Quick

Blogging from your phone is never advisable and yet here I am. I wish I had an update :( unfortunately I don't have a lot to say. Life stress is getting to me and taking all my time. Still plugging away. Down 47 lbs. woohoo!

Follow up...

Entry One:

Things I want, and will have:

 

·         A single-digit dress size

·         To buy whatever tall boots I want

·         To be able to buy things from the clearance rack

·         To be picked up by my strong and handsome husband

·         To ride in the back of the car with 2 other people

·         To look in the mirror to check my outfit on its own merit

·         Do dance and feel talented

·         To laugh without reservation

 

Entry two:

Update.

 

Last week was pretty low—and for some good reasons. I had avoided posting for a while because I didn’t feel like I had anything helpful to say due to how my weeks had been going (in life and in nutrition), but I decided that the point of the blog is to take you with me through the process. and sometimes the process is kinda rough. Everything in that entry was as transparent as possible, because my mission here is to be completely transparent so that anyone out there who needs to hear that they aren’t the only one who feels the way they feel hears it all. I once read a blog, and have since re-read it, of a girl who did the same thing. She is forthright with all her pain and frustration, and to the point of discomfort at some points. It makes me cry tears of connection and relief every time I read it because her words give voice to my own struggles. I want to contribute in the same way.

 

So that is why I don’t withhold a whole lot when it comes to my doubts. To be too positive, to me, is dishonest, because 90% of the battle is against doubt and fear. It wasn’t that doubt was winning last week—I think I just hit a crucial turning point. I was going to get to that place sooner or later, because the challenge is not to avoid reaching those moments… the challenge is to keep going after your get to them. I’m sure I’ll hit more turning points along the way. Or, better said, turn-back points. I faltered. I sat down in the middle of the road for a bit. I stared indecisively at the road signs for a while. But I didn’t turn back, because I already said my goodbyes to what is behind me.

 

In any case, God made sure to send encouragement to me at my lowest point, and I’m pulling out of that funk now. I’ve got more to look forward to, and I’ve got good things going on. Some of the encouragements were very specific! Just at the moment where I was gathering up my resolve, I got an email from my coach about a big contest with other coaches/clients over the next 2 months. There are big prizes at the end, and darnit if money isn’t a good motivator!

So things are better now. I’m back on the path, and I’m heading in the right direction. That’s really all I can do for now!

 

Here’s the blog I referenced:http://www.canyoustayfordinner.com/weight-loss/

 

Trying to keep it real...

Sorry if this one is kind of a drag, and a little scattered.

Contrary to what you might think, this doesn’t happen very often: I’m beginning this blog post having no idea what I want to say. I’m a little lost at the moment, and I’m not sure what to do about it. I feel like I’ve lost sight of my goal a little bit, and have reverted to feeling like “being thin” is a goal that just isn’t in the stars for me. Much of my original propulsion came from inarguable success. And then the results slowed down, and I thought “that’s ok, as long as it continues, slow is still good!” and then it slowed more and is at almost a stop. I’m looking around, with all these nagging doubts are still in my head, and I wonder if and when they’ll ever quitetdown. I think I’ve reached the point in a long-term diet where the chronic dieter becomes so stuck. It’s like the edge of a cliff, and you know it’s there somewhere, and you run so free and fast up to it, but you reach this ledge and screech to a halt. I’ve been to this ledge before, and I know it well. It is as far as a diet has ever taken me, and gazing over the edge I have no idea if I can go any further, simply because I never have. It’s like in Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade with the leap of faith bridge. It might not be there, and I may end up crushed at my own failure. I may be kidding myself that I’ll look good in a size medium one day. I may be a fool for thinking I’ll ever be anything but a disappointment to myself.

Because, you see, to those who compliment me on my success, I am “thinnER.” But I don’t want that. I don’t want to be slightly less enormous. I don’t want to work this hard and go without this much, and still hate my fat neck and my cheesy knees, and my bulky arms. It wouldn’t be fair! But I am terrified that I’m pushing against a giant rock, here, and that I’ll throw more effort and anxiety into this thing and never get further than I’ve gotten. Just because other people have moved their rock, and just because it is possible that the rock is movable, doesn’t mean it actually will move.

