Friends,
I just wrote this to myself after avoiding doing so for weeks. It's quite long, I fear, but I'm sharing it here in hopes of finding kindred spirits. Maybe some of you have had some of the same thoughts.
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I know what to do.
I’m not doing it.
I’m not even trying to do it.
I’m purposely not trying to do it.
I’ve been observing myself not trying for weeks. Months actually, but there’s been something different in recent weeks.
Maybe because the doc finally mentioned the possibility of blood pressure meds for the first time.
Maybe because my cholesterol is way higher than it used to be.
Maybe because I get out of breath sometimes singing with the kids at school.
Maybe because I had to go to the ER last week with what turned out to be gastritis, and I figured the doc and nurses and techs were thinking that I was fat and I wouldn’t even be there if I was of average weight.
So why?
Why am I not doing anything about it?
I don’t want to.
It’s not fair that I have to.
I’m embarrassed and ashamed of how I look and that I have no one to blame but myself, so I’m punishing myself.
Food is the most common, easiest way I have of comforting myself, and I don’t want to lose it. Oh writing that made me feel anxious; tight in my chest and throat, and the faintest hint of tears on their way.
Is that it?
Is that the main reason I’m just plain not even trying?
I DON’T WANT TO LOSE MY MAIN WAY OF COMFORTING MYSELF.
Because weight loss is hard.
And establishing new habits is hard.
Taking the time for exercise and making meals is hard.
Not eating lounge food is hard.
And I don’t want to say that I’m going to change my eating and exercise habits unless I’m motivated enough to actually do it. I’m tired of “trying” to lose weight. I want to actually do it.
Big sigh.
It’s time.
I’m worth it.
It won’t kill me. The opposite, actually.
I can use the mantra I learned from Kathy S: “There will be cookies (or ice cream, or pizza, whatever the temptation is) in my life another day.”
Or Kathe M: “There is enough sugar in my body.”
Bigger sigh.
OK
Tomorrow I will not eat any of what my friend Jim calls “blatant sugar”.
Nothing very salty either.
And I will walk for 30 minutes, at whatever slow, medium, or fast pace feels right. I will not push myself.
This is not punishment because I’m bad and should be ashamed of myself.
This shows how much I love myself.
Except I don’t.
So that’s another big reason I haven’t been choosing to lose weight.
But buried under 85 extra pounds and a lot of shame is the extremely stubborn voice crying “but I COULD love myself! Let’s have a go at it!!”
So I will. Tomorrow. Easter Sunday.
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If you read all the way through this, thank you.
Warm thoughts to all,
Barb



, too, which was half-way killing me, and would have, if I hadn't finally stopped for good. Did I WANT to???? Um....nope. I quit a few times, always gained weight, always ended up getting on the scale and running, in tears, to the closest convenience store and buying myself another pack of cigarettes. The irony is that smoking never made me LOSE weight, but quitting made me GAIN. So, every time (@ 4) I quit, I would gain 10 - 12 pounds, then I'd start up again, but wouldn't lose any weight. SO, the weight started to accumulate big-time
. This last time that I quit smoking, I'd made up my mind that it was going to be the FINAL time, and it was going to stick, because I'd begun to feel short of breath just carrying a few grocery bags up five little stairs into my house, and even was getting short of breath pulling on my darned panty hose, if you can believe that....??? So I quit, I gained the requisite (?) 12 pounds, but THIS time I didn't go running for a pack of cigarettes. I found out that I really like breathing, silly me! So, I carried around that extra weight (@ 50 or so pounds of it by now) started wearing baggy clothes, stopped frosting my hair, (let it go "au naturel" - mud brown - ugh) and just generally schlepped back & forth to work (I'm a federal grantwriter: very sedentery) and came home and cooked gargantuan suppers for DH and I
(He's gained weight, too) and buried my anxieties all in food. It became QUITE a comfort to me - always has been, frankly, but with the quitting smoking and all, I needed EXTRA comfort, and food provided it.
. I am trying my best. I will never manage to brainwash myself into believing that I'd prefer a tossed salad with lo-cal dressing to a big, fat sandwich on fresh focaccia bread, and that danged salad will NEVER comfort me the way that sandwich would have, but I'm NOT going to eat it! I'm not. Because I know I'll be happier with myself once I get down to a "normal" weight again. I KNOW this. And that's why I'm doing it, but I'm not enthusiastic, I'm not gung-ho, and I'm still envious of - and downright annoyed with - people who don't HAVE to do it. And that's why I LOVE it here at 3FC....people share their feelings, some of them feel pretty much like I do (others, bless their hearts, are more enthusiastic, and I love them for it) and some don't, but we're all battling the same thing, and we are doing it together. Hang out with us, Barb....and share how you're feeling anytime you want to. It really, really helps a lot!