Confessions of a Fat Vegetarian

Photo Courtesy of Pinterest

I decided to stop eating meat at the age of eight.  When I was younger, I was obsessed with chicken and rice.  Then, around seven, my palate changed,  and I realized that I didn't care for the texture of any type of meat.  So, I quit.  Cold turkey.  Surprisingly, my parents were supportive of me.  I say surprisingly because I come from a family whose main meals consist of meat on meat.  My mother is from Latin America, my father a mixture of Irish and Black.  A typical dinner in our household was meat and potatoes, carne con fill in the blank.  My mother, bless her heart, always took the time and effort to prepare meals for me that would give me the sustenance that I needed and keep me happy.  Back then, there weren't meat alternatives, so I filled myself up on veggies and beans, and rice.

In high school, I became friends with other "veggies".  Our school cafeteria wasn't as kind as home.  The choices that I had were salads and french fries and pizza.  While others dined on fries and tater tots, I started bringing lunches to school.  I remember eating outside on the lawn, sometimes with chopsticks and veggie sushi, letting the sun shine on my face as I enjoyed my treats.

I was a tiny girl,..barely five foot, barely 100 pounds.  The things that weighed the most on me were my hair and the giant platforms that I used to wear.  In university, I kept these habits of bringing inventive meals to the quad.  Again, I'd find some green-space to picnic at, sitting with my guitar, and just enjoying life.

It wasn't until I was about twenty three that my body started rebelling.  I had gained thirty pounds in a month.  My diet hadn't changed nor had my exercise levels.  My hips and breasts and stomach were a different story.  I went to a doctor.  He told me that I had a growth spurt.  I told him I was crazy.  At twenty three you don't have growth spurts.  A month later, I found myself sixty pounds heavier than my original weight, baffled by my appearance, and depressed that nothing I did was helping me lose the weight that I was gaining.

Everyone started questioning me.  Was I pregnant? Was I eating meat? Was I sneaking to fast food chains mid-class?  The answer to all of these were no.  No one believed me.  They thought I was a liar and a food-obsessed woman.  To them, it could not be possible to be a fat vegetarian.  I tried in vain to "fix" myself.  I saw nutritionists, started running, but nothing work.  Later that year, I got married to a guy that I'd thought I'd spend my whole life with.  I felt ashamed and embarrassed when he introduced me to his family.  I remember sitting at the dinner table, him telling them that I didn't eat meat.  It seemed like the world had stopped.  Forks, knives, spoons were mid-air and mouths agape in wonderment as to how this chubby little Blaxican girl could possibly be vegetarian.  I remember someone asked me directly, as if my then husband had told them some tall tale.  I answered sheepishly, then asked to be excused.

We moved across the globe together.  I thought for sure, my issues with my vegetarianism and the fact that I didn't fit some social norm would not hold me back.  I was wrong.  I learned quickly what the words for "fat", "really", and "no way" were in two other languages.  As I began making friends, some of them veggies as well, I began to recognize the looks of disbelief and sympathy when I'd tell my friends about my eating habits.  Despite my being vegetarian for over twenty years, many times my advice on vegetarian cooking and living green have been disputed simply because of my size.  How could I possibly be an expert on a subject when I physically represent everything that negates what I stand for.  In simple terms, there is no such thing as a fat vegetarian.  They are like unicorns or Santa Claus.  They simply don't exist.  Case closed.

Thirteen years after my first "growth spurt" and marriage, I found myself alone and unrecognizable to myself.  Looking in the mirror every morning has become a cruel game.  In my mind, I'm still the tiny girl with the guitar in hand and the vegetarian sushi in tow.  In reality, I'm double that and have a permanent look of frustration across my face.  I'm learning to be comfortable in my own skin, owning my greatness, and not worrying about how others perceive me. This, of course, is a daily struggle.

In recent times, I met a wonderful soul whos intellect and personality is magnetizing.  I've never been the type of woman to attempt to convert a man's lifestyle habits.  I have always hoped for a mutual respect and understanding regarding my choices as well as the prerequisite that my friends and paramours get that I am more than my weight and I am more than a vegetarian. "Guy" (we'll call him) was supportive when I told him I wanted to train for a race (which, I admit, I haven't done so much for) as well as juice fast for detox purposes and also as a means of transitioning to raw veganism.  During the summer, I found myself energized, revitalized, and motivated to start my latest life chapter.  A month into juicing, I knew that I needed whole foods.  "Guy" kept up with the juice fast, then slowly converted to salads and veggies.  In three month's time, he'd lost forty pounds.  I only lost ten.

