I realized that the amount of weight I want to lose is, for me, more about distance.
The more pounds I lose, the more distance between me and "that girl."
The one I was. The one who haunts my pictures. The one who shows up in my imagination as I look in the mirror. The one who tries to hand me back all the shame... the raw shame... that she carried.
Carries.
Will always carry.
I fight to put pounds of distance between us so that it's harder for her to hand it over, so I don't have to handle it anymore, as long as I'm unwilling to reach accross the distance for it. I want her to keep it all. She has plenty to go around. She has plenty for herself then, now, and forever. And I don't want it. And she's already been carrying it for so long. Maybe if I put a big enough number between her and me... maybe then she'll be out of the frame, and you... I... won't see her anymore.
I think that's why when someone mentions how much I've lost, I don't know how to sort out the compliment. Because what is in there with the nice thing they're saying is a reminder that everyone saw her and she's still lurking behind me. "You look so good!" brings with it a shadow that also says, "Remember how fat you were?"
I do. I remember. God, do I remember.
I think it's still hard because there isn't as great a distance yet as there needs to be. She's close enough to touch me. To force me to help carry her load. Because it's weighing her down so painfully.
I think back to that post from before... where I listed all the things I wanted... all the things that broke my heart... where I dissected out all this shame and begged future me to help me carry it. And here I am, unwilling to help unless I have to. Looking back with spite.
But it's me.
"Remember how fat you were?" they say by accident. I do. But remember how it's still me? Remember how before I put these pounds between us... how it was the same person standing here now? To point at the shame she carried is to point at me today, because things have changed but it's the same person.
She's already hurt and broken, weighed down, hopeless. She doesn't know it will ever get better. She's weak, tired, and just so, so sad. I don't know how to tell her to chin up, that I'm coming to get her. To lighten the load. I don't know how. I pray God forgives me for how I hated her. Yes, hated. Because He loved her as much as He loves me now, and I'm no less broken.
Put it down. Put the shame down and stop picking it up. And stop asking me to hold it. Neither of us have to carry it anymore. No one is asking us to.
Tuesday, March 26, 2019
Tuesday, February 26, 2019
Jelly Roll
I'm in a weird place. And not just because I had cake this afternoon, and am even now wondering why.
But that's a good place to start.
I had loosely planned what is called an egg fast for today and tomorrow. Basically, for us who are too wimpy to all-the-way fast, there are single-food fasts that have similar benefits without it being so hard. Today's was supposed to be eggs.
Only I forgot to bring my prepped eggs with me, so I immediately gave up, and went to get some chicken. I had a very healthy plan. Rotisserie chicken. It sounded good, it WAS good. But to get to the chicken, you have to pass by the bakery. Which I didn't used to be able to do - I'd stop, I'd get a thing or 2, and would love every second eating them, even if I ended up hating myself for it.
Then my life changed, and suddenly I could walk by and ignore them.
Today I couldn't ignore. I got a jelly roll, and decided I wouldn't eat it if it wasn't good. I'm calling the fact that I nearly also got a cookie, but restrained myself, a victory.
... but it was SOOO GOOD...
So I ate half of it... and then had a mental tug-of-war about it. "Are you really going back to being a person who eats a whole piece of cake on IMPULSE?"
Anyone watching me would have seen plainly I was in an internal battle. Wobbling back and forth between the trash can and getting back in my car at the Arco station.
Shoulder Angel and Shoulder Devil were duking it out, and before I heard the end of the shouting match, my own hand mechanically forced me to put it in the garbage. I got in the car, part of me going "Heyyyyy, I didn't say you could do that," and part of me, out of breath from the fight, whispering an inaudible thank-you.
It's that question that rings in my ears. "Are you really going back to being a person who eats a whole piece of cake on IMPULSE?" I thought that was over. I thought I'd beaten that girl. The one who thinks that because no one's watching it doesn't count. The one who looks to cake to redeem boring, empty days, or to stave off feelings of pointlessness. I thought I'd won that battle.
A few days ago I talked to someone I trust, and they asked me what I "go to" to manage life stress, sadness, fear, etc. That has had me reeling ever since.
I used to eat something. Bland days in my cubicle were magically improved with thoughts of going to get a cookie, a donut, muffin, etc.... But now, it doesn't do the same thing for me as it used to. The emotional attachment isn't what it was. I don't look forward to it, and I can't ignore the aftermath. I can't blissfully and vacantly order and eat a cupcake anymore. It's like a spell broke.
I used to shop. I had a store I loved to shop online for clearance and sale stuff. I was strategic, I knew what I liked and what I was looking for, when the sales were and how to maximize them. It was a hobby, almost. I wouldn't buy often, but I was on there daily to see what was new and what was on sale. But now 54 pounds smaller, that store doesn't work for me anymore. Sure, they carry my size, but my shape has changed enough that their version "my size" isn't flattering on me. Honestly, I don't even know where to shop anymore, plus I can't really afford to. There's no escape. No magic. I'm in a weird in-between place.
I used to binge-watch Netflix. HOURS at a time. Then I moved somewhere that doesn't have sufficient internet to support streaming. I have basic satellite TV, but anyone who is used to watching a whole season of Downton Abbey straight through knows: live TV isn't the same.
The only leftover of my used-to's is mindlessly scrolling through social media. Which I technically hate. But that's another conversation.
Why am I reeling? Because I'm realizing I had all these crutches I employed to keep from growing up emotionally, or from facing the "meh's" of life. And one by one those crutches have fallen away. Imagine a toddler who has had their pacifier, teddy bear, blankie AND bottle taken away. I feel adrift. And reaching for that stupid jelly roll? What was that but me grabbing for an old pacifier?
