I have fond memories of the old bathroom scale in my aunt Betty’s basement. At some point during each of my visits, my cousin, Jared, and I would race down the steps, both of us eagerly anticipating our turn on the scale. It was a playful competition, and the winner was the child who weighed the most. To us, weight gain meant that we were healthy growing children.

I don’t know for sure when that innocent childhood contest ended, but I do remember the first time I felt self-conscious about my weight. It was in sixth grade during gym class. All the kids were lined up, waiting to be weighed. I was toward the back of the line when another girl stepped on the scale. She wasn’t fat by any means, but I remember that she weighed about 90 pounds. One of the more boisterous boys in our class looked at the scale and immediately began to tease her, calling her a fat cow. Her face turned red and she ran out of the room.

I was horrified. I felt terrible for the other girl, but I was also afraid for myself; I knew I weighed about the same as that other girl. By the time I stepped up to the scale, the mouthy boy had been removed from the gym, but the damage had already been done.

That day’s events sparked my life-long love/hate relationship with my body. Scales no longer measured how much I’d grown up but how much I’d grown out. A few years later, the genetic lottery handed me my grandmother’s ample hips and bosom, and my fate was sealed. I would never possess the willowy figure I so longed for, so I stopped trying.

My son was born when I was 19 years old, after I gained 60 pounds in pregnancy. I spent his first few years of life not trying to shed that excess poundage, but lounging around the house, eating way too many candy bars, and never looking in the mirror. When my son was two, my grief over a miscarriage caused me to lose 20 pounds, but I gained it all back a year later, after my daughter was born.

Then last spring, while trying on a size 16 bathing suit that was too small, I realized I had to take action. Diabetes and heart disease run in my family, and in that tiny mirrored room, I was forced to come face-to-face with the real condition of my body, and how much I had let myself go. I decided to change my life and create a healthier me.

Over the next months, I worked my butt off, dieted, and worked my butt off some more. I managed to lose 22 pounds last summer. Then, with the aid of Christmas cookies, I gained nine pounds back! Now, I’m finally almost rid of those nine pesky pounds, and I plan to eventually lose ten more, and keep them off for good.

When my children were born, I spent years discovering myself as a mother. Since I took charge of my life a year ago, I feel as if I’ve discovered myself as a woman and, more importantly, a worthwhile human being. I’ve learned to appreciate my body for what it is, and that wishing away my hips or bosom just won’t work. I’ve also learned that food will never provide me with what I need the most: self-esteem. That is something I have to give myself.

I’m certainly not perfect, but I’ve learned a lot of things throughout my lifetime of struggles with my body and self-esteem. If you’re willing, I’d love to share them with you.

Losing It! is about more than just losing weight. It’s also about self-esteem, which can so easily be lost if you let the numbers on a scale define who you are. In my column, I plan to share the ups and downs, funny and stressful moments that are part of living a healthy lifestyle. I’ll also share the hot (and not-so-hot) gear that will help you achieve your fitness goals.

Please join me in welcoming Andrea to the Peekaboo Picks team.  Andrea- I can’t wait to read more about your inspiring story.  I’ve got 25 baby lbs to lose so I definitely need all the motivation I can get!  Welcome aboard.  ~Megan