As a third Christmas dinner was placed in front of me, a wave of nausea swept up my body. 'I don't know if I can manage it,' I said, pushing it away.
It was Christmas 2016 and, like every year, my family had piled into my house on Christmas Eve morning for a fry-up breakfast, followed by Christmas dinner and leftovers in the evening, snacking on chocolates throughout the day. We'd washed it all down with wine and beer, then repeated it at my sister Sarah's house on Christmas Day, and now at my Mum's for Boxing Day.
We all laughed at how much food we'd consumed but pushed past the nausea, eventually clearing plates that were piled high with turkey, pigs in blankets, sprouts, cabbage, Yorkshire puds, and gravy. We joked that if we weren't in a food coma by the end of each day, we weren't doing Christmas properly.
But my bingeing didn't stop there.
Throughout the year, I ate whatever I wanted. I was a single mum and socialising rotated around food. I'd go for a fry-up at a cafe with friends or take my daughter Tianni, then nine, and her friends for ice cream. Every few months, my waistband grew tighter, and I'd go up another size. I didn't dwell on my body, instead focusing on the good things in my life like Tianni and the rest of my family.
In December 2017, Sarah and two of our friends booked a meal at the local carvery to kick off the festive season. Tianni sat on my bed and we sang along to Mariah Carey's All I Want for Christmas Is You as I applied my make-up and tied my hair into a sleek ponytail. I kissed Tianni goodbye and headed out feeling good.
هذه القصة مأخوذة من طبعة November 07, 2022 من WOMAN'S OWN.
ابدأ النسخة التجريبية المجانية من Magzter GOLD لمدة 7 أيام للوصول إلى آلاف القصص المتميزة المنسقة وأكثر من 9,000 مجلة وصحيفة.
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هذه القصة مأخوذة من طبعة November 07, 2022 من WOMAN'S OWN.
ابدأ النسخة التجريبية المجانية من Magzter GOLD لمدة 7 أيام للوصول إلى آلاف القصص المتميزة المنسقة وأكثر من 9,000 مجلة وصحيفة.
بالفعل مشترك? تسجيل الدخول
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