I’ve also just come out of a really rough week, the details of which I’ll leave alone, but suffice it to say it was one thing after another. It was like a battle and it caused a great deal of anxiety. It was physically painful, and there were several times when I failed at keeping to my nutritional plan because I frankly didn’t feel like coming home to a dinner that wasn’t something I could look forward to. When I felt beat up every day, there wasn’t much that was inviting about dry chicken and a salad… again. But then the food guilt always settles in! and I’m sure I’ve gained some hard-fought pounds back, and I’m sure I’ve wasted a month of results… and that isn’t fair either, by the way. Little skinny girls run around eating whatever the heck they want, whenever, and not having any idea how much their burger patty weighs or how many carbs are in lettuce, and have no problem at all—no guilt and no consequences. I get both, in heaping, steaming, stinking spoonfulls.

Every diet I’ve ever done is like the movie Groundhog Day, and I’m Bill Murray destined to live the same thing over and over til I get it right. But just like poor Bill wandering the streets of Punxsutawney, I may know what is wrong but I don’t know how to get it right and still maintain my sanity.

And I keep thinking of how much I should have lost by now, and how I hadn’t planned on still being in weight loss mode during the holidays, and what a food-guilt-ridden misery that could end up being (more thoughts on that in another post). I’ve lost 35 pounds so far, in total. Remember how I had lost 33 when I started this blog out in the first place? Yeah, that is where I am right now—extreme disappointment mode. Not in the diet and not in the plan, but in myself. I feel broken and pathetic.

And all my encouragers out there are going to say “35 is so good!” but with a net of 2 pounds since I began this blog, I can’t really be happy with that. I should be at 50 by now.

I began with such fervor because I had marked out the finish line, but I’ve moved and moved that line so many times to accommodate my lagging results that I don’t even know where I left it last. So here is the hard part—every time I’ve started a diet and gotten to this crisis point I’ve given up entirely, because it is easy to start a new thing after you fail, but it is very difficult to go back to the status quo that existed before the failing. It is as hard as running, and then tripping on something, and then getting your balance back and keeping on with the race, rather than tripping, falling, nursing your wounds, and starting over. I know the plan works, and I know it has worked for me, and I have to decide if I’m strong enough to regain my balance without faltering.

I almost feel like I’m facing the same doubts as when I first began—the fear of wasted effort and of making a fool of myself for betting so publically on my own success. The doubt that there is a skinner girl inside of here. The doubt that I’ll ever wear that Pinterest wardrobe I’ve built. The fear of being huge forever no matter what I do. The fear of being just as unsatisfied with my skinny self. It all haunts me continually, and the only thing that can lift it is to prove it all wrong.

Looking forward

Things I'm looking forward to: 

1) living out all the lives I  have passed by. Part of the fashion part of my future life is that I've had I just let go of many trends that came through that I really liked because they didn't play out on me. I didn't get to be that person, live that life, be truly me at that moment because a look didn't have the same effect on me. Sloppy casual cute just looked frumpy. Sharp looked old. Baggy just looked baggy. Flowey and drapey looked like I was covering up. Athletic looked like I gave up. I thought if this as I looked at a cute pair of moccasins and realized I've never bought them because the way I am and was, I felt like I looked like a crazy old cat lady in house slippers. It will be nice to give them a try and feel like they make sense on me! That will apply to lots and lots if things. I will do-over all the things I let get by me, all the lives I abandoned without even trying them, all the people I could have been. 

2) feeling truly accomplished. 

3) no more food guilt. 

4) not hiding anymore. 

Speaking Metaphorically

Some images that came to mind through my first few weeks of this grand adventure that I really feel apply:

The elephant in the room

I had been living a pretty healthy lifestyle for quite a bit. I had been researching and applying a lot of sound nutritional wisdom, including some elements of the paleo diet, the health benefits of raw whole milk, chia seeds, egg yolks, and all of the other foods that can supply an intense wealth of nutritional value and health benefits that have shown their proof through generations. I’ve read books on how grass fed butter can cure diseases, and how important many real, honest foods are for the body. I grew to realize the soy was not good for fertility and hormonal imbalance, packaged foods were not a dependable source of nutrients, and that food is work. I was not, however, losing weight while on this health kick.

I still believe my understanding is sound, and I will one day live in that fashion. But I came to realize that there was a different issue at hand—I was on the wrong side of the battle to be eating a diet that would maintain and restore health in such a way.

