After I had my baby, I lost about 30 pounds of baby weight. But a year later, I had shot back up to 200 pounds. Before pregnancy, I’d never even approached this weight. I’d thought 160 pounds was way too heavy for my height.
At Christmastime, a family member said, “We need to talk about the elephant in the room: your weight.”
I was too shocked to speak. This person went on about how they were worried about me, saying that I looked unhealthy.
“But I haven’t been eating any differently than before I was pregnant,” I said.
I felt so ashamed that I started working out furiously for five weeks. I tracked my calories on MyFitnessPal. This strategy had helped me lose 20 pounds before my wedding, but suddenly it wasn’t helping at all.
Each morning when I hopped on the scale, I wanted to weep
I didn’t lose even one pound.
For over a year, family members kept making me feel terrible about my weight. Add to that the mysterious black hairs popping up all over my throat, the way my periods didn’t come back — even after I stopped breastfeeding — and the way I couldn’t seem to get pregnant again.
I decided to get help.
Last summer, I took my concerns to a health professional (the second one I’d seen about the weight gain) and, after ordering 10 blood tests, she diagnosed me with PCOS.
Imagine my surprise when I found out that PCOS can cause serious weight gain. Relief, hope, and pure anger pulsed through me. All this time, my weight gain was due to things I couldn’t have known about or controlled.
Due to PCOS, I have high testosterone levels and insulin resistance. Both of these things can cause weight gain.
And I'd gotten shamed for that
But the struggle didn’t end just because I got a diagnosis. At the suggestion of a friend, I saw a functional medicine provider who recommended I change my diet.
I did that, lost 10 pounds, and then gained them all back. I was on the diet the entire time.
It was so frustrating to watch the scale creep back up. I try not to focus too much on numbers, but when you weigh a significant amount more than what used to be normal for your body, it’s hard not to freak out.
Before I had my son — before, I believe, pregnancy and breastfeeding triggered PCOS — I used to bake all the time. Then, I’d eat the baked goods within days, leaving two cookies for my poor husband to enjoy.
This maybe caused a small weight gain that I’d then lose after running an extra mile the next day.
Not so with PCOS. If we have pizza for dinner one night of the week and I enjoy two slices, I get to welcome two new pounds to my body by the next morning.
And, no, it doesn’t go away
I can eat salad and fruit all the next day and I’ll keep those two pounds forever.
You know what helps me cope with this? I have an excuse. It’s called PCOS.
There is no simple solution to the disease. No one diet or pill or amount of exercise that can solve things.
I’ve made an appointment with a respected OB-GYN to get a handle on things. I’m exercising as many days of the week as possible, waxing my chin every other day, and getting used to the idea of having an only child.
But, for now, I’m working on loving myself at this weight
I exercise and eat healthy, not to attempt to lose a certain amount of pounds, but to feel well and decrease the risk of uterine cancer, type 2 diabetes, and the host of other issues that can crop up due to PCOS.
To those well-meaning but misguided family members and friends who say there’s “no excuse” for my weight gain, I say, yes — yes there is.
It’s hard enough to deal with on its own, so please swallow your input unless I ask for it and join me in loving me — whatever my size.
