I had a total snacking relapse last evening. Somehow my brain checked out, my survival instincts (i.e. eat everything in sight in case someone comes in and removes every scrap of food from the house while I am sleeping) kicked in and I ate. A lot. 3 Slim Jims, some salt and vinegar almonds, some vanilla creme brulee quakes and 2 bagel thins (quite yummy and low in calories compared to a regular bagel) with cream cheese. And two monster cookie dough chunks from the freezer. This was all after the ever so sensible (Ha!) meal of a side salad, 1/2 of a bacon cheddar cheeseburger and 1/2 order of fries lunch I had. I am trying to remind myself that every day is a fresh start, but I tend to get into a downward spiral when I slip up a little. So far, so good today, though. maybe there is hope.
The bright side is that I am down to 220.5 pounds - 2.5 pounds down from last week.. I have decided to weigh in on Tuesday since Biggest Loser comes on Tuesday evenings. I figure it can be a theme for the day...trying to shrink big asses into smaller ones.
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Monday, February 22, 2010
Long time
I have taken a hiatus, but am back in the saddle. Back on the wagon. Hungry.
I gave up late night snacking for Lent. Not that I have really strong feelings about giving things up for Lent, but it seemed like a good idea at the time. Six days later, it doesn't seem like such a good idea. It makes me cranky to not shovel in 10,000 or so calories between 9 pm and midnight. I am hoping it will make a difference on the scale, however. Tomorrow is weigh in day. We'll see how it goes...
I gave up late night snacking for Lent. Not that I have really strong feelings about giving things up for Lent, but it seemed like a good idea at the time. Six days later, it doesn't seem like such a good idea. It makes me cranky to not shovel in 10,000 or so calories between 9 pm and midnight. I am hoping it will make a difference on the scale, however. Tomorrow is weigh in day. We'll see how it goes...
Friday, February 5, 2010
Sanity returns
I think I am back in a more balanced state of mind. I must say that the emotional purge did seem to do me some good. I shed lots of tears, had a good friend verbally pick me up and dust me off (thanks Debi!) and I seem to be better for it. Somehow stepping away from the pantry late last night was a little easier than it has been before and picking out clothes to wear was a little less anxiety inducing. I think it was good for me to admit out loud that I am full of faults and flaws and insecurities that do affect the way I function in my daily life. I had to be very emotionally self-reliant as a kid and in a lot of ways it made me a much stronger adult and gave me courage to do things I may not have been able to do otherwise. But it left me at a disadvantage in other ways, and that is OK. I will work through it. And I am looking forward to seeing what life looks like on the other side.
Thursday, February 4, 2010
Peeling the onion
As a fan of the Biggest Loser (watching it, not living it, mind you) I keep getting annoyed by the "emotional work" that they have the contestants do. You know, the breaking down walls, peeling back the layers of the onion, blah, blah, blah. Don't get me wrong, I firmly believe there is a huge emotional component to my weight - I just have no freakin' clue how to figure out what it is and fix it. So instead of trying to figure out ways to figure it out, I just get annoyed by people on TV who are figuring it out. But as I tossed and turned tonight while I should have been sleeping, I think I made some progress toward figuring out the root of my problem with weight.
The problem is, there is not a single day that goes by that I don't think about my weight. It affects everything I do from getting dressed in the morning to going to bed at night. I don't go anywhere without thinking about who I will see and what they will think about my weight. I avoid people and situations so people can't see how fat I am. My entire life is altered by my weight and yet I can't seem to do anything about it. I am completely broken when it comes to my weight and fixing the problem that keeps me so crippled day in and day out.