I realized that my weight was like an elephant in a room, and that this healthy living I was doing was like the epic and laborious act of scooping the elephant’s poop. It was hard work, and the poop was everywhere. What I realized, too, was that I was doing so with the elephant still in the room, and as he stood there he kept on pooping. I was perpetuating the problem that I was eternally cleaning up after. The decision I came to was that I needed to first remove the elephant, and then go about the task of scooping. Medifast is my lead rope, escorting the elephant out of the room, which will then leave me free to clean the room under circumstances that will actually produce a fairly clean room.

 

Turn Around

I was told by my doctor that likely what has caused such a difficult and life-long battle with weight was a high carbohydrate percentage to my diet over my lifetime. Truly, the low-fat diet had always been the ideal I was told over and over again by popular nutrition (case in point, everyone thinks “fat-free” on the label of a food translates to healthy… uh, wrong!). I remembered Healthy Choice snacks, Nutrigrain Bars, Non-fat milk, Fig Newtons, and Snackwells. The green box means it is a diet food! No.

The thing is, I had turned my body into a machine that thought it was supposed to run on carbs, but at the same time it had no idea how to do so. I was barreling down the freeway at full speed on the wrong fuel, and in fact it was running backwards: storing fat and processing carbs, and ever-growing in the process. My doctor warned me that ending this cycle would be hard, and would put me out of commission for a week or so. I had no idea that she would be so right. I felt almost medicated for about a week, I was so exhausted. It was because my body, looking for carbs and simple sugars, thought it was starving. Believing that I could flip the switch on such a metabolism, and instantly feeling good on a diet my body didn’t know, was a dream—it was about as realistic as taking that truck that is barreling down the freeway and popping it into reverse and not expecting a huge problem. I had to bring my backward metabolism to a full and complete stop and then start in the other direction.

It was a long week, but eventually I got up to speed going the right way on the right road, and now I feel fine most of the time.

  

4 related metaphores

Those couple of weeks before the diet adventure actually took off, I did what I called a “farewell tour of food.” It was not indulgent or stupid, and as bad as it sounds now by the way I just said it, it wasn’t about the food or having to wrench it from my sad, desperate fingers. It was about facing it, realizing that for all its merits it wasn’t that great, and parting ways. This brought out four images:

 

Rented SuitThat morning that I woke up and felt as though I’d gained weight overnight, as I looked in the mirror I felt like I wasn’t even looking at my body anymore. Like I said, I felt like I was suddenly rejecting it, and refusing to be that person anymore. It was like I was wearing someone else’s clothes, or a rented suit that was never mine. I felt like it didn’t quite fit, and that I needed to turn it back in. 

I QuitEvery time I thought about what I was about to begin, I felt as if I had put in my 2 week’s notice at a job I never liked but had been doing for a long time. As I’d get my plus size clothes out of the closet, and zip on my jeans that were just a bit too tight, or think about the life I’d been living, I felt the same as if I’d just decided to quit a dead end job and move on. Every thought was a farewell, and every meal was a strange goodbye. It was like I didn’t belong there any more, I didn’t really serve a function in the office because my replacement had already started, and I was just going through the motions until my last paycheck was handed to me, and I took the box from my desk and left.

Moving OutThrough the first few weeks, and even now, I also felt like I was moving out of a crappy apartment. I didn’t mind that I didn’t like it anymore, because I didn’t have to stay. I didn’t mind that it was the wrong size, wasn’t presentable for guests, or didn’t have any meaning to me anymore, because I was packing and leaving. I didn’t have to care about the bad paint choice in the living room, or that the bathroom door stuck, or that the kitchen faucet leaked anymore, because I wouldn’t be around to have to fix it. I was moving out and on and up. Suddenly when I see myself in pictures, it doesn’t bother me anymore because I know 2 things: a) since whatever picture I was looking at was taken, I had already lost weight, and it was no longer a picture of me, but of the me I’d left behind, and b) it was a picture of a person I’d never be again, and I didn’t have to own her anymore.

Breaking up
Lastly, after my first week of dieting came my mother’s birthday at Extraordinary Desserts—OMG. What bad planning—I actually thought “why did I start my diet this week??” because I knew that I would not be able to, or want to, cheat. I told my doctor that what stressed me was that my farewell tour of food had felt like I had broken up with unwise eating, and now I was going to have to see him for the first time at a party, and it was going to be super awkward. Don’t make eye contact. Don’t let him see you uncomfortable. Don’t look like you’re having too much fun or he’ll know you’re faking. Don’t talk to me… pleeeasssse don’t pretend we are still friends, and for heaven’s sake no one make me join a conversation he’s a part of. Inevitably, though, you always have to face them eventually, and if you handle it with grace and don’t take it too personally, it ends well enough, and it is easier the next time.



