things that fit. 

Alas, I don't think that's going to work. Or maybe I just need to come to grips with my size. 

As someone who has never been skinny or thin or even average, I can tell you that being pregnant is tough on the ego and self-image. There's a reason I haven't been taking the typical pregnancy photos. I'm struggling with feeling like my overall image hasn't changed much, even though it has, and I can feel it. It's a huge mind-mess. 

Looking at maternity bras and clothing and scanning discussion groups, it seems to me that there's something huge missing from the conversation: what it means and what it's like to be a curvy girl that's pregnant. 

When I was living in New Jersey and Colorado, I had a fairly regular gym regimen. In Colorado, I was going almost every day, spending a half-hour on the elliptical and then a half-hour on weights and working on balancing exercises. Burdened with misaligned patella on both legs, there are not many exercises I can do that aren't going to worsen an already bad knee problem (swimming and elliptical were the two okays I got from the last three physical therapists I had). Unfortunately, there isn't a pool super close, and there's no gym in sight. 

Right before I found out I was pregnant (which we found out while we were in England over Pesach, by the way), I was game to start a workout regimen again. I wanted to track down a Wii Fit and get moving, but the moment you find out you're pregnant, all the books and advice sound bytes tell you not to start up anything new. 

Stick to walking! they say. 

I've always found walking to be like ... the most boring thing on the planet when you don't have someplace to go. It's why I always hated running during volleyball in high school. When your'e running in circles, it's just pointless. Give me a destination!

So I'm doing what I can. My diet is still largely vegetarian (although with the pregnancy I've been craving meat and feeding that craving once a week or so), so I'm not gaining weight very rapidly according to my checkups. At my size, you're encouraged to not gain more than 15 or 20 pounds during the pregnancy, and I'm on a good pace for that. I try to walk up to the grocery store, even on the hottest of days, and every Shabbat we take a hard schlep around the neighborhood, which is crazy hilly and hard on me, but it's something. 

Anyone out there struggled with the "I'm already curvy" and "I'm getting much curvier" transition? How did you handle it? Did you just layer more? Wear more loose-fitting clothes? Or is it a non-starter when it comes to dealing?