I have read Andie Mitchell's book "It Was Me All Along" twice. And a HUGE part of what she gets into (second half of the book) is the psychology of having lost the weight. Part of that is food fear, which I don't currently struggle with (a kind of orthorexia). But the rest of it is the panic of not having that emotional crutch anymore, and at last facing the task of emotionally maturing. When I read it, 50 pounds ago, I didn't get what she meant, though I thought I did. I had identified what food was for me, and I thought that was what she'd meant. I did the mental/emotional work first, it seemed, and all that was left was to lose the weight. False.
Ok, so I'm not done. I'm halfway through losing the weight. But still, I'm stripped of that self-soother I readily reached for, and starting to feel weak without it. I'm finding that in many ways I've never known who I am, exactly, as an individual. I've always postponed finding out until I got "thin enough." And I think you can do that for a while, but at 35... I can't put it off any longer.
All those years with crutches... I've atrophied. So my knees are (figuratively) wobbly, and I have to learn to stand without leaning. And it's scary. And it will be tiring. And I won't always feel strong. But it's time.
It's time.
But that's a good place to start.
I had loosely planned what is called an egg fast for today and tomorrow. Basically, for us who are too wimpy to all-the-way fast, there are single-food fasts that have similar benefits without it being so hard. Today's was supposed to be eggs.
Only I forgot to bring my prepped eggs with me, so I immediately gave up, and went to get some chicken. I had a very healthy plan. Rotisserie chicken. It sounded good, it WAS good. But to get to the chicken, you have to pass by the bakery. Which I didn't used to be able to do - I'd stop, I'd get a thing or 2, and would love every second eating them, even if I ended up hating myself for it.
Then my life changed, and suddenly I could walk by and ignore them.
Today I couldn't ignore. I got a jelly roll, and decided I wouldn't eat it if it wasn't good. I'm calling the fact that I nearly also got a cookie, but restrained myself, a victory.
... but it was SOOO GOOD...
So I ate half of it... and then had a mental tug-of-war about it. "Are you really going back to being a person who eats a whole piece of cake on IMPULSE?"
Anyone watching me would have seen plainly I was in an internal battle. Wobbling back and forth between the trash can and getting back in my car at the Arco station.
Shoulder Angel and Shoulder Devil were duking it out, and before I heard the end of the shouting match, my own hand mechanically forced me to put it in the garbage. I got in the car, part of me going "Heyyyyy, I didn't say you could do that," and part of me, out of breath from the fight, whispering an inaudible thank-you.
It's that question that rings in my ears. "Are you really going back to being a person who eats a whole piece of cake on IMPULSE?" I thought that was over. I thought I'd beaten that girl. The one who thinks that because no one's watching it doesn't count. The one who looks to cake to redeem boring, empty days, or to stave off feelings of pointlessness. I thought I'd won that battle.
A few days ago I talked to someone I trust, and they asked me what I "go to" to manage life stress, sadness, fear, etc. That has had me reeling ever since.
I used to eat something. Bland days in my cubicle were magically improved with thoughts of going to get a cookie, a donut, muffin, etc.... But now, it doesn't do the same thing for me as it used to. The emotional attachment isn't what it was. I don't look forward to it, and I can't ignore the aftermath. I can't blissfully and vacantly order and eat a cupcake anymore. It's like a spell broke.
I used to shop. I had a store I loved to shop online for clearance and sale stuff. I was strategic, I knew what I liked and what I was looking for, when the sales were and how to maximize them. It was a hobby, almost. I wouldn't buy often, but I was on there daily to see what was new and what was on sale. But now 54 pounds smaller, that store doesn't work for me anymore. Sure, they carry my size, but my shape has changed enough that their version "my size" isn't flattering on me. Honestly, I don't even know where to shop anymore, plus I can't really afford to. There's no escape. No magic. I'm in a weird in-between place.
I used to binge-watch Netflix. HOURS at a time. Then I moved somewhere that doesn't have sufficient internet to support streaming. I have basic satellite TV, but anyone who is used to watching a whole season of Downton Abbey straight through knows: live TV isn't the same.
The only leftover of my used-to's is mindlessly scrolling through social media. Which I technically hate. But that's another conversation.
Why am I reeling? Because I'm realizing I had all these crutches I employed to keep from growing up emotionally, or from facing the "meh's" of life. And one by one those crutches have fallen away. Imagine a toddler who has had their pacifier, teddy bear, blankie AND bottle taken away. I feel adrift. And reaching for that stupid jelly roll? What was that but me grabbing for an old pacifier?
I have read Andie Mitchell's book "It Was Me All Along" twice. And a HUGE part of what she gets into (second half of the book) is the psychology of having lost the weight. Part of that is food fear, which I don't currently struggle with (a kind of orthorexia). But the rest of it is the panic of not having that emotional crutch anymore, and at last facing the task of emotionally maturing. When I read it, 50 pounds ago, I didn't get what she meant, though I thought I did. I had identified what food was for me, and I thought that was what she'd meant. I did the mental/emotional work first, it seemed, and all that was left was to lose the weight. False.
Ok, so I'm not done. I'm halfway through losing the weight. But still, I'm stripped of that self-soother I readily reached for, and starting to feel weak without it. I'm finding that in many ways I've never known who I am, exactly, as an individual. I've always postponed finding out until I got "thin enough." And I think you can do that for a while, but at 35... I can't put it off any longer.
All those years with crutches... I've atrophied. So my knees are (figuratively) wobbly, and I have to learn to stand without leaning. And it's scary. And it will be tiring. And I won't always feel strong. But it's time.
It's time.
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