All in all, my reflections helped me really encapsulate experience and make it more tangible, and much easier to handle in general. I hope you found something here that has meaning for you!

Tired

I'm exhausted. Not just because it is well past my bed time, though that is also true. I'm tired from the many directions in which life pulls me, my heart pulls me, and my future pulls me. Between wanting to be home to make a home instead of work, and wanting to reconnect with friends instead of do homework, and wanting to travel the world instead of be responsible, my heart and mind are drowsy from the tug of war.

I'm also discouraged at times. I haven't written in a bit because I feel like a failure so often and I feel doubt wash over me like cold water. I've never known "thin." I worry in fleeting moments that I'm delusional. I worry I'm wasting my money on packaged food every month, just to end up staying the same.

But a small number of things are unwaveringly true: Jesus, my husband, and my family love me, and I will not quit this thing until I am a new person.

And I'm not the same, though I worry I'll never change. I have already changed! I can feel it within, and I can see it without. I have nurtured restraint, and this morning I noticed my arms looked surreally different. I noticed a change I can't describe. But I know God knew I needed the encouragement, and as I looked in the mirror I heard him gently whisper "look how well you are doing!" And point out to me how I've changed. 

But... Sticking with a diet is tiring! Self-control and self-denial are a battle EVERY TIME, but those lessons extend beyond dieting, don't they? Maybe through conquering this monster, I'll be stronger to fight other monsters in the future. Maybe God has always wanted to use this to bring me through it and have me changed internally by the struggle. 

I don't know. I don't. But I know I'm tired, and that despite it all I'll keep going. 

Through the looking glass...

This is the beginning of the story...

I walked out of the Doctor’s office feeling almost lightheaded I was so turned around. What had just happened? What was I doing? I was overwhelmed with good and bad feelings, hope and fear, oscillating back and forth from glee and excitement to fear and dismay, and then back again. I got into the car, stared at the steering wheel for a half a minute, and then burst into tears. I felt like I was going to throw up.

Let me back up. About 6 weeks before that scene, I talked to my homeopathic practitioner about my weight and why I felt like I had never lost it, and worried I never would. We talked over a lot, and worked out some garbage I had in my head, and a few days later I sat down at my computer and I was fed up at long last. I started writing, and what poured out first were all the things I was tired of. And It went like this (this is deeply personal, and potentially too vulnerable, but I made an executive decision to keep it perfectly in-tact, as originally written):

I’m tired of hating cameras, and then wishing I was in more of my friends’ pictures. I am tired of being the fat friend, and my fat being a barrier to true vulnerability and closeness with my dearest friends. I’m tired of putting off my happiness to some mysterious day in the future when my “true self” will come out and I’ll finally be comfortable and free. I’m tired of knowing I can be and do better, and never ever knowing how. I’m tired of feeling disqualified on account of being big. I’m tired of my beauty being on the inside. I’m tired of wishing I was invisible, and faking ill to avoid social situations that will make me feel like Godzilla. I’m tired of actually feeling ill when I realize I’m the biggest one in the room. I’m tired of the anxiety I feel in fitting rooms and among new people and when choosing an outfit in the morning. I’m tired of having a limited selection of clothes, and sharing a store with old ladies. I’m tired of my fashion sense being stunted by what fits. I’m tired of being bigger than my mom. I’m tired of wondering if my loving and adoring mother is a little bit disappointed that I lost the "weight battle." I’m tired of my feet hurting, my jeans button digging, my bras stabbing, and getting winded on the stairs, and feeling disabled. I’m tired of actually feeling inflated and huge, and hating sitting in chairs and choosing to stand, or to sit on the floor, instead. I’m tired of holding in my tummy and knowing it doesn’t help at all, and having a constant mental image of what I look like all the time like a scrutinizing mirror making sure that I’m standing straight enough and that my shirt isn’t stuck in my fat. I am TIRED of pulling my shirt out of my fat. I’m tired of trying to find someone in the room that is fatter than my so I can hate myself less. I’m tired of my weight being the undercurrent of my life, in the back of my mind like a mournful song at every moment of every day, and knowing that nothing is as good as it could be if I wasn’t big. I’m sick and tired of pretending to think I’m skinny so people won’t feel sorry for me, or maybe they’ll fall for the pretense and won’t see my gut, and ending up having such a twisted sense of what I  look like that mirrors always surprise me. I’m tired of wondering what I would look like if I was normal.

