Too fat to watch telly!

Kim­berly Wat­son, 32, from Lon­don, was brim­ming with con­fi­dence – un­til her bulging frame brought re­al­ity crash­ing home


I was used to peo­ple be­ing shocked by my luck with men

Grab­bing my cock­tail, I strolled over to a fella stand­ing alone at the bar. ‘Hello, hand­some,’ I said, wink­ing. ‘Come here of­ten?’

He flashed a smile and soon we were flirt­ing.

Re­join­ing my girl­friends af­ter­wards, one scoffed,

‘I don’t know how you do it!’

I was used to peo­ple be­ing shocked by my luck with men.

While I was out­go­ing, bub­bly and con­fi­dent, I wasn’t ex­actly a su­per­model.

At 16st and a size-20, I knew men prob­a­bly pre­ferred one of my skinny mates.

So I played up to it, fill­ing the role of the fat, funny one.

The truth was, men liked it, find­ing me more ap­proach­able than my pretty friends.

‘And I just get them drunk if the flirt­ing doesn’t work,’ I joked.

It wasn’t the first time and wouldn’t be the last.

I’d al­ways been curvy, a size-14 teenager. But af­ter hav­ing my kids – Hol­lie, 8, and Ma­son, 5 – the pounds piled on and never left me.

Now, in Jan­uary 2014, I’d stopped car­ing about my size and ac­cepted I was des­tined to al­ways be the big and bub­bly one in my group.

Days later, I was out and about in town when a wo­man handed me a leaflet.

Fight the fes­tive flab, it read. The wo­man smiled, tak­ing in my large frame, and I grinned back.

‘Oh, this isn’t just fes­tive flab,’ I said, grab­bing hold of a roll from my waist. ‘I have this all year round.’

The wo­man sud­denly looked em­bar­rassed.

But I wasn’t. Some­times it felt like I was the only one who didn’t have a prob­lem with my size.

I was sin­gle, yes, but I had a great so­cial life and two per­fect kids. I was happy with my lot.

Ev­ery Fri­day, I’d or­der a Chi­nese take­away – and once the kids were in bed, I’d glug down a bot­tle of rose wine.

‘It would be nice if I had some­one to share it with, though,’ I ad­mit­ted to my mate Sarah, 29, one night.

Know­ing that I was bored with pulling random men in bars, Sarah suggested I tried on­line dat­ing.

‘Maybe you’ll meet some­one de­cent,’ she said.

I signed up – and, in May, agreed to a din­ner date with a gor­geous fella, Matt, 29.

We got on like a house on fire and fan­cied each other rot­ten.

‘You’re beau­ti­ful and curvy,’ he grinned. ‘Per­fect!’

We didn’t stop talk­ing the whole night – and be­fore long, we were in a re­la­tion­ship.

Best of all, he got on so well with the kids – and a few months later he moved in.

Madly in love, we’d eat out four or five times a week and when we stayed in, we’d or­der a take­away.

Flush with the ex­cite­ment of our new ro­mance, the last thing I wor­ried about was my weight.

My clothes were get­ting a bit tight but it wasn’t un­til I got back from a fam­ily hol­i­day in Tur­key in Au­gust 2015 that I got a harsh wake-up call.

I’d felt fine on the trip, cov­ered up in baggy maxi dresses.

But when Matt pinged me over a few snaps from the

The fat from my chin touched my chest. I felt I couldn’t breathe

hol­i­day on my phone, I was taken aback.

Sit­ting on a bench in the blaz­ing sun, I had rolls of flab hang­ing down from my arms and waist.

I looked enor­mous.

My face was bloated, my chin dou­bled.

‘I’m so fat,’

I gulped, ap­palled.

‘You’re fine,’ Matt said, rolling his eyes.

But that photo had said it all. I was obese. And for all these years, I’d been liv­ing in de­nial.

That night, I weighed my­self for the first time in months. I’d bal­looned to 17st 6lb. Feel­ing de­pressed, I slumped on the sofa be­side Matt for a night in front of the telly.

We loved the soaps, or a good drama se­ries. Would camp out on the sofa with a Chi­nese or In­dian take­away, a bar of choco­late and a bot­tle of wine.

Only now, I re­alised that Matt, be­ing a typ­i­cal man, could get away with the end­less take­aways and sug­ary treats, while I couldn’t.

Not only that, but I’d started to feel in­creas­ingly un­com­fort­able slouched on the sofa in front of the telly.

I could feel the fat from my chin on my chest. It felt like I couldn’t breathe. Dis­gusted, I tucked my hand be­tween my chest and chin.

But it dawned on me with hor­ri­fy­ing clar­ity: Am I re­ally too fat to watch TV?

In that mo­ment, I knew I had to make some se­ri­ous changes and get my weight un­der con­trol.

Eas­ier said than done. For months, I ig­nored the prob­lem, sit­ting in front of the TV with my hand squeezed be­tween my dou­ble chin and my chest.

It felt ridicu­lous.

I tried di­et­ing, spent a for­tune on var­i­ous diet teas and milk­shakes, but noth­ing worked.

It wasn’t un­til Septem­ber

2017, scrolling through Face­book, that I spot­ted an ad­vert for the Ter­ri­ann 123 Diet Plan.

Made up of three dis­tinct stages, some­thing about it felt right. Just the dra­matic change I needed.

When I first started, I craved salt and su­gar, wanted to cry when I couldn’t have my take­aways and wine.

‘I know I need to do this,’ I groaned to Matt.

‘It’ll be worth it,’ he said, sup­port­ive.

Work­ing long shifts as a ma­ter­nity care as­sis­tant, I missed my sug­ary cups of tea and bis­cuits on my breaks.

But I stuck to the diet – and by De­cem­ber 2017, I’d lost 2st.

I whizzed around the hospi­tal ward, full of en­ergy.

As the months went on, I lost more and more weight.

‘There’s so much more room on this sofa!’ I laughed to Matt six months later in June 2018, when I weighed 14st 6lb.

Gone were the days of hav­ing to sep­a­rate my neck from my chest!

Ev­ery night, I’d cook some­thing healthy from scratch, like a veg­etable and lean-meat ke­bab or a beef burger (no bun!) and a side salad.

The kids loved the food – and Matt had no com­plaints ei­ther.

‘You’re not a big mummy now,’ Ma­son, 9, grinned.

In Oc­to­ber 2018, I joined the gym and fi­nally got to my goal weight of 12st and a size-12.

I’m so happy now, I feel like a dif­fer­ent per­son.

When my pic­ture is taken, I ex­pect to see a fat per­son in the photo... and in­stead see this new, slim­mer ver­sion of my­self.

I’ve learnt so much about my body and what it truly needs, rather than just mind­lessly reach­ing for junk food.

I still love to slob out in front of the TV from time to time, only now I’m much more com­fort­able do­ing it!

I’d been in de­nial about my weight

Now: snaps to be proud of!

No more big mummy!

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