Yesterday was one of the most humiliating days of my life.

Its been a very long time since I felt so embarrassed, so ashamed of who I was, shrunken so small, when the problem was I was literally too big to participate in normal activities. A group of 16 of my husband's family members went to King's Island for the day. I debated going at all the night before. It was the end of our big moving week and everything I owned was still in a box. I already dreaded the thought of going to the water park and being forced to walk around nearly nude with my body on display for all to see, my cellulite thighs, the leftover baby weight, fresh stretch marks on white skin that hadn't seen the sun in over a year. Not to mention not a single of my bathing suits even fit if I could find them, so I was stuck packing my mom's old lady suit with a flowery print and little skirt at the bottom that didn't hide enough. I tried to explain to my husband why it was hard for me.

"Why do you think I never go swimming when everybody else does at your Aunt and Uncle's? Its too embarrassing for me to walk around practically naked in front of them."

His family is not like mine where the majority of both my parents sides are over weight or obese. They are all normal size, not an obese one in the bunch. I'm always the biggest person around and right off the bat in any situation that doesn't feel good being constantly aware you're the fattest person in the room.

But the thought of a whole day kid free and just the prospect of having fun was enough to lure me along for the ride. Fuck it, if they had to see me in a bathing suit, I am what I am. I'd been in the family 10 years and bore their cousin/nephew/uncle three babies, I was entitled to be there just as much as them, overweight or not. Who cares if they got stuck starring up at my fat ass as we waited in line at the water park?

People like my husband have never fretted a day in their life over things like that. I've spent my entire life in the mind of a fat girl, and let me tell you, it ain't easy.

The embarrassment began standing in line for the first ride, the new one everybody was excited to ride, even myself. I love roller coasters. From behind the protection of my sunglasses I saw every body's eyes drift over my body and linger on the fat roll remains of my pregnant belly still peeking over the top of the maternity pants I wore. I couldn't find a real bra in the mess of moving, so I wore a tank top under my shirt that did no justice to my now sagging boobs that were only a few weeks ago perkier and firm and full of life force. I was happy to have lasted as long as I did breastfeeding and also happy to have weaned my babies to the point I could leave them for more than a few hours at a time without feeling like I was going to explode. I wasn't happy to see my mom boobs go! I looked down at the shapeless blob where my breasts flowed into my belly and vowed for a new bra this week.

An hour passed in the hot sun as we neared our turn at the front of the line. Immediately as I lowered myself into the seat, I knew there were going to be problems. My ass literally did not fit into the seat!!!! I tried to squeeze my hips and thighs further back and press the safety bar down but it wasn't clicking. Panic rose from the pit of my stomach. I wanted to run then, but still held out hope. Surely I could fit. I pushed harder to no avail. The attendants made their way down the line checking other passengers.

"Can you scoot back further in your seat, mam?" He asked. Mam.

"No dumb ass, can't you see the fat spilling over the tops and side of this seat? I have squeezed all of myself I can into this ride and I do not fit."

I stared up at him with tears in my eyes and didn't say a word. He tried to push harder on the safety bar and it dug into my legs. Another attendant approached and they began tag teaming the bar, trying to stuff me in like an ill fitting pair of jeans. I knew it wasn't going to work. Even if they managed to snap the bar down one time, I was going to be in so much pain as the ride jerked me around I knew I was screwed either way.

I finally looked him in the eye and saw the pity and pleaded more than asked, "Its not going to go is it?" I didn't care about the pain of being squeezed into the seat. I was terrified more of the thought of having to stand and get off the ride in front of all those people than I was ever scared of the steepest drop or fastest coaster in the park. Mainly I was mortified at all Kenny's family knowing I was too fat to ride a roller coaster.

He shook his head and genuinely felt sorry for me. "I'm sorry 'mam."

I stepped over my husband who had remained silent though the exchange until he murmured a sincere 'Sorry Baby' as I passed. I refused to cry. I shuffled off head held high and tried to avoid the looks of everyone who had just witnessed one of my worst moments.

Sad thing is, this is not the first time something like that has happened to me, but I truly thought those days were in my past.

When I was heavier before, I had trouble fitting on a roller coaster or two. I didn't fit in stadium seats at ball games or at the movies sometimes and left with bruises on my legs from sitting in seats to small. I even considered the possibility I might have trouble again before I came, but surely I wasn't that bad off again, was I? I had been riding a high from my recent success at BootCamp and encouraged that I could see my post natal body transforming in the mirror. Obviously it was not enough.

So when they asked why I got off the ride, I had my lie prepared.

"Oh it was hurting my stomach from where I had the c-section, so I got off." Most seemed to believe the story as plausible, except my husband who could tell I was fighting tears for the next hour as we waiting for the next ride as my anxiety levels spiked out of control at the fear I wouldn't fit into a single ride all day and be forced to sit alone in the hot son and cry in my beer as they all rode rides I was to big to enjoy.

I noticed a guys tattoo in front of me that read 'Smile Now, Cry Later' and I made it my motto of the day. I walked the length of the park several times over and never once complained about my injured knee that was killing me, the fact that my feet and ankles were swollen, that I wished I had never come. I suddenly preferred unpacking to the pain of realizing how far I still had to go on my quest to live healthier life and lose this weight once and for all.

So I smiled for the camera, pretended the bar hurt my stomach again as I failed to fit in another seat, and by the time I woke up today I was ready to cry later. Once the tears started, they didn't stop for over an hour. This time was different though, I could tell, because instead of spiraling down into that despair as I would have done in the past, I was already planning my revenge.

Next time I went to King's Island, I was going to ride that damn DiamondBack. I was going to wear a cute tank top that showed off my sexy cleavage and a prance around the water park in a polka dotted bikini if that's what made me feel good about myself again. I believe in comebacks. I always liked the underdog best. By Thanksgiving and Christmas, they are going to be saying, "Damn is that Leah? She looks great." Not that I need their approval, but just knowing that they will see my transformation from this low point to where I want to be adds fuel to my fire.

Damn it knee, GET BETTER! I've got things to do...