Why? I am still not sure how to answer that question completely, but I had a little mini emotional breakthrough a couple of months ago when a college friend posted something on Facebook as we were bantering back and forth. I don't remember the exact words, but the gist was something about nothing being more attractive than a pretty girl in glasses. I used to sometimes wear fake glasses because it was fun and I thought they made me look studious - dorky, I know, but I was 18 years old so I feel I deserve a break for my actions! - and he teased me about it all the time. Anyway, when I read the post, I literally broke down in tears (even though it was a reference to the far better looking physical me that existed 15 years ago rather than today). I think it may be the only time in my life that anyone EVER called me pretty. EVER. Of course my family and friends have told me I looked nice; I have had friends and strangers say I had nice skin or a pretty smile or maybe even told me I looked pretty in this or that color, but no one has ever just flat out said I was pretty. And it obviously bothered me on some level that I wasn't even aware existed.
So I have been digging. And peeling. And trying to chisel away at myself to try to figure out why it would matter so much to me that no one has ever called me pretty. And although I hate to get all psychiatrist couch-y about it, I really think it must all go back to my early years. I am not trying to place blame on my parents - now that I am a parent I realize that you do the best you can with what you have and just hope like hell you don't screw up too badly. But that doesn't mean that an emotional shit-pile doesn't form along the way.
After my parents divorced, they both went through some rough times. My dad went through a bad period when he drank too much and made some bad choices and was pretty self-absorbed. Like sometimes he forgot to pick me up on time and I would be stranded at gymnastics or day camp or some other crappy place waiting for him to show up. Or he would drop me off at an event and say he would be right in and then not come back. And then he remarried twice and had new families and went on with life. My mom dated and remarried and a step-sister moved in and turned my world on its side. Then mom divorced and remarried and I got a new step-father at 15 (a less than ideal time to add a family member to a house). And she was ALWAYS on a diet despite the fact she has probably never been technically overweight in her whole life. And she really needs compliments (often) about her looks to make her feel OK. And she is obsessed with pretty. And conveys the message that there is nothing more important in life than being pretty. At least that is the message I heard.
I also had this best friend growing up who is pretty. Beautiful probably. And I have been told by everyone I know that has ever met her that she sure is a pretty girl. Which is great. Unless you are the not-so-pretty best friend.
Whose well-meaning mother is always on a diet. And distracted with her own life. And is obsessed with weight and looks and constantly commenting on everyone's weight and/or looks. Even people on the streets. And who will tell her daughter (who weighs 115 and looks pretty good) she looks good but might look even better 5 pounds lighter (without even meaning it badly because she thinks everyone would look better 5 pounds lighter). And whose father has another family and doesn't realize his daughter feels displaced. And who doesn't bother her parents with details or her own life because they are way too busy worrying about their own lives. And therefore goes through life feeling lonely and ugly and mostly unlovable. Not all the time, because life is really pretty good. But those feelings are there just below the surface. Always.
So is this the saddest story ever? No - not by a long shot. Should I have gotten over all of this years ago and moved on with my own family? Probably. Should the fact that I have a wonderful, loving husband, two beautiful children and a lovely, comfortable life make me leave those not so wonderful years in the past where they belong? Most definitely. But I haven't. Because buried under the 225 pounds I carry is a lonely girl who feels vulnerable and ugly and eats to fill the hole. When I eat, that empty space in my gut fills up - at least temporarily. And if I am going to be unlovable when I weigh 115 or 120 pounds, why should I bother? I might as well be fat and have an excuse for feeling the way I do. After all, how could anyone possibly love a fat person?
So I guess that leaves some questions - will I step up and take responsibility for my own life and the fact that I have ended up where I am of my own free will? Will I come to know that no one else is responsible for defining who I am or how I feel about myself except me? Will I realize that eating isn't going to fill the void in the little girl's heart inside me? And finally, will I have the courage to make my life everything it can be so I can give all of myself to my husband and my kids and leave the pain behind? I hope so. Because what I am currently doing and feeling is no way to live. And I don't want to do it anymore.
The problem is, there is not a single day that goes by that I don't think about my weight. It affects everything I do from getting dressed in the morning to going to bed at night. I don't go anywhere without thinking about who I will see and what they will think about my weight. I avoid people and situations so people can't see how fat I am. My entire life is altered by my weight and yet I can't seem to do anything about it. I am completely broken when it comes to my weight and fixing the problem that keeps me so crippled day in and day out.
