My Journey to Me

My Journey to Me - One woman's story

Disclaimer:  This story is not to be posted anywhere without the author's express permission.  Don't ask the author for photos, you won't get any, don't ask her to keep gaining, she's a Foodee, not a Gainer.  This means she loves food, and if she happens to gain a bit of weight because of it, so be it.  



Have you ever gotten up some morning feeling like everything you've been doing up to that point was for crap?  I did.  I remember it happening like it was only yesterday.  It started out pretty normal, I got up, jumped in the shower and washed – you know, the normal stuff.  I then went downstairs and made my usual breakfast, a piece of toast no butter and a cup of tea with no sugar, milk, or honey.  That's when it hit me, that feeling of, "I really hate this and I don't want this anymore."  That's when I decided to make a change.

You see, most of my young childhood I was what most people would have called the cute chubby girl.  I had a round face, a pudgy midsection, and was often heard to be described as "cherubic".  I remained this round little girl until puberty hit.  That was when my hormones kicked in and started to change me.  From the time I was 12 to the day I turned 14 I grew 2 inches lost 30 pounds, and had reallocated what was left to hips, bottom, and bosom.  All of a sudden, I had gone from cherub to angel.  No longer was I chubby, I was tall (for me) and lithe and the boys noticed.  Strange thing was, I hadn't really changed my eating habits, I was still the same junk food junkie I had always been, my metabolism had just kicked in to ensure that my womanly bits would finally benefit from my habits.  I reveled in my new figure, believe me.  I flaunted my flat tummy and taut bottom whenever possible.  I enjoyed the looks from boys and their attention.  High school was my time, and I knew it.

Once out of high school, I went off to college, and my metabolism went with me.  I had grown another three inches by 18 and hadn't gained another pound.  So there I was, a college freshman at 5 feet 2 inches tall and 102 pounds with the metabolism of a ferret.    For four years I remained taut, lithe, and slinky, whatever you want to call it - all on a diet of pizza and junk food.  My friends hated my luck of course, as I was the only one who seemed immune to the creeping on of the extra pounds.  I got lucky and didn't lose my metabolism at all, didn't gain the freshman 15, or even the senior 15.  I went through college almost unchanged physically.

No, it wasn't until I had graduated and hit 25 that my body betrayed me.  I had been working at a law firm as a clerk for a while sitting at a desk, which I had not ever done before.  In high school and in college I had remained physically active even while not actually exercising.  I was always walking to class, walking to another dorm, playing a game of contact Frisbee, whatever.  For the first time, my body was sitting still and it finally caught up with me.  In one month, I gained almost 9 pounds, which I had never done before.  I freaked out and joined a gym and went on a diet.  I managed to lose the weight and got most of my famous metabolism back, but I was miserable.  No more junk food for me, no more late night pizza and wing fests.  I was in hell, but I was still thin - which at the time I thought was more important.  

I remained that way for a year and a half, right up until that magic morning.  I was sitting at my kitchen table with my head wrapped in a towel and my bathrobe on, eating my toast and drinking my tea when something in my just snapped.  I don't know exactly what it was, but something in me woke up and was just no longer satisfied with who I was on the inside or the outside.  Having always been a lover of food, I looked down at my toast and tea and decided that day I was going to be happy, if but for one day.  I called in sick to work, called and cancelled all my afternoon appointments, got dressed and left the house on a mission.  I was going to eat something that I had been denying myself for over a year.  I was done being the Queen of Denial; I was going to be the Queen of Happyland.  

