I was head over heels so why was I so scared to wed? Susan Blood, 44, Ellesmere Port
Admiring the bride and groom stood at the altar, I dabbed away a happy tear.
It was summer 2017 and we were at a friend’s wedding.
‘That’ll be us one day,’ my boyfriend Darren, then 38, grinned later, as we walked out of the church.
‘No way,’ I grimaced. As beautiful as I'd found my mate’s ceremony, the thought of having my own big white wedding filled me with dread.
‘I’d love to marry you,’ I blurted, seeing the hurt in Darren’s eyes.
‘But I could never be the centre of attention like that.’
And I didn’t need to explain why…
Since we’d met online in April 2015, Darren knew that I was insecure.
A size 20, 5ft 5in, I weighed around 20st.
Hid my body away under baggy black tops and wide-leg trousers.
I knew I was overeating. Serving up huge portions, snacking on sweets.
But I couldn’t burn it off on a walk or at the gym.
I’d been diagnosed with hip dysplasia as a baby, meaning my left femur didn’t fit in my hip socket properly and I had operations growing up.
I’d need a hip replacement one day.
For now, working in an office, I got by. Managed holidays away to Wales, romantic city breaks.
Darren always told me how beautiful I was, that he wanted to marry me.
But I still couldn’t face a wedding because I didn’t want to be a big bride.
Imagining myself walking down the aisle, a big flouncy dress, a room full of people, made my palms sweaty.
‘I’ll look like a blancmange,’ I told Darren whenever the topic came up. And I’d have to live with the photos forever.
Besides, me and Darren were happy, in love, and didn’t need a wedding certificate to prove that.
In time, my hip problems got worse and my weight wasn’t helping.
I needed a crutch to get around shops.
‘It’s so painful,’ I told my doctor in February 2018.
He explained I’d need a hip replacement sooner, rather than later.
‘But you’ll need to lose weight first,’ he said.
I’d need to be under 17st otherwise the surgery would be too risky. Now I was teetering above 20st.
‘You can do it,’ he said, handing me some weight-loss leaflets.
‘It’s not that easy, though,’ I told Darren back home.
You name the diet, I’d tried it.
They all ended in even worse bingeing.
And this time, feeling the pressure, my merry-goround of undereating and overeating only got worse.
Ashamed of my appetite, I started hiding packets of sweets in my car glovebox.
Used stronger painkillers for my hip pain.
By our
