My Wake-Up Call to Lose Weight

I was at home with my baby, something to eat, another series to watch, and a pair of pink trousers. Those trousers deserve their own chapter. I wore them every single day. I’d wash them, put them straight in the tumble dryer, then put them back on. Why bother finding something else when my faithful pink trousers would be ready in an hour? My husband’s comments became less subtle. “Please, burn those trousers. I can’t look at them any more.” Then came, “Look at yourself. You look like a cliché.” That hurt. And I wasn’t about to stand there and agree with him. I reminded him that I’d brought his heir into the world in a bloodbath. That I’d been cut during the delivery. That my body had been through something enormous. It was my body. I meant that. But I was also struggling to admit how unhappy I felt in it. Every conversation about my weight became an argument, and I went straight into defending myself. Then I started eating alone because I was ashamed of what I was eating. I didn’t want him watching me or commenting on what was on my plate. I stopped letting him see me naked. And one day, while we were having sex, he stopped. He couldn’t carry on. He still loved me. But he no longer found my body attractive. Until then, we’d been arguing about food, exercise and a pair of pink trousers. Now it was happening in the one place where I already felt most exposed. It hurts, it hurts so much that I couldn’t cry; I just lay down on my side and said "Good night". I didn’t sleep that night. I kept thinking, Why can’t he love me whatever I look like? Isn’t he supposed to love me for me? For richer, for poorer. In sickness and in health. Surely somewhere in there we could fit skinny or fat? I couldn’t separate his love for me from his attraction to me. If he still loved me, how could he stop wanting me? We’d always been that couple. The mixed-race couple people complimented wherever we went. A “Benetton family”, as people liked to call us. At gatherings with friends or family, someone always had something to say about how lovely we looked together, how beautiful our child was. Our baby was the perfect combination of us. And in my eyes, my baby was still perfect. My husband still looked the same. I felt like I was the one who no longer belonged in the picture.