Tag Archives: firstmom

Let me explain about “fat girl”…

“Fat girl” lives inside of me. You may not see her based on your opinion of what’s fat or not, on a BMI calculation or what size clothes you think I wear. You may remember when I was 188 pounds and so this size, 133 lbs at 5′ 3 1/2″ seems impressive to you. Last year, in the height of the stress surrounding Preston’s illness, I was 118 lbs. Alas, I digress and numbers and sizes are NOT the point of this post. You may find it offensive based on your own size and shape that I reference myself as “fat girl.” I’m sorry if you make my post about me, about you. Never in my adult life have I EVER looked at another human being and judged them on their size and weight as far as an attraction factor goes. I may see the size and shape of someone and have my medical background kick in and want to share with them my opinion of their risk stratification but again, not the point of this post. I know fat is an offensive word and there are many other words out there to describe someone with more generous proportions. I use the word fat to describe “fat girl” because she is offensive, ugly, broken, damaged, destructive, lost, abandoned, alone and unloveable. I first remember meeting fat girl when I was 17 and had left high school midway through my senior year after being accused by an administrator, who was a pious nun, of having sex with a boy. I didn’t. I could never go back to that ridiculous institution that was a farce when it came to shaping young men and women. That nun single-handedly damaged my faith in religious orders forever and mad it hard to trust authority figures. I left school and went to the community college to get the credits needed to get my diploma. I also met a man who was 22, Asian, armed, and emotionally dangerous. Much to my parents disappointment, I got sucked into his world and was pinned under his thumb. We had a sexual relationship that wasn’t always on my terms but at least I had reliable birth control. I used the Depo Provera shot and the weight began to build on my small frame. I was never a care-free teenager, being adopted and having depression and anxiety prevented that, but things got much worse after I entered into a relationship with him. He was possessive, obsessive and manipulative. I thought I was loved. At that point, I’d spent my whole life looking for unconditional love and while I most certainly knew what we had, wasn’t that, I was sucked in and couldn’t get away. I had very little control over my own destiny, so I thought. I was unhappy and unhealthy. I wasn’t getting much exercise and I ate to make myself feel better. (I’ve always done that. As an infant, mourning the loss of Caroline, my first mom, everyone fed me to make me content.) I’m 35 years old and rarely content. The point is, I’ve been trained to feed my negative feelings. I don’t blame anyone for this and any negative feelings I’ve harbored against loved ones for the self obsessive behaviors that were taught to me, I’ve forgiven them for.

So, hormones, unhappiness and bad eating habits made “fat girl” grow into her own. Now when I find myself wallowing about my clothes not fitting or being plagued with the lazy gene, I blame “fat girl”. Rather than hate all of myself, I can direct my anger and aggression at just her. If I don’t compartmentalize this self-disastifaction, it creeps into my daily life. It begins to seep in where my children can see it. There is a battle that is waged between mostly healthy Rebecca and “fat girl”. I think about the clothes in my closet that don’t fit. That I have to make sure that my laundry is done midweek since I haven’t want to break down and buy bigger scrub pants. This weekend my anger at “fat girl” has gotten riled up because the bi-annual scrub sale is happening at work. I intended to pretend to accept her and get bigger pants. Why the hell should I? I feel good at 124 lbs and the size that is. Rather than give into the side effects of “fat girl” and her bad habits and subversive behavior, I’m going to make her get her ass on the elliptical and fly right, dammit. I’m not letting her win.

The reason that I won’t accept this size and weight is because I know I got here with bad, unhealthy habits. If I exercised daily, didn’t restrict or binge on food, stayed away from Diet Soda, ate more fruits and veggies than carbs, prayed or meditated instead of abusing food, I would give myself a break. I would be realistic that I had done all I could do and I would accept me. I may never like the lumps and bumps and stretch marks but that’s a post for another day. I have a lot of work to do to be so healthy that I can’t hear or see “fat girl.” In an effort to encourage Rebecca in her battle against “fat girl”, I intend to post fitness goals and successes on FB. I need to be visible and supported.

In closing, I’d like to reiterate that the only time I see size, is in the mirror, in myself. I love everyone based on who they are on the inside. Someday, I can do the same for myself.

Looking forward to what comes next…

Family, reunited and reinvented.

“Rebecca, Caroline, Preston and Logan enjoying the sun next to the Deschutes River in Bend.”

This is such a surreal experience. It’s the end of summer, Labor Day, September 1st 2014, and behind me on the hammack are my older son, Preston and my first mom, Caroline. Logan, my younger son is across the driveway from me, playing on the tire swing hanging from one the of the tall Ponderosa pine trees in our front yard. It is the first time that she has been to stay in my home and only her second visit to Oregon, in the 17 years since we have met. When she came that first time, for our first reunion, she stayed in a hotel and I, at 18 years old, was still living at home with my parents. Today, the sun is shining and it’s 78 degrees. Comfortable in the shade. A stark constrast to what she experiences in Southern Lousiana, where she lives. Despite the fact that it’s been 4 years since she has seen my husband, AJ and my children and 3 years since we’ve been together, the visit has been comfortable and has felt very natural. We’ve picked right up where we left off. In the years since our initial reunion, the best way to preserve and improve our long distance relationship, is to make every moment count and set aside the thoughts of what has been missed and what we don’t have. The things we’ve missed have been many. Birthdays, a wedding, births, baptisms, illnesses, death, heartbreak and happiness all make the list. However, together we have experienced a wedding, illness, heartbreak, happiness, spiritual growth, emotional growth, back-to-school shopping, meals, a football game, the Oregon coast, cooking out, church services, singing praise music, preparing meals together, body surfing in the Gulf, playing tourist in New Orleans, karaoke, bubbles on the driveway, bathtime, Twister, card games, laundry, photography, hiking to waterfalls, browsing for books, Open House at school, laughter, tears, despair, hope and most of all, love. Although I am sad that my mom will be leaving tomorrow, leaving my two boys with bruised hearts, I pray that they, like me, will learn the lesson and value of living for every moment, embracing the memories and looking forward to what comes next. 🙂

Precious moments

Preston pushing Nanny Caroline on the tire swing

My first mother’s story of reliquishing me, and our reunion.

It is my impression that we rarely get two sides of a story. No matter how aware we are of another person’s journey and opinion, the only way for justice to be done to their story is for them to write it themselves. That is exactly what my first mom, author Caroline K Dixon of http://www.carolinekdixon.com, has done. She bled her soul into the words themselves and they’ve since been published in a sweet memoir, available on Amazon.com. (My coding is rusty. Please click the link below.)


Her book has been a long time coming. I’m grateful that enough years have gone by that at 35, many years after being reunited, I am secure enough that whatever is written, even the things that I said or did that show me to be a little tarnished, I’ll be ok. I love my first mom. I always have. I would never attempt to deny her catharsis, by putting limits or demands on her creative process. I know you will enjoy reading it.