Nicky pud the next, Dumped one year, a puffy luck with her Christmases. didn’t have the best of treats to 10 a day! Time to limit her choccie
Plump and dumped
There may have been no snow on the ground. But, reading the text, my blood turned to ice.
I’m sorry, I’m not coming
back, it read.
I slumped on to the sofa, tears streaming down my face.
Disaster. My partner, Matt, was leaving me.
‘How can this be happening?’ I sobbed. Just days earlier, we’d celebrated Christmas 2014, the first together in our first home.
We’d been with each other for two years, after I’d split with my children’s dad six years before.
At 20, I’d married too young, then had my daughter, Megan, now nine, and son Dylan, five.
Things hadn’t always been easy. I’d suffered bad postnatal depression with both babies and, as a result, my weight had soared and my self-esteem plummeted.
Who knows what I weighed? I never got on the scales but, at 5ft 1in, every pound showed.
As an emotional eater, there wasn’t a life problem that a giant slab of Dairy Milk couldn’t fix!
And I’d need a lifetime’s supply to sort this mess out. I’d thought I would have a great future with
Matt in our lovely new three-bed semi.
‘So much for a happy new year,’ I sobbed.
My heart was in tatters. And how was I going to pay for the house?
I knew there was no point in begging Matt to rethink things. He’d made his mind up.
My heart breaking,
I grabbed the Quality Street tin and unwrapped chocolate after chocolate.
I barely tasted them through my salty tears.
It was only the kids who kept me going.
Well, them and food.
As I limped into 2015,
I just about managed to hold it together at work, as a control room operator for the fire service.
I’d never been a great cook. Dinner for the children was often a jar of Dolmio tipped over some pasta, or fish fingers and chips.
But at night, once the kids were asleep, I’d slob out on the sofa, binge-watch a box set like Broadchurch… and slowly expand.
I’d dial out for a pizza and, at midnight, I’d be scoffing a large Hawaiian with cheesy garlic bread, followed by a Kit Kat Chunky.
For those few minutes – and, given my vacuum-cleaner mouth, they really were just a few – the food edged the sadness away. But, after the first rush, hollowness engulfed me again…
Over the next weeks, I had to size up my black work trousers from 14 to 16, then 18, 20…
‘I’ve got terrible acid reflux,’ I moaned to my mum, Ann, 62, as I popped another Gaviscon tablet. ‘And my IBS is bad, too, at the minute…’
‘I’m sure it’ll pass,’ she said. ‘Probably just stress. How are you feeling?’
‘OK,’ I sighed, delving into a plate of biscuits.
Thankfully, I managed to hang on to the house. And, after six months, my heartbreak eased.
Before I knew it, Christmas was here again. Of course, it was hard not to think about Matt and what had happened the year before.
‘I won’t let it get me down,’ I vowed to Mum.
Me and the kids went off to her place in Kent, where she and my dad, Tony, 75, always laid on an amazing buffet…
‘You’ve done us proud,’ I smiled, slicing off a doorstop of savoury quiche.
In early 2016, I started dating an old friend, Richard Brent. He was 39, and we’d seen each other briefly before Matt came on the scene. We’d always kept in touch, though.
‘This is a match made in heaven,’ I giggled. Richard was a chef, and I became his best diner!
But he was shocked by how little I knew about food.
‘I’ve only just got my head round the difference between a parsnip and a turnip,’ I admitted. Doing shift work at the control centre, me and my workmates took turns to cook meals.
One night, I’d taken in a cauliflower. ‘How do I prepare this cabbage?’ I’d asked the others.
‘Nicky, that’s a cauliflower!’ laughed a colleague.
‘Blimey, you are bad,’ teased Richard when I told him. ‘Leave
Megan and Dylan were all that kept me going Christmas 2017 with Megan: I’m looking a whole lot slimmer! I’m an emotional eater, that’s how I got bigger I’ve lost nearly 6st, and 4st! Richard has shed over