Again, I was perplexed.  I had been doing everything right.  Weight loss was not the intentional goal, but as I saw the numbers on his scale dwindle, it gave me hope. I felt cheated out of a system yet again.  How could it be that someone who makes a conscious effort to eat clean still horde extra weight?  So, I sit here, attempting to devise a new gameplan.  Through "Guy's" friendship and determination, I've found the motivation to find the answers to the question I've been asking myself for almost a decade.  How can a fat vegetarian exist?

Since the surge in clean eating and vegetarianism globally, I know that nutritionists and doctors may have better answers for me now than just a "growth spurt".  My plan is to track daily, make sure that my carb intake is not too high,, make sure that I'm getting enough protein and iron, and in a month's time make an appointment with my GP.

It pains me to say that I have been shamed for not fitting the prototype of young vegetarian woman.  It does not shame me to keep trying to be the fittest and best me that I can be.

So, You Have a Foreign Partner. Now What?

Photo Courtesy of:  pinterest

You've decided to bridge the cultural gap between your home country and your host nation.  What better way to dive in the deep end than by mingling with the "Natives".  In spite of every protest, you end up fancying someone (despite language barriers).  They think you're cute too!  You've gone out on a few dates, and things seem on the up-and-up.  Now what?

Here are a few tips that "TheExpatGirl" has gathered from various "sources" to help you should you find yourself questioning whether you truly understand your new mate.

1.  Be an Understander, Not a Judger.
Sure, he may lick the plate after every meal.  She may have switched her stillettos and skirts for sweats and rubber sandals.  Instead of judging about these things, understand the reasoning behind it.  Maybe in his culture, leaving an ounce of food behind is a sign of wastefulness and disrespect.  Maybe, for her, she feels comfortable and unguarded enough to show you that she doesn't need to hide behind the costume of Sexy Secretary .  These idiosyncrasies are workable, and global issues.  If she starts pooping with the door open, then let the fighting begin!

2.  You're Making Me Meet Who!?
Yes, la familia.  They are super excited about this burning love that they've decided that Mutter, Vater, Oma, Opa and every 3rd cousin must be introduced to you. You don't speak German? Don't worry.  You'll be fine.  The trick to meeting the family for the first time (and not throw up in the process) is smile and nod.  If you're blessed, you'll be sitting around the dinner table discussing what your future children look like (and of course, you not understanding a single word being spoken).  At worst, the conversation will take a sharp right and that kid will have a hairy back and chin wart.  Tweezers anyone?

3.  Egg-észségetekre!
It really shouldn't be a problem if your mate starts the day off with 100 proof.  At least they aspire to be the top at something--even if it is top shelf.  Seriously, in western cultures, we consider it to be a social faux pas to begin imbibing before noon.  This is not the case in some countries.  Having a drink with a friend, or being offered a drink by a colleague or neighbor is a sign of camaraderie and respect.  Keeping an open mind about the traditions and daily habits of the country that you are in will save you headache, heartache, and money on therapy sessions.

4.  No, I'm not Sarcastic, Ever!
In any relationship, communication is key.  Having the ability to decipher sarcasm and seriousness is hard enough with a partner from your own country.  Adding accents and inflections can be the cause of many giant blowouts--unless you've learned that the stone cold face and repetitive oscillations in your bae's voice is their norm.  If not, you have issues.  Then, and only then, is it recommended to pull the "I'm a(n) (American/Brit/fill in the blank) card.  We invented sarcasm."

5.  Blistery Mystery.
The novelty of having your first foreign mate has worn off.  So has the mystery.  Again, this is a typical issue with couples worldwide.  Should you decide to keep on with said relationship, step your game up.  Don't show all of your cards just yet.  Get a hobby, change your style a bit...mystery = attraction.  If not, cut your losses quickly and head out to the city center and enjoy your freedom.

This is a giant world in which we live.  How many people can you connect with in this lifetime?