Our Lives
‘You’re a health HAZARD!'
I was a beauty queen uncomfor table in my own skin. Until I suffered a shocking rejection…
My hands trembled with nerves as the results were announced. ‘And the winner is… Effy!’ I gasped, and stepped forward on stage as the audience broke into applause. I’d just been crowned Mrs Ireland at a pageant for women of all shapes, sizes and backgrounds, and I could feel myself fizzing with pride.
At 5ft 4in, 22 stone and a size 24, I wasn’t your typical beauty queen.
But a year earlier, my daughter Aisling had nagged me to give the pageant a go, after she’d taken part in junior contests and loved them.
I’d been a size 16 then, and already felt self-conscious about my body, but I’d braved a two-piece for the swimwear section.
To my surprise, I’d bagged second place. And now I was hooked.
I loved the friendships I made with the other competitors and the charity work that also came with it.
But, there was something else I was hooked on too — food.
Growing up, I’d always been the biggest out of my friends. While they picked out a slinky size 10 or 12 at the shops, nothing would ever fit me.
I’d gone on to have three gorgeous kids, Aisling, Cian, and Oliver. However, my marriage was failing, and over the course of 12 months, I’d piled on the weight.
It didn’t matter whether I was happy or sad, greasy carbs were my go-to.
And after my latest pageant success, I said: ‘Let’s get curry and chips to celebrate.’ But as I mopped up the last of the curry sauce, I felt guilty.
I often had two takeaways a day, and knocked back four litres of soda. I knew my body was paying the price, but my pageant wins kept on coming.
I won Ms International Curve two years in a row.
My kids were so proud of me. Yet for all my confidence up on stage, I was often exhausted, and knew my excess weight didn’t help.
I was always trying one diet or another, and got down to 21st 12lb. But it didn’t last.
So when my partner and I decided to relocate from Ireland to New Zealand, I hoped that it would be the fresh start we needed.
But when I applied for a visa, my application was rejected. The reason was my size. I was told: ‘Sorry, your weight’s a health hazard.’ I was mortified. Because of me, the whole family is going to miss out, I thought.
I had three months to reapply. So I ditched the takeaways for meal-replacement shakes, and whenever I felt like giving up, I focused on that visa.
When it was time to reapply, I stepped on the scales and punched the air. I’d lost three stone. My visa was approved, but I still needed an extension belt on the flight out.
Sadly, New Zealand wasn’t the answer to our prayers. It did
