I have always been a fairly body positive person. I exercise at least two to three times a week and I’m generally quite active. I have to be with three kids.
But there was a day just recently when my “body positivity” was in stark contrast to the actual state of my fast deteriorating health.
As I walked up the hill with two friends and all our kids, half way up, I felt my chest tightening and it was becoming increasing difficult to breath. I felt like I was about to collapse.
I fell behind, but was too proud to say anything because it was me – body positive me – who was supposed to be active and healthy. I used my two-year-old son as the excuse for slowing down, until he wanted to be carried and I could barely carry myself.
One of my friends who was with me is a mum who runs, is on her feet a lot and can chase after everyone’s kids. Despite her mummy pouch and stretch marks and saggy boobs, she is stunning and what I could only wish I was – strong and healthy. She carried my son on her shoulders, all the way up.
At this instance, my body had failed me because I couldn’t be available to my child the way he needed me to be. It was at this moment I knew something needed to change. As body positive as I was, I was also unhealthy.
“Morbidly obese”: This was the shocking diagnosis from my doctor after a general check-up. She checked my blood pressure again, which had recently been consistently high while I normally had low blood pressure. This combined with my family history of type 2 diabetes, heart disease – which claimed the life of my maternal grandmother far too early, liver disease, colon cancer and dementia, put me at high risk of a very early death due to illness.