A list of things I love that would be better if I weren’t heavy:  wearing eye shadow, doing my hair, being tall, looking forward to being a mom, wearing bright colors, wearing dresses, swimming, my car, sleeping, traveling, dancing, hugs, sleep-overs, pictures, facebook, Disneyland, holidays, shopping for anything, meeting new people, talking to friends, elevators, eating out, everyone cramming into one car, theaters, late nights, watching movies, looking at pictures, taking pictures, reading magazines, pinterest, making clothes, thrift stores, bargain hunting, hiking, the beach, pools, summer, Halloween, romance, parties…

I could have gone on and on, because truly every second of every day is impacted by my weight. I sent it off to a friend of mine who would understand, and heard back quickly. We both laughed at the hilarity of someone else saying what we were thinking, and sobbed at our shared misery. It was gut-wrenching, but it was comforting to have someone who knew that very unique pain—so few people will read my list above and truly resonate with it.

Most importantly, I believe it was my turning point. It was the day I decided I was really and truly done being fat. I think I had begun to be “comfortable in my skin” as some say is good, but for me it was a creeping complacency brought on by convenience foods, my love of chocolate, and a few blouses I had recently bought that I felt magically normal in. I hadn’t really decided I was happy, but I hadn’t decided I was unhappy enough to let go of my comforts. I have started a hundred diets with diligence and determination, and this was not the same feeling. Something was burrowing into my brain that quickly killed my sense of comfort and complacency. I put on my trusty blouse the next morning, and walked to the mirror, expecting to feel the same in it. When I saw myself I looked dowdy, enormous, and lumpy. I felt like I had gained 10 lbs overnight.

I don’t think I had a skewed view of myself that morning—I think I was seeing the truth which I had been in denial about for a good stretch of time. I think I was seeing the me I had forgotten I was, the me that shows up in pictures unexpectedly, and I hated it. Over the next week a fissure grew between my true self and the body I wore like a big theme park character suit. My mind began to reject my body, and my complacency was gone. I was sure I’d never be complacent again. If I were to fail this time, I wouldn’t go back to my old self, though I might give up. I knew I’d never be happy as a fat girl again, which only left the option of living with a sense of defeat forever.

After writing the list, I began my healthy eating plan that I spoke about in my last post. I also started to get a really weird and intense migraine that troubled me—it behaved differently than they often do—so I went to see the Doctor about it. The first time I went, I saw the PA who was uncertain of the diagnosis. She sent me along with some advice and a date for a follow up with the doctor. The doctor I saw was a stranger to me. I chose her off of the internet when I had to make a selection for my insurance, and all I knew was that she was close and she had high marks on a “Rate Your Doctor” site. By the time I actually met Dr. Levine, the headache was reduced by about 90%, which meant I’d be fine. Due to the fact that it was no longer a concern, this follow-up appointment changed gears and she began to tell me about her life work of helping people change their lives through weight loss. She said, “Of all the doctors you could have gone to (about the headache) you happened to choose one off of the internet that could help you change your whole life.”

I cannot imagine the look on my face when she said that.

I thought it over for a week or 2, and went back. It was a struggle, and really I wasn’t 100% I was going to do it. There was cost to consider, and the fact that as I looked over the food list I felt like I was staring at a vending machine (bars, shakes, cheese puffs, etc), but I went to talk to her. I was worried about the ingredients, as I’d recently become a vocal advocate for real/whole food, and I was concerned about the soy content—LOTS of soy. But with the help of Dr. Levine’s powerful persistence (reminiscent of a cheer coach) and a sense that I needed to just take a leap, I signed the darn paper and walked out.

And that is when I found myself crying in my car. I cried at the suddenness. And the fear. And the feeling of failure that I worried would inevitably come. I cried because I had gotten so out of my own control, and needed help. I cried at the relief of finding help.

And the possibilities.

And the hope.

And the long road ahead of me.

More to come!