I’ve been working full time since the age of 18.  At 12 I was babysitting and at 15 working part time while going to school.  I’ve never been afraid of hard work.  I’m friendly, intelligent, quick to learn and have years of experience in my chosen field.  Why couldn’t I get a job in New York?  Because I was (and still am) fat.  Not that troublesome 20 pounds to lose, but more like 140 pounds overweight.

Having been at the same company for four years prior to my move to New York, I eagerly sent out my resume to many different companies.  I received many return calls and the companies were just as eager to meet me.  ”Call me as soon as you get here.”  ”How soon can we meet?”  I was so happy that my resume was well-received and looked forward to seeing what was available to me.

Based on my resume the interviews I landed would have impressed anyone…HBO, Disney Theatrical, Warner Bros., O Magazine (as in Oprah), NBC, New Line Cinema and MTV.  Hell, they still impress me.  All the phone interviews went great and they all graciously asked me to come in.

After getting settled in the new house, I donned my “interview” apparel…black slacks, black low-heeled pumps, silk blouse and the only suit jacket that didn’t make me look like a bus driver.  Make-up applied carefully, hair styled perfectly, sleek black case in hand.

I took the train into the city, so excited. I felt like anything was possible.  There is definitely a vibe to the city, you feel the energy as soon as you step off that train.  I was scared to death, but determined to put my best foot forward.

Funny, none of those aforementioned companies even gave me a second interview.  I’d meet with the interviewers and in all modesty, I gave great interview.  But still…nada, zilch, nuttin.  Months and months of interviewing and I couldn’t even get an offer.  I realized fairly soon that in meeting them in person it was all about my appearance, not my experience, knowledge, ability to learn, eagerness to do a good job….just that I was fat.  Somehow society equates being fat with being lazy.  Let me tell you, I’m far from lazy. The only thing I’m guilty of is being addicted to and dependent on food.  But honestly, why should that mean that I’m not worth hiring?

Since I had to work I went to work for 1800flowers. Ironic, no?  I finally got a job at a company where no one ever saw me, I just answered phone calls.  I was only there for a short time before I decided to get my real estate license and take a different path.

I think Manhattan is a lot like Los Angeles…looks matter.  I only spent two years in New York, eager to return to California.  A week before I made the move back, I sent out one resume.  Within two hours I got a return call and within two weeks of arriving back home, I was working.  I’m apprehensive to name the company I’m working for without their permission, but just know that it’s a big name in entertainment and they are an incredible company.

I work between 10-11 hours a day, 5 days a week.  My commute is between an hour and an hour and a half each way.  On a normal day I leave the house at 7:30am and usually home by 9:00pm.  I’ve been there six years now and you could probably count on one hand the number of times I’ve called in sick.  I work hard, I’m eager to help out anyone who needs it and thoroughly enjoy it.  If you knew me, the last thing you’d call me was lazy.  But yeah, I’m still fat.

When I was very young I was thin. Not stick skinny, just thin like a girl who ate normally and was active, riding my bike, running around the neighborhood, playing games and just living a normal life. Then the beast arrived. I think when my father came home and asked my mother for a divorce, he brought the beast with him.

I have such vivid memories of comforting myself with food as a child. My father left, my mother had an emotional breakdown and both stopped parenting my siblings and me.

The beast originally showed up to help me. No one loved me, but food sure did. It helped me cope with my problems. And unfortunately it still does. The food fills a void, emptiness, a sadness that is so profound.

Way back when we lived in a beautiful home with a guesthouse. My grandmother was getting up in years and after my grandfather died, she moved into the guesthouse. She was close-by, but still somewhat independent. When my parents started fighting in front of us kids, I would take refuge at my grandmother’s house. She was a tall thin woman who barely ate. She must have seen what the effect the fights had on us kids because she started stocking the house with peanut butter, jelly, butter, white bread, cookies and ice cream. When my parents would fight, I’d leave the house and spend time with her. She let me watch old movies and stuff myself silly. I would sit for hours and watch old black and white movies and eat until I was full, not just physically full but emotionally full as well.

I’d sit in her house and make not one, but two peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. They completed me. I would easily devour two sandwiches and a dozen chocolate chip cookies with milk. I’d feel so sated, so peaceful, so loved. I’d head back home and some how I was able to ignore the fights, the tension and the unhappiness all around.

People who are fat often say they eat like a normal person, they don’t binge or eat a box of cookies, I say Bullshit. These people may not eat a bag of cookies, but it’s certainly not like they’re having salad for dinner every night. They are eating what all Americans eat – fried foods, white bread, candy, soda, ice cream. They are probably eating in one day what most healthy eaters consume in a week. They don’t exercise and a lot of them can’t work. For the most part they stay home and feel sorry for themselves. How do I know this? Because that is what I was like…or maybe I’m still like that.

I haven’t beaten the beast; hell I’ve barely confronted it. It’s so easy, isn’t it? To file those feelings away or completely ignore they even exist. It’s like a woman who knows her husband is cheating or that she’s just not happy in her life, ignore it and it will go away.

But weight problems and food issues don’t go away. The cliché is true – an alcoholic can stop drinking, a drug addict can stop using, hell even a “sex addict” (if there is such a thing) can stop having sex, but a food addict must continue to eat. There is no cold turkey with a food addict.

So what’s the answer? Stop over eating. Stop stuffing your face like you’re stuffing your problems. Face your fears, face your problems, and confront your beast.