As dreamers do.

Today is interesting. I feel a changing. Like the first moments of a sunrise, where the horizon is only just the littlest bit orange on the edge, and you’re not sure when the sun will actually break through. This is not the same as the feeling has been in the past few months. In these silent months, I’ve been a ball of anxious feelings and failure, intending that every single Monday will be the first day of getting my life back on track, and getting my health in check. I think I’ve been so desperate to find my motivation again that I’ve been taking every inkling and trying to force it to be enough motivation to overhaul my life. The problem is, it hasn’t been enough to overcome excuses, doubt, fear, and self-directed criticisms.

I’ve been compulsively drawn back to when I first found my motivation—when I found Medifast, when I felt circumstances pointing me to success, and when I found a well of determination hiding in my heart. Why was that different than every preceding moment in my life, and different from every moment thereafter? If it was special favor from God, I’d have been better equipped to maintain my stamina. There is also the fact that God will always desire the best for and from us, and that doesn’t change—His desire for my success was no stronger then than it is now. So… what did I have, how did I lose it, and how do I get it back?

There is a dichotomy that I cannot resolve in looking back—part of the loss of footing was produced from a lowering of my expectations. When this all started, when my doctor looked me in the eye and told me that I could be as thin as I wanted to be (and I believed her), I envisioned an athlete at the end of the road. Strong, formidable, and even impressive. After traveling along, it changed to wanting to be average-sized. Then to wanting to just stop shopping at plus stores. Then to just wanting to feel less like a balloon, which is the least motivating goal a person could have. Simultaneously, though, I came slowly to a halt at my halfway mark—50 lbs. down, and 50 to go, and there hadn’t been enough visible change to make me happy. In 50 lbs., I had only lost about 2 dress sizes and that didn’t compute at all. The number on the scale went down, but the result of that was nowhere near the tangible evidence I expected. People say “I lost 35 lbs., and 5 dress sizes!” all the time. My goal actually felt further and further away, the closer I got to it. Or maybe at least more like a fairytale.

Setting goals is a little like setting expectations, it seems, and the experience of reaching that mile-marker was not anywhere near my expectations. But the ridiculous thing is that my response to this disillusionment was to fully derail and gain it all back, as if being halfway to my goal wasn’t at the very least better than being 0% of the way. I guess it just felt that the payoff wasn’t what I’d hoped for and I was incredibly disappointed and decided the fairytale was over.

I keep thinking “I should have been content with my half-success!” and I also keep thinking “what moderate, non-fanciful goal can I set for myself where I can be at least happier than I am now?” These seem like reasonable thoughts, but then I read this:

“Don't settle for being content. Push yourself! Yes, it's hard! No, it's not always fun! But it isn't impossible. Why not go a little further as to say, "I want to be someone I never thought was possible" and then set out and do it!”

This blog is amazing, and I highly recommend it. This girl really digs to the heart of things without over-thinking or over-stating (like yours truly does). To read more from her, Click Here.

More to the point—I think that was where the “magic” was. It was actually in believing the fairytale, because it is entirely possible, is mine for the wanting, and is at the end of the journey… somewhere. All I need do is to push past where I think I can go or deserve to get to, and just keep going. That athlete is waiting there, but all these other people are also waiting along the way—the me that doesn’t feel inflated an uncomfortable, the me that doesn’t need plus sized stores anymore, the me that feels more confident in pictures, the me that can borrow my mom’s clothes, the me that can lend clothes to friends, the me that wears 10 whole sizes fewer than I do right now are all mile markers of increasing “contentment” on the way to that athlete.

I’ve just finished re-reading my previous posts, and suffice it to say… I guess I’m just starting the same process all over again—I was so full of certainty! Hopefully I’ve learned enough about myself to build upon and make it further.

More to come!

 

Back at it

Well friends, it has been a weird few months of nutritional rebellion. To my shock and amazement I haven't gained back as much as I had thought I might have, but I certainly have added time to my journey. It is funny how much this is about truth and fulfillment and has such a deep reflection of the human journey for me. I grew weary of doing good because I wasn't getting anywhere with it. I felt that if making the right choices rendered no benefits then I could just cast off the restraint and end up with the same result-- more to the point, if skipping the donut had stopped helping me get what I wanted, then it was a double sacrifice. If I had the donut, then at least I had the donut.

A few times through these months I had the thought that my prodigal ways would need to end soon, but never could I say I was ready to get back to business. Even though I knew my first month back on track would render fantastic results. Even though I knew my sugary choices were the source of my general feeling of unwellness. Even though I knew what was driving me to my choices was really the root of sin and indulgence. Even though time after time, as it has my WHOLE life, giving in to the donut, the cookie, the cheesecake was never quite as amazing as I had hoped, and the pain of regret and disappointment in myself greater in portion than the joy of the moment. 

It is about truth because I knew this truth. I knew that all the hopes I would heap into my sinful lunch were false: that it would turn a bad day around, that it would change my outlook, that it would be a thrilling vacation from my lame situation. Deep down I knew that the truth was I'd be let down, that it wouldn't be as good as I'd hoped and even if it was, it wouldn't quite do the trick. 

It is about fulfillment because good food is wonderful but it is not fulfilling. And coming from me that is quite a statement. Few of you realize how much I adore good (really good) food. I read cook books. I have two magazine subscriptions for the tips and recipes. Im a snob, and will reject mediocre food, but when I'm  having a really killer cheesecake or a mind-blowing Alfredo or a steak that I will one day tell my grand kids about, I am in heaven. Literally I leave earth for a second. All of that to say, even amazingness of whatever it is, after the last bite I always feel a sense of "that was it?" It is like a roller coaster that is always too short, which makes you just want to get back in line. 

It is about the human journey because life is all about realizing how short lived the things of earth are, and the denial of self and of temporary happiness for future and lasting joy. In Christ, to take up our cross we have to first lay down our will. In family, we must set aside ourselves for the sake of the feelings, needs, and futures of those we love and for the good of the relationship. In life, we cannot expect to have enduring joy if instead we willingly place our hope and happiness in things that quickly let us down. 

Add to my weight gain the fact that I have basically felt like garbage for the past few months. Back pain, tiredness, sensitive emotions, reluctance to socialize, and many other things. I willingly endured these things, these avoidable issues, because I was afraid of taking discipline back on and missing out on the next good (no I'm not kidding) sweet treat or fun dinner or free lunch. I think of getting back on track and all the good that comes with that, but the first thing in my head are all the little things I have to give up. WHAT? It is like a "better the devil you know" argument in my mind, and I keep choosing wrong. It is the nutritional equivalent of living on credit and being in debt rather than saving up for the future. It is foolish. 

"No food tastes better than being thin feels" they say. I wouldn't know. I have never been thin as an adult. I don't know that I'll ever be "thin." But I know that it is worth the sacrifice, each time, to know I am going the right thing and choosing a higher path, and that in principle I'm making life decisions that follow what Christ would have me do.