I remember it was a bright spring morning, so I decided to walk everywhere I was going to go.  I still remembered the routes to all my favorite restaurants, so I decided to make a round of it and just spend the day eating my favorite things.  I had never in my life had so much fun.  I ate like there was no tomorrow, everything and anything I wanted.  I got full, but did't stop.  Muffins, lattes, scones, pizza, pasta, subs, Chinese, Japanese, beer, anything and everything I'd been wanting for over a year went into my waiting belly.  I had never felt so good.  About the fifth place I stopped, I started to get some looks.  I looked down and noticed why.  My shirt, which had fit my body that morning, had grown noticeably tighter during my little binge, and I had the beginnings of a little potbelly.  I'm sure those who were staring thought I was in the early stages of a pregnancy or something.  I found it a bit of a turn on actually, and it didn't slow me down a bit.  I actually kind of liked the attention.  I continued on with my bodily onslaught, eating my way through all my favorite foods.  As I reached my final destination for the day, I noticed that my walk had turned into a bit of a waddle, I had arched my back slightly and had spread my feet farther apart.  My shirt was stretched near to the limit, as well.  I definitely looked like I was pregnant now, even more so than earlier in the day.  The final stop was my all-time favorite thing, ice cream.  I ordered the largest thing on the menu, a large triple chocolate – coffee sundae cone, over a pint of sinfully rich love in a cone, and slowly walked my way home.  As I reached my apartment, I finished my cone and went upstairs.  That morning, I walked down, but I took the elevator back up this time, there was no way I was going to make it back up the stairs with my newfound fullness.  

While in the elevator, I burped and popped the middle button on my shirt.  The old me would have been horrified at this, but I was too happy to not look at it and just admire it.  I waddled to my apartment, went in and stripped my now very tight clothing off.  I got down to my underwear and went to my bedroom mirror.  There I was, a woman who had eaten every last one of her favorite things over the course of 8 ½ hours.  I looked like someone had puffed me up like a balloon.  I was, compared to that morning mind you, very round and bloated.  I liked it though, I was happy for the first time in over a year.  I didn’t want the day to end; I wanted to just keep being happy.  I knew that I couldn’t keep up that sort of pace forever, but I vowed to do that very same thing, to a smaller degree, once every other week, and have for over two years now.  I would out, rain or shine, summer or winter, and eat my way through my day.  I still worked out at my gym, but not quite so franticly, and I moved more toward workouts that kept me flexible and healthy.  The fruits of my new mentality manifested themselves all over my body.

The first thing I noticed was that my pants had grown tighter.  I looked at myself in the mirror and found that not only had I started to get a belly pouch, I also had added some padding to my bottom as well.  My legs started to fill out slightly, closing the gap between them.  As my body began to change, so did my mental outlook on life.  I was no longer quite so concerned with my own satisfaction, but felt more open and friendly.  I noticed new friendships forming, and new eyes falling upon me.  That felt really good, it had been a while.  My body continued to grow and change, my pants and skirts went up a size, then two, then my boobs went up two sizes at once.  My face softened and my cheeks took on a glow.  I began going out more, which meant more eating.  Things started to really change during my first Christmas as the new me.  I didn’t deny myself all the goodies, consequently my pants and tops went up another size and a half.  I had really changed by this time.  I mean, I was by no means fat, but I had gone from a svelte 120 pounds to a rather healthy 150 pounds in a year.  My belly had grown, as had my bottom and everything else.

Over the next year, the progression continued with me slowly growing out of clothes, buying new, admiring myself, getting attention from men and women, even though my gain slowed down in the last three months.  During this last Christmas, I really put on the pounds, nearly 15 in three weeks.  It was during this time that my upper body changed the most, going up almost two more whole cup sizes.  Talk about embarrassing, I could not find tops that fit, and had to deal with a case of the gaps until I got to go shopping in the after Christmas sales.  

Well, that pretty much brings us back to now, as I am sitting at my kitchen table writing this out.  This is the first time I have chronicled my change to what I like to call the "Real Me".  In the last two and a half years, I have found out who I really am, and I like me.  I am now a 5 foot 2 inches tall, and a very happy 194 pounds of soft, lovely woman flesh.  I jiggle slightly when I walk and every once in a while, someone slips up and asks me when "l'm due".  I get a chuckle when I get asked that, and I usually just rub my belly and say something like, "Oh, It'll be a while."  

Well, that's about it, this is my story and I&'m done for the moment.  I hope you liked it.  If I get positive feedback, I may continue chronicling my exploits, we'll see.