Flab, flab, flab, flab.

Say it out loud. It's fun to say, not so much to have.

I've got lots of flab. Or as someone calls it, her flappies. Basically, I've got a lot of skin hanging around. When you lose 150 pounds in your forties, the skin just doesn't come back the way it used to. Mind you, I've had flab all my life. I first noticed stretch marks around the age of 10.

Some days I look in the mirror and wish the plastic surgery fairy would take that little sag in my neck, the parts of my upper arm that can wave around when I raise my arms, and especially, that big roll of bread dough that hangs below my navel. But real plastic surgery, and I could swing it if I wanted to, no, not going there.

This flab is the visible remanent of my battle with my eating disorder. For over 40 years I have been at battle with myself, and these are my battle scars. I try to be brave when displaying them amongst the "normies". Some times are easier than others. The general rule of thumb is the less clothing I'm wearing, the bigger the challenge. The hardest is usually the women's change room at the gym.

I have to "out" myself and admit that when I was over 300 pounds, I didn't go to a gym very often. I did go a few times, but I felt people were looking at me. Logically I know some were, but many did not care, or if they noticed, they didn't blame me nearly as much as I did. But some people did. I still have the snide comments seared into my brain.

But when I had lost most of the weight, I felt "normal" enough that I could blend in at a gym without attracting attention. Still, surrounded by what seems to be a sea of perky young things, it's hard to bare it all in the locker room, but I don't want my shame (what else to call it? It's not modesty, it's shame) to push me into changing in one of those dumb little cubicles or even worse, in a wet, slippery shower stall. So I do it.

I think one of the reasons I overate was due to that pervasive shame swirling through my mind like a malevolent green poison. I try to counteract that by telling myself that people should see all the possibilities and shapes in the human body, that we aren't all a cookie cutter shape. I want other women to know that we can struggle and change and grow. I think my battle scars can say that. Here I am, I've come through a lot, and I'm not quitting. For today. Give me the strength to keep kicking.