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    Blog Posts by BeLiteWeight

    • Sleeveless in Seattle: My Story of Obesity

      By BeLiteWeight | Healthy Living – Tue, Nov 27, 2012 11:32 PM EST

      Go Huskies!

      I can say this with a smile on my face now. But when I started at the University of Washington (home of the Huskies) three years ago, the word "huskies" made me sad.

      I was a bigger girl, a size 18 to be exact. And of all the words I used to describe myself - plump; big, beautiful woman (otherwise known as BBW); full-figured; and big-boned - husky was the one that made me cringe.

      For as long as I can remember, I've struggled with my weight. When I was a little girl, boys would tease me relentlessly. They'd call me names. Fatty. Thunder Thighs. Big-E-Smalls (because I was chubby but never really developed breasts, I guess). And "Husky" (because I've always been a big University of Washington fan).

      Even my girlfriends couldn't make me feel better.

      "But you have a pretty face," they'd say, as if that helped.

      It hurt, but I carried on. I studied hard and was involved in yearbook and Make-A-Wish. But I knew there was no chance I'd ever be homecoming

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    • I’m Not Overweight, I’m Just 10 Inches Too Short

      By BeLiteWeight | Healthy Living – Wed, Oct 31, 2012 6:52 AM EDT

      The first time my clothes shrunk I shrugged it off as a learning process. I was in college and (finally) decided I should do laundry. The sweatpants and t-shirt I'd been wearing were covered with food stains, so I washed the mountain of dirty clothes on my floor.

      Afterward, nothing fit me.

      I called my mom to tell her. She mentioned not overeating and told me to wash in cold water. Lesson learned.

      The second time it happened was after I'd moved in with my fiancé. I'd taken a week off to fix up our house, spent the time wearing sweat pants and a t-shirt and eating everything.

      That weekend she did the laundry… and nothing fit.

      She mentioned that maybe the clothes didn't shrink-maybe I was getting bigger. She was right: I'd packed on a few extra pounds. But I wasn't fat… I was just short.

      I'd always been a little husky because of my height. I'm 5'8". In high school, I weighed about what my friends weighed, so I wasn't fat. I shouldn't be punished or considered

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    • Lose Weight, Gain a Girlfriend

      By BeLiteWeight | Healthy Living – Mon, Oct 8, 2012 7:39 AM EDT

      If you saw the Ryan Reynolds' movie "Just Friends," you know the story of my life. I was him-the character he played in the fat suit, not the millionaire actor (unfortunately).

      I was fat, but my weight didn't define me. What defined me was my sense of humor, caring nature and intellect. I was a really nice guy - the kind of guy that girls have as their really good friend.

      My best friend was Nikki.

      Ah, Nikki. So many nights we'd text until the sun came up. We'd share secrets, laugh and even cry.

      Nikki was gorgeous. She was our class president, homecoming queen and a top student. She was pretty and smart. She was everything anyone could ever want in a girl. And everyone wanted her. Jocks, skaters, preps and, of course, me.

      I knew she was out of my league. We were just friends. Best friends, mind you; but nothing more.

      We were neighbors and hit it off right away. We'd eat breakfast together. At school, she got me in with the cool kids and I'd sit by her at

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    • Missing a Little of Myself: Life After Weight Loss Surgery

      By BeLiteWeight | Healthy Living – Mon, Oct 1, 2012 5:24 AM EDT

      Last year I changed my life. I flew to Juarez, Mexico, and had weight loss surgery. Gastric sleeve surgery. That's what the procedure was called.

      Since then I've lost over 100 pounds. I've redone my wardrobe, started dating again and even began working out. I'm a completely new person.

      But still, sometimes I feel like something's missing: Me.

      They say the beautiful women get the breaks. The ones with the clear complexion, flowing blonde hair and beach bodies. The skinny women. They get served first at busy, crowded bars. They get the doors held open for them at the mall. They get hired more easily.

      And that seems to be true. Men, for example, pay way more attention to me now than they used to. They buy me drinks. They honk at me when I'm out walking the dog. And a few have even slipped me their phone numbers when I've been out with friends.

      I like the attention, I really do. But I have to ask: Do these men REALLY like me? Or are they just enamored with my

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