Why? I am still not sure how to answer that question completely, but I had a little mini emotional breakthrough a couple of months ago when a college friend posted something on Facebook as we were bantering back and forth. I don't remember the exact words, but the gist was something about nothing being more attractive than a pretty girl in glasses. I used to sometimes wear fake glasses because it was fun and I thought they made me look studious - dorky, I know, but I was 18 years old so I feel I deserve a break for my actions! - and he teased me about it all the time. Anyway, when I read the post, I literally broke down in tears (even though it was a reference to the far better looking physical me that existed 15 years ago rather than today). I think it may be the only time in my life that anyone EVER called me pretty. EVER. Of course my family and friends have told me I looked nice; I have had friends and strangers say I had nice skin or a pretty smile or maybe even told me I looked pretty in this or that color, but no one has ever just flat out said I was pretty. And it obviously bothered me on some level that I wasn't even aware existed.
So I have been digging. And peeling. And trying to chisel away at myself to try to figure out why it would matter so much to me that no one has ever called me pretty. And although I hate to get all psychiatrist couch-y about it, I really think it must all go back to my early years. I am not trying to place blame on my parents - now that I am a parent I realize that you do the best you can with what you have and just hope like hell you don't screw up too badly. But that doesn't mean that an emotional shit-pile doesn't form along the way.
After my parents divorced, they both went through some rough times. My dad went through a bad period when he drank too much and made some bad choices and was pretty self-absorbed. Like sometimes he forgot to pick me up on time and I would be stranded at gymnastics or day camp or some other crappy place waiting for him to show up. Or he would drop me off at an event and say he would be right in and then not come back. And then he remarried twice and had new families and went on with life. My mom dated and remarried and a step-sister moved in and turned my world on its side. Then mom divorced and remarried and I got a new step-father at 15 (a less than ideal time to add a family member to a house). And she was ALWAYS on a diet despite the fact she has probably never been technically overweight in her whole life. And she really needs compliments (often) about her looks to make her feel OK. And she is obsessed with pretty. And conveys the message that there is nothing more important in life than being pretty. At least that is the message I heard.
I also had this best friend growing up who is pretty. Beautiful probably. And I have been told by everyone I know that has ever met her that she sure is a pretty girl. Which is great. Unless you are the not-so-pretty best friend.
Whose well-meaning mother is always on a diet. And distracted with her own life. And is obsessed with weight and looks and constantly commenting on everyone's weight and/or looks. Even people on the streets. And who will tell her daughter (who weighs 115 and looks pretty good) she looks good but might look even better 5 pounds lighter (without even meaning it badly because she thinks everyone would look better 5 pounds lighter). And whose father has another family and doesn't realize his daughter feels displaced. And who doesn't bother her parents with details or her own life because they are way too busy worrying about their own lives. And therefore goes through life feeling lonely and ugly and mostly unlovable. Not all the time, because life is really pretty good. But those feelings are there just below the surface. Always.
So is this the saddest story ever? No - not by a long shot. Should I have gotten over all of this years ago and moved on with my own family? Probably. Should the fact that I have a wonderful, loving husband, two beautiful children and a lovely, comfortable life make me leave those not so wonderful years in the past where they belong? Most definitely. But I haven't. Because buried under the 225 pounds I carry is a lonely girl who feels vulnerable and ugly and eats to fill the hole. When I eat, that empty space in my gut fills up - at least temporarily. And if I am going to be unlovable when I weigh 115 or 120 pounds, why should I bother? I might as well be fat and have an excuse for feeling the way I do. After all, how could anyone possibly love a fat person?
So I guess that leaves some questions - will I step up and take responsibility for my own life and the fact that I have ended up where I am of my own free will? Will I come to know that no one else is responsible for defining who I am or how I feel about myself except me? Will I realize that eating isn't going to fill the void in the little girl's heart inside me? And finally, will I have the courage to make my life everything it can be so I can give all of myself to my husband and my kids and leave the pain behind? I hope so. Because what I am currently doing and feeling is no way to live. And I don't want to do it anymore.
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