Flashback to September 2008.
A girl stands in the back room of a dress shop, watching in horror as the dress-maker pulls and tugs at the sides of a dress that simply will not come together. The dress-maker laces the corset up, giving up at trying to push and prod rolls of fat into the dress.
The dress itself is beautiful. A medieval inspired creation of lace over gold satin and layers and layers of creamy white skirt in silk.
The girl sighs unhappily. She’s gained all the weight she lost at the beginning of the year and more. The dress-maker had foolishly made the corset smaller after the first fitting when it was discovered to be slightly too large for the bride-to-be. Those inches of fabric are now sorely missed.
Flashback to November 29, 2008.
It’s The Day.
After fighting an epic battle of Diet Shake vs Binge Eating for two months, she’s managed to lose enough weight to get into the dress and do the corset laces up – mostly. But it’s going to be an uncomfortable day. Not even the beauty of the dress or the fun of the occasion can distract her for very long.
The day is fun, but she’s still fat and uncomfortable. Everything’s tight. The corset feels like it’s just getting tighter. The girl starts to feel ill towards the end of the reception and loses over half an hour of what should be a festive occasion in the bathroom being quite sick.
My wedding day was so hard for me.
Even after indulging in a “Trash the Dress” photoshoot the following March – which admittedly went a long way to helping with self-esteem issues – it still didn’t detract from the fact that I was still fnarkling huge.
It shocks me today that I gained another 25kg after that point.
So a couple weeks ago I had the urge to see what my wedding dress looks like now.
Slightly shamefaced, I pulled it out of the cloth bag and cringed a little as some twigs and branches fell on the floor. Nope, it hasn’t been cleaned since it was dragged around various muddy forest paths and dunked in large bodies of water.
I laced the corset up completely and then stepped into the neckline, wondering how far I could get it up my legs before I needed to undo the laces.
Over my calves, knees, up my thighs… wait? What? Over the hips… ok, this is interesting… alright, suck the belly in a bit to get it up further (not much effort there) and then… oh my god. It was on. Not only were the laces completely tied as tight as the corset would allow, but I had inches of space inside the corset.
I didn’t know whether to feel happy or sad about that. I loved my dress. I hated me in it but I adored the dress. I still love it, but I don’t ever want to pass on something this big to my kids (if they ever happen). I don’t want anyone to feel the way I did on what was supposed to be such an awesome day.
And it’s stuff like this that make me remember why it is that I am going to this effort to lose the weight, particularly when I’m having such a rough time of it as I have for the past six months.
I want to look good, I want to be healthy. I never want to feel that sort of humiliation again.