Introducing “Fat Chants” – Your Online Friend in the Quest for Bathing Suit Confidence

It’s time to shed the fluff and release the thin, trim, hot-lookin’ mama who’s been kidnapped by a size-18 frame (no doubt being held for a cheesecake ransom). This is my mission. This is my journey. May the Fat Chants bring about a new chance … at a better, brighter life.

Fat Chants: Let’s Do This

Forgive me self, for I have cheated. It’s been 447 days since my first Fat Chants confession…oops.

I’m Tessa, a new-to-the-30s mama of Cooper, an incredibly wild, incredibly sweet almost two-year-old finger eater (the boy has yet to meet a utensil he likes). I’m married to my high school sweetheart, Chris, am one of those incredibly lucky types who gets paid for her passion (I’m a marketing copywriter) and am confident enough to admit that my kitchen is a fantastical shade of Grinch-green (by choice) and that I’m having an all-out love affair with my DVR (how did we ever function before?).

Oh, and one more admission — I’m fat.

January 2008, still high on New Year’s resolutions and leftover Christmas cookies, I decided enough was enough. I was 228 pounds and chowing my way to an early grave.

My son didn’t deserve that reality. Neither did my husband. Neither did I.

So, I launched my hot-mama mission — part healthy eating, part exercise, part online humiliation. I knew if I was going to succeed, I had to make myself accountable to more than just me … so I turned to the world, well, the World Wide Web.

Enter Fat Chants, my completely honest and, at times, completely horrifying online chronicle of my break-up with the bulge. Created with the intent to vent, motivate and, ultimately hold my feet to the fire, the experiment was total greatness. And it totally worked (lost 35 pounds). Until I stopped working it. The thing about being accountable via the blogosphere is that it ceases to work when you cease to write.  Sigh.

In just a few months, I ate back all but two of the pounds I’d lost and I was miserable.

But now I’m back. Recommitted and rarin’ to go. Only this time, I’m sharing my journey with a more captive audience. I’m sharing my journey with you — the fabulous moms of Moms Out Loud.

Over the next few weeks I’ll be sharing my tips and tricks, my trials and triumphs, and it’s my hope that as we rapidly approach that dreaded time of year that conjures thoughts of polka-dot sausage casings and stripe-shrouded wobbly bits (aka swimsuit season), that all of us struggling with the reflection in the mirror can do this thing together.

Let’s swap secrets, success stories, confessions and even courage for when our own reserve is running empty.

Let’s chat. Let’s chant. Let’s release the thin within … I’ll start.

My pants moo’d at me this morning. Last night, I was searching for a pic to include on this post and I stumbled across one taken last summer on the banks of the Guadalupe River. I was shocked by how good I looked (in comparison to today I was a freakin’ rock star). Wanting to confirm just how far I’d fallen (because clearly the scale was lying!), I slipped (maybe squeezed is a better term) on the pants I was wearing in the pic.

Um, yeah. Moo.

There was no Spanxing my way into these bad boys. No rubber banding the waist. No lying on the bed, sucking it in and yanking up the zipper with a pair of pliers. The Grand Canyon paled in comparison to the gap that formed between either side of the jagged zipper teeth.

With seams straining to hold it together across the wide expanse of gelatinous goo, I took a long, hard look at myself, careful to make no sudden movements (the seams never would’ve survived). I stared at the quaking muffin that spilled over the top of the waistband, the second stomach pushing through the wide, open space that, in a previous life, had been covered by a securely fastened zipper. I memorized the image and resolved never, ever to see it again (but, if you’re a glutton for punishment, click here for the before and afters … yikes!).

With a quick snort, I slowly wiggled my way out of those sad little pants and you could hear an audible sigh of relief as they crumpled, weightlessly to the floor.

Now, back in my big-girl britches my goal is simple: by the time the run of Fat Chants ends on Moms Out Loud, I will wear those pants again. No Spanx. No rubber band. No pliers. Just me … well, a little less of me with a lot more confidence.

The chanting continues here on MomsOutLoud.com, every other Thursday. For an (almost) daily dose of Fat Chants, visit www.fat-chants.blogspot.com.