In a new weekly feature, Her.ie newbie Liz is going to share her weight loss journey. She’ll be filling you in on fighting temptation, her willpower struggles with the cocktail menu and taking painfully slow steps towards regular exercise. All in the name of a dress.
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Hanging on the wall at the end of my bed is the constant reminder I plan on shedding nearly two stone this year. I also plan on marking the trials and tribulations of ‘trying to be good’ – the favourite saying we all tout, and quickly replace when a cake is put in front of us.
Week 17: Ode To My Sister (She IS Going To Kill Me)
I had a VERY Irish childhood. Cue the summer holidays out west, the hang sandwiches, Irish dancing classes with each feis spent lined up with a number pinned to your chest. Don’t forget all car trips including myself and three of my siblings squeezed into the back seat… followed closely by “Are we there yet?!”
I also had the great pleasure of doing this alongside a big sister. We were inseparable. To the point everyone thought we were twins.
Marielli is kind of the best big sister I ever could have asked for, and we’ve shared our woes like every pairing do. Like the time we were bought hideous brown matching coats and made wear them because “they were made of good wool”. Think a nun’s coat with a burberry lining. We were 10 and 11, and used to slip them off on our way to school when we got around the corner and mum couldn’t see us. My sister still refuses to wear brown to this day. Proof that emotional scarring is real.
Or the fact that we were always dressed as twins. Anything bought for one, was bought for the other, in a different colour but matching style. This was handy in certain scenarios - like when I scuffed my boots and swapped the right for her right shoe. I was already in trouble, adding damaged footwear to the mix wasn’t going to help.
We also did the shared Communion dress, (it was a tighter stretch for yours truly) and then it all stopped. (The clothes – not the twinship. She’s the best.)
All thanks to a little thing called puberty.
With puberty came the awkward filling out of any teenager. Suddenly I had boobs, and my child-bearing hips started dipping under the weight of a bit of tummy. ‘Cause that’s not awkward, or depressing when you’re 13 and you think the world is plotting against you. And that was BEFORE you found out you’ll have a period well into your 40s. Thanks God, nice one.
My sister is really beautiful, and I say that with no bitterness or anger. She’s tall, willowy as well as being beautiful and fiercely loyal and protective. I adore her. We also have ridiculous in-jokes that would probably have you questioning my sanity if I typed them here. Puberty came and went, and although she had growing pains, I looked at her in an awe reserved for a model. She took after my mother, and it really showed.
I didn’t take the transformation quite as gracefully. I went more along my father’s route. His broad-shouldered, super-pale, freckly route. WIN.
I can’t pin the age where I started the self-conscious teenager routine, but it was pretty uncomfortable. Non-uniform days were a nightmare – what could I wear with my O’Neills tracksuit bottoms?! These were life’s dilemmas. Marielli would sit on her bed and I’d try on a selection of outfits and she’d give me the seal of approval (clearly as the older sister this was EVERYTHING.)
I would try on her clothes, get one leg into the skirt and realise nobody would want me to turn up the party wearing her frilly skirt covering just one ass cheek. Not quite the look we were going for, and probably the fastest way to scare off any potential suitors. Because nabbing a boyfriend was everything and my tango to the ground to wrestle on a pair of jeans was a necessary evil.
Then I discovered I loved to dance. It was like a little lightbulb one day. I joined a musical society, started doing shows and with the dropping pounds of evening rehearsals, as well as singing showtunes with friends in a chorus, I found my confidence grow.
I started wearing dresses. Picking out clothes to suit the style I wanted to wear, not just what I thought would hide my body. And the best part?
My sister was so happy for me. She was happy to see me excited, to show off my arms with a smile on my face. To pull on clothes and not turn and look at myself in the mirror a few times before pulling if back off and opting for jeans and a t-shirt again.
What am I getting at?
She has always had my back. Always.
Basically when my weight fluctuated over the years, right up until last year when I ate my feelings, she was there for me. Never a hint of judgement or scolding. Just pure understanding.
She helped me pick out clothes to wear to school. She went through the ninety million outfit changes for my first day in college, my first time going to a nightclub, my first date ever.
Marielli has always been like a twin/ mother. Her protective warmth, that nearly broke a boy’s hand when she heard he’d been teasing me, has never left her. Now she’s a mother to the most beautiful little girl, and I can see it was just part of her DNA.
So when I started this blog I was worried. I knew she would worry. That I would put pressure on myself, or that I’d judge my value on just my weight. But you know what I do get?
A message from her. Every week. Telling me how much she loves me, that she laughed through my musings – something to let me know she’s sharing the journey with me. As if I didn’t know.
So she has no idea this week is dedicated to having someone that strong, loving and amazing in life. I’m a lucky lady. She is also going to be mortified. (Sorry… well not really.)
So this week’s trip to the scales?
I lost three and a half pounds. I even got a round of applause in class, and it was really lovely.
And now I get to share that feeling with you. ‘Cause sometimes it’s nice to know you’re not doing these journeys alone.
This week’s stats go a little something like this -
Height: 5ft 8
Starting Weight: 174 lbs
Current Weight: 158.5 lbs
Weight Loss To Date: 16 lb
Goal: 148 lbs
Feeling: Back on track
The Dress in Question:
