tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-66056061875217740012023-11-07T04:52:54.583-08:00By the Weigh...Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14297696725664759917noreply@blogger.comBlogger17125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6605606187521774001.post-50267034777672747662023-11-06T20:42:00.000-08:002023-11-06T20:42:12.278-08:00When Did This Become Okay?When did this become okay? When did it become okay to not be able to put on my shoes and socks without straining and becoming short of breath? When did it become okay to not be able to shower in my own home because I cannot raise my legs high enough to step into the tub? When did it become okay to not be able to reach in the bathroom? How did I let things get to this point? I was suddenly struck by the realization that my normal is no longer "normal" this afternoon as I sat on the side of my bed, struggling to get up. I have to rock back and forth, big time, to build up enough momentum to hoist myself off of the mattress into a standing position, which usually takes me 4 or 5 tries now. Its not a pretty sight. I'm not a pretty sight. When did this become okay?<br>
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And as I sat there crying, I had to acknowledge that unless I do something about this, unless I take <em>action</em>, this isn't going to change. I presently do not like where I am. I do not like how I look. I do not like how my clothes fit. I do not like how I feel. I do not like that I am limited as to what I can do by the size of my body. So I have a choice to make. Accept that this is my lot in life or do something about it. I refuse to accept that the way I am living now is okay any longer! I want better for me. I have been reluctant to join a gym out of the fear of what others might think of me or how I look. I'm not going to let that stop me anymore. Today, I made a phone call and set up an appointment with a personal trainer to help establish an exercise program to get me started moving again. I know that this is going to be difficult, but I am up for the challenge. In the past, I always enjoyed working out. I have faith that I can get there again. Is it going to be difficult? Yes! Am I going to curse at the treadmill? YES! But I am going to do it anyway knowing that it is what is right for me.<br>
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I am also going to commit to drinking four bottles of water a day. My doctor has been pushing that one for several months now. I'm not going to wait until I figure out why I keep sabotaging myself first, before adopting healthy habits. Otherwise, I'll never start taking care of myself. I have time to work on that in therapy while I am working on becoming healthier physically. I really have no more excuses to keep putting off what I know I need to do. I'm ready to work on getting back to "normal".<div><br><div><b>***UPDATE***</b>: This blog entry was written six years ago. Since then I've swallowed my pride and admitted that I needed help in taking care of myself. As an occupational therapist, I'm aware of durable medical equipment and adaptive equipment that can make it easier to maintain or improve someone's level of independence in the home. I balked at the idea of using these things though. I thought that those were only for people who had a "legitimate" illness or disability. The fact that I needed help because I was "fat" didn't count. I was letting my pride stand in the way of doing what I needed to do for myself. I now use a hospital bed. I had a grab bar, ADA height toilet, and a transfer tub bench installed in my bathroom after my knee replacement surgeries. I use a sock aid and a reacher to get dressed. I have a rolling walker and a cane, if I need them. I have started an exercise program through cardiac rehab three days a week. As I'm losing weight and getting stronger I'm beginning to see some things returning to "normal" and it feels good! Tonight, THAT is what I'm choosing to motivate me to keep moving forward!<br></div></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14297696725664759917noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6605606187521774001.post-60309256850935283832023-11-06T19:50:00.000-08:002023-11-06T19:50:23.726-08:00No Longer AnesthesizedIt has been quite some time since I initially started writing a blog about my weight loss journey. I think its pretty safe to say that I had abandoned my efforts at achieving a healthier me. I gave up on me. And then I continued to try to numb my feelings through compulsive overeating and binging. Why might I do that, you may wonder? I've spent a lot of time asking myself that very same question and the answer I keep coming back to is fear.<br>
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I am afraid to lose weight. Losing weight would mean that I would be more mobile. I wouldn't get so out of breath with every little task I set out to do. And that means more would be expected of me. And I don't like that. I've become rather accustomed to my slovenly ways and have forgotten how good it feels to be able to actually participate in life instead of simply sitting by the sidelines watching the world go by. I no longer know how to interact with the world and the people around me and being a <em>part of</em> scares me. I am an introvert by nature and my weight has suited me well as a means of isolating myself from others. What will I do without my crutch? What will I do if I don't have an extra 250 pounds to put between me and you? How will I continue to feel safe around others, without feeling too vulnerable? The thought of intimacy with other human beings (and I'm not referring exclusively to sexual intimacy here) terrifies me and shakes me to the core. What if you really get to know me and you don't <em>like</em> me? I need my fat to protect me!<br>
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Only, I'm so very sad and lonely right now. I'm still isolated even within my friendships, at my own doing. I've made some significant progress and am no longer trolling the fast food joints like the great white shark in Jaws (and yes, I hear the music playing in the background!), searching for that ever elusive sense of warmth and comfort that simply cannot be found in a strawberry and cream pie or a peanut buster parfait. Now, the food no longer anesthesizes me and I am crying inside. Dying inside. I cannot continue down the path I am on. Today, I stand ready to make a change. Please be kind and gentle with me as I tread this uneven path, for I am afraid, but I can't continue to live my life the way I've been living it. No more giving up on me.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14297696725664759917noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6605606187521774001.post-39786179344328962852023-11-01T15:06:00.000-07:002023-10-31T22:07:04.727-07:00If Nothing Changes, Nothing ChangesSo, here I am, sitting down to start on a new blogging adventure. I have decided to chronicle my weight loss journey on a blog. Why in the world would I want to do this? Afterall, my struggle with weight is a very personal matter and is a sensitive, touchy subject. However, I am going to put my thoughts and experiences out there for others. My reasons for doing so are threefold. First of all, my problems with weight and compulsive overeating are visible, whether I want to admit to that or not. Anyone who looks at me can already see that I have a problem, so it does me no good to continue to deny that I do indeed struggle with my relationship to food. Secondly, I cannot change something that I don't acknowledge and I am ready to make some changes for the better. Lastly, I have decided that this is something that I cannot tackle alone. By making my journey visible for friends and family to read, I am inviting people to help hold me accountable and to be there walking alongside of me as I work to change my life for the better. It will take me out of isolation and allow myself to be loved by others as I move forward on this path.<br>
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I don't want to focus on the "numbers". I will not be weighing and measuring myself obsessively, which will be a change in and of itself. I'm used to weighing myself several times a day so that I can either reward myself for being "good" or punish myself for being "bad". Either way, I am eating for reasons other than hunger. That being said, I still need to know where I am starting from and have a way to mark my progress along the way. I am going to commit to weighing and measuring myself only once a week. I will allow the way my clothes fit and feel to be my true measuring stick of progress.<br>
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Today, I will start out by acknowledging that yes, I am fat. I'm using that word because it is accurate and by using it in a non judgemental way to simply state a fact, I am taking the power of that word to hurt my feelings away. It used to be that that was the worst thing that I thought anyone could ever call me but I do not feel that way any longer. It simply is what it is. <br>
<br>I started a medically supervised weight loss program in August with the intention of pursuing bariatric surgery next spring. At that time I weighed 396 pounds. Today, I weigh 368 pounds and wear a size 32 in jeans. Period. I am relieved that I am not still at my highest weight which was 447 pounds last fall. I am excited about the opportunities to make myself healthier physically, emotionally, mentally, and spiritually. I guess in this case, there is nowhere to go but down! I'd be lying if I said that I didn't have any expectations about what I want to happen. I expect to lose weight. I expect to get stronger. I expect my joint pain to decrease. But I don't expect these things to happen overnight or without work and effort on my part. It is my goal to strive for loving and accepting myself along the way, not waiting until I lose "X" number of pounds or get into a size "Y". It is time for me to start loving myself the way I love and treat others. I am fat, but I am not unlovable. I am a woman deserving of love and respect and I refuse to continue to accept anything less.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14297696725664759917noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6605606187521774001.post-58721124643055985872023-10-12T20:25:00.000-07:002023-10-31T22:12:24.060-07:00The Witching HourIt is upon me again - the witching hour. I have come to dread this time of day. Eight p.m. rolls around and all I want to do is EAT! I'm never "hungry" at 8:00. I'm not always even particularly bored either. But my mind turns to food and it is all that I think about. I wonder what I have in the kitchen. I grumble because I didn't buy any of the "good stuff" like chocolate and ice cream to binge on. I start jonesing for a Coke. As I sit there obsessing, my mouth starts to water and I begin to get agitated. Then I start arguing with myself about whether or not I should get in my car and head out to McDonald's or Dairy Queen for a quick fix. I find it very hard to break free from that obsession without giving in.<br>
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I'm struggling to fight the battle right now. I have made the decision to pursue bariatric surgery and am now participating in a medically supervised weight loss program. I have also begun cardiac rehab for 45 minutes, three days a week. I'm still early on in this process so the urges to eat compulsively and the cravings for the carbs and sugars are still strong. I sometimes have to limit my TV viewing at night so that I'm not bombarded with commercials from Taco Bell encouraging me to grab my fourth meal of the day. I've been trying to redirect my thinking and focus through reading literature that promotes recovery from compulsive overeating and journaling my thoughts and feelings as they come up. I am discovering that I am full of anger, an emotion that I have almost always denied feeling. As I work at trying to stave off the food obsessions, my anger comes bubbling to the surface and I become incredibly uncomfortable, almost to the point of setting off a panic attack. I am frustrated with myself for allowing the food to have so much power over me. Rather than being something to nourish my body, it is a giant monster devouring my soul.<br>
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Thankfully, I have a good therapist and am working on building my support system to help guide me through these tumultuous waters. I would be lying if I said that I wasn't afraid of making some changes with regards to my relationship with food. Even though I no longer get that sense of immediate gratification that comes from eating a candy bar, it is still mentally my "go-to" method to deal with all life circumstances. It is familiar and predictable. I know what happens when I eat; there are no surprises. When I resist the urge to eat, any of a number of things could happen and the uncertainty of that is unsettling to me. Am I willing to ride out the dis-ease? Right now I feel like I'm white knuckling it through the witching hour. This will get better, right? Staying the same is hard. Making changes is hard. It is up to me to choose my hard.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14297696725664759917noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6605606187521774001.post-77479891306122451372018-05-27T16:31:00.001-07:002018-05-27T16:31:56.221-07:00Food. Weight. Depression. I've Had Enough!Tonight, I'm writing because that's all that I know to do right now. I tried to create a Word document but my subscription to Office 365 has expired. How ironic, huh Alanis Morisette?<br />
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I went to lunch last Thursday with a group of friends. One friend looked across the table at another friend and said "You're getting so skinny!" One friend ordered a salad with fat free ranch dressing and a diet coke and remarked that she had to get back to her diet because she's gained back some of the weight she's lost. I, too, ordered a salad and then just sat there picking at it, telling myself that I was "full", even though I hadn't even eaten a fourth of it, worrying that I might look "greedy" if I finished it. Another friend grabbed a third piece of garlic bread from the basket and joked that if she kept eating like that she was going to get fat. My brother posted on Face book that he had left a box of truffles at my parent's house for me on Sunday. I stopped by my dad's house today and he asked if I had eaten lunch. I replied "No, I'm not hungry." He replied that there was a strawberry-rhubarb pie on the stove, if I was interested. My 19 year old nephew is concerned that his mom and his sister are overweight and is urging them to do something about it because they're not healthy. My 10 year old nephew gets teased at school for being too fat. My brother's fiancee is on a diet. So is his ex-wife. One friend limits herself to one small meal a day in an attempt to manage her weight. A friend posted a picture of her 6 month old daughter on Face book today and referred to her as "my little pork chop" and then stated that she already weighs 17 pounds and needs to "slow down". I make this list, not to attack anyone or call anyone out, but just to show that even if we are not consciously aware of it, we (as a society, not just within my group of friends) talk about and refer to our weight A LOT! Enough said. <br />
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Suck it up, buttercup! Play the hand you were dealt! Well, here's a news flash for you - folding is an option in Poker if you don't think you have a winning hand, and now, I'm choosing to fold.<br />
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I have been seeing psychiatrists and therapists for 22 years now. I have been taking my meds. I go to 12 step groups, mental health support groups, and try to do "the next right thing". A friend says to write a gratitude list. But you see, you are assuming that I'm not doing that. After all, you do it and it works. Well, I have been doing that very thing so maybe I'm just doing it wrong. Another tells me to pray, even if all I can say is "Help". I'm doing that too. Another says to reach out to someone else. I called a friend just to ask how they were doing and to say "Hello". I did not feel better this time. Did I do that wrong too? I am reminded of the St. Francis prayer, that it's better to love than to be loved. I guess I'm not up for that calling. I no longer feel comfortable representing NAMI through presentations to others about how it's possible to live well with a mental illness because I'm doing anything but that very thing.<br />
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I want to make the choice to stop treatment and I'm told I can't choose that. You see, I'm not in my "right mind" when I think that because of the mental illness so others should make those decisions for me. I get referred to the hospital, to get straightened out. Well, I'm tired of doing it that way. Dr. F. told me 10 years ago or more that my problem was that I wasn't "feminine" enough. His advice was to grow out my hair, start wearing makeup again, and, my favorite part, consider getting some dental work done to create a small gap between the middle of my front teeth because that is what men find attractive. He said "I'm hoping that you <em>are</em> attracted to men" in a way that I knew admitting that I'm not was not acceptable. I saw him for 6 months, because that is who my insurance would pay for me to see. He was a licensed psychiatrist. He went to medical school. After he up and left, and I'm not complaining about that, I went to see Dr. D. He put me on 9 medications. Yes, 9. That's not a typo. I showed up at my therapists office while manic and exhausted. She asked if it was okay to call the doctor. I said yes. Dr. D. told her that I was "too high risk" for him and to let me know that I would need to find another doctor. He didn't even have the balls to tell me himself. He was a licensed psychiatrist. He went to medical school. I went to another mental health provider after that and had a different doctor every time I went in because there was no regular doctor anymore. And I don't want to leave out the brilliant ER physician who looked at me and said "There's nothing wrong with you. You're just manic. " He then presented me with a prescription for Klonopin. He told me that it would be okay to take "a few extra" the first couple of nights, you know, until my sleep got back on track. And he stressed to me the importance of making sure that I lay down on my side or my stomach, not my back, after taking that because due to my size, specifically, my neck circumference, I would be at a high risk for suffocating in my sleep and dying . Dr. L., also an ER doc, told me that I was "wasting his time and taking him away from patients who really needed his help." He at least later apologized, but he couldn't un-ring that bell. And there was the time I had to have my stomach pumped following an overdose. The nurse shoving the tube down my throat kept yelling at me the whole time for "making her job harder on her" because I had no one to blame but myself. It was my own damn fault. I don't imagine that she saw that as a symptom of my depression but rather as a stupid, selfish decision. She did not see my pain because that doesn't show up on a brain scan or heart monitor. I've been to 13 different therapists in 20 years. While I was at one providers' office, there was a sudden mass Exodus of therapists. I point blank asked my therapist if he was going to be leaving too. He looked me in the eye and said "No, I'm here to stay." Two weeks later he announced in a group therapy session that he had accepted a position elsewhere and would be leaving in 2 weeks. So, I know I asked you, L., if you were leaving. Please don't take it personally if I'm reluctant to believe you. You see, I'm drawing on <em>my</em> past experience, which is really all I have to work with right now.<br />
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I am beginning to think that the mental health care system is broken beyond repair. I tried making up a list of all of the medications I have tried and I came up with at least 37. Probably in a hundred different combinations over the years. I guess I just haven't found the "right" combination yet. But how long am I supposed to knock on that door? Recovery tells me that if I'm knocking on a door and it doesn't open, it's not my door. There are always new meds. There always will be. When is enough enough? No one seems to have an answer for why I can't sleep. Try Remeron, 30 mg? No. Trazadone, 600 mg? No. Ativan, 10 mg, IM? No. Thorazine, 400 mg? No. Seroquel 900 mg? No. During one of my many too many hospital stays to mention, the Dr. started me on an antidepressant because I was depressed. Three days later, he discontinued it because I had become manic and he commented that he was glad he hadn't already discharged me. I was there for 14 days, then I went home. Less than a month later, I was in a different facility. You see, the depression came back, in full force. Their Dr. put me back on an antidepressant, one to treat the OCD as well. After a week, I went home. Again. I saw my regular psychiatrist, in her office for my outpatient follow-up. She took one look at my manic ass and stopped the medication I had just started for the depression and OCD. She told me I couldn't take those when I'm manic. I've been off of that for 7 weeks now. The depression is back. Bipolar disorder is tricky you see. With the antidepressants, I am manic. Without them, I'm depressed. And the OCD and PTSD are forced to take a "back seat" to the monster, bipolar disorder. Maybe something will come to you in your dreams. I know that as I sit here typing, you are in bed, sleeping. And I am not. You're probably breathing, without having to think about it. But you see, I have to tell myself to breathe, because I forget to do that too.<br />
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My whole adult life has been about trying to get better. I'm tired of trying. And I'm tired of you telling me not to give up. Everyone has their "answer". I want to believe that all of the health care professionals I've seen over the years have had what they think is my best interest at heart. But I'm not allowed to have mine. I'm not just dealing with mental illness. The "diet" my medical doctor has me on has side effects. Muscle cramping. Constipation. Drink pickle juice. That just comes with the territory. My headaches are most likely caused by my lack of sleep. No shit Sherlock! Nausea and vomiting? Stick to clear liquids until it passes. I stopped taking Lasix again but my body still has to pee every 30 minutes. So, my urologist wrote a prescription to take care of that. Isn't working. My legs hurt so bad that I couldn't even stand to have my kitties sitting on my lap tonight. What do I have left? Oh, yeah, the Cubs. A friend told me a true Cubs fan doesn't give up. Look where they were on November 2, 2016. Well, it took them 108 years to get there. I don't have 108 years. And I'll be damned if I'm going to keep apologizing for my choices and my feelings and my frustrations right now.<br />
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I went for a long drive this afternoon and thought about "letting go". See, I've been trying to let go. I've been trying to let go of anger and resentment. I've been trying to let go of hurt and pain. I've been trying to let go of my addictions. I stay sober. I stay abstinent. Let go and let God, right? I remembered a nursing home resident named Bill that I had the privilege of taking care of when I was a CNA in college. No one wanted to take care of him. Physically, he wasn't that difficult to care for, but he kept pulling his oxygen off and screaming "Help me!" non stop. He had Alzheimer's. He tried your patience for sure. I went in one afternoon for my shift and the nurse informed us that Bill was dying. She said he wasn't expected to survive the shift. She asked for volunteers to take care of him that night. We all looked at each other and then I said I'd take him. I got the other residents taken care of and passed on my lunch break to sit with Bill. He was struggling so hard to breathe. I reached out and took his hand and in a quiet voice, told him that it was okay to let go. I told him that he was loved. That he mattered. And that if he was ready, it was okay to go. He took one more breath and then he died. After I collected myself, I went to get the nurse. She told me that it was my job to get him ready for the coroner. So, I bathed him, dressed him in a clean gown, and combed his hair out of his eyes for the last time. It was so peaceful. But when you're depressed, no one takes your hand and tells you it's okay to let go. No. They tell you to fight. They tell you it will get better. They tell you to be strong, that you are inspiring them to keep going. That's a pretty heavy burden to carry. See, the way that I look at it, I've been looking at "letting go" all wrong. Maybe when I hear God whispering that it's okay to let go, that He's "got this", He's telling me that it's okay to come home. Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14297696725664759917noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6605606187521774001.post-39238324111483571602018-05-19T21:42:00.001-07:002018-05-19T21:42:31.180-07:00"Too Much" Equals "Not Enough"It seems like everything and everyone I encounter lately point out to me that I am too fat. My previous entry, It Still Hurts, describes my experience in the grocery store a week ago. Well, it looks like that was just the beginning of the end for me. In the past ten days, my weight has been all that I can focus on. I went to a doctor of mine to discuss possible options for dealing with chronic pain. Well, I never saw the doctor. The nurse who checked me in asked if I was there for another injection. I replied that I wasn't sure if that's what I wanted to do because they don't seem to be helping anymore. She then informed me that I shouldn't expect the doctor to work miracles when the real problem is that I am too fat. If only I'd exercise and eat a salad once in a while, I wouldn't be in this position, she said. I looked over at my reflection in the mirror at the end of the examining room table and felt an overwhelming sense of deep shame. And then I got up and left. I never waited on the doctor. After all, the nurse was right, right? My pain is my own fault. When I got out to the car, I took out my phone and made several calls, cancelling appointments with my endocrinologist, family physician, and OB/GYN, telling myself that I'm too fat to ask for treatment for my medical conditions. I always apologize to the EMTs for having to track down an extra person to load me into an ambulance when I need to go to the ER. God forbid that anything should happen to me in my own apartment and first responders would have to get me up the stairs.<br />
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I got on Face book a couple of days later to find a post from a friend. It showed a picture of an obese woman getting out of her car in a handicapped spot in the parking lot. My friend's response to that picture was (he used all caps) "YOU'RE NOT HANDICAPPED, YOU'RE FAT!" He went on to say that the BMV should create a special tag for fat people and require them to park in the spaces furthest from the store so that they would have to do a little exercise on their way in to buy cookies and ice cream. Again, ,I felt ashamed. It must be what everyone else is thinking when they see me get out of the car. I no longer make eye contact with others. It's less painful to look down at my feet.<br />
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I was riding in the car with a family member about a month ago and this person commented that "----- would be so much prettier if she would lose a bit of weight." So, I asked if that meant the person in question wasn't pretty because they were overweight. The response I got was that they weren't saying the individual wasn't pretty, just that they could look so much <em>more</em> attractive if they dropped some weight. I then asked what they thought about me, as I am much heavier, only to be met with silence. At the South Side Diner the other day I could feel eyes on me coming from the older couple in the booth directly across the aisle. I heard the older lady say to her husband "How could anybody let themselves get that big?" I glanced over at her, wanting her to know that I heard what she said and I wanted to scream out to everyone there that I was eating a cheeseburger patty, no bun, a side salad, and cottage cheese, and drinking water, all of which are foods I am "allowed" to eat on the food plan established by my weight loss doctor so FUCK OFF! But, I didn't. I pushed my plate aside, asked for my bill, then went home and forced myself to throw up, chastising myself for being "bad". For being hungry. For needing to eat at all. For being alive.<br />
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I've found myself really listening to what others are saying about weight lately. I have several friends who have been losing weight. Some, intentionally through diet and exercise. Some due to eating disorders. Some, unintentionally as a result of other physical health issues. No matter what the underlying reason, the comments made by my friends to these individuals go something like this: "You are getting so skinny! You look great! I wish I was that skinny!" I cringe every time I hear those words and remain silent, full of shame and self-loathing. I've cut back on going out to dinner with my friends because, once again, I am worried about being judged for what I order. I worry about how I look compared to everyone else and I'm angry that I am even visible. I've started leaving meetings early, to avoid the "expected" hugging afterward because I am self conscious. I'm not sleek and thin. I'm big and squishy. I don't deserve love. <br />
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I seems like I can't <em>not</em> focus on my weight or size anymore. I turn down invitations to go to friends houses because I don't know what kind of furniture they have, knowing that it is hard for me to get up and down from chairs. I don't fit in most booths at restaurants any more. I can't sit outside and enjoy watching the sunset because lawn chairs do not hold me. I don't like to ride with others because the seat belts in their cars might not fit around me. I can't buy clothes at the store, because they don't carry my size. I turned down an opportunity to go on an Alaskan cruise with my family because my weight has caused some physical limitations that would severely limit my ability to go on this trip. Everything is a reminder that I'm too big. It seems like no matter how many things I do "right" (like drinking water, cutting carbs, not eating dessert), it's not enough.<br />
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And I, too, am guilty of judging others based on their weight. A friend posted a picture of her daughter's ballet recital on Face book the other night. There were four girls in the front row. My immediate response? The third girl from the left is too fat. And then I started thinking about how painful her life will be if she doesn't slim down. I've totally bought into the idea that thin is what matters. I find myself thinking that thin is <em>all</em> that matters. One of the hardest things to hear from friends and family is "Oh, but I love you anyway." Yes, <em>anyway</em>. That's like saying to someone who has blond hair that I love them <em>anyway</em>, implying that being blond isn't good enough. I know that it shouldn't matter to me what anyone else thinks or says, but it does. There is a saying that goes "what others think of you is none of your business". It's so hard not to make it my business when everywhere I turn, I am faced with reminders that I'm not enough. Several years ago, I was out on a walk and a car of guys, I would say in their early twenties, drove past me. They rolled down the windows of the car and made "oinking" and "mooing" noises at me. As if that weren't embarrassing enough, they turned the car around and made a second pass at me, this time with 3 of them dropping their pants and mooning me while yelling "Here piggy piggy!" So, I joined a health club. I mustered up the courage to go in for my first workout, which took a lot for me to do. I heard two young men mocking me after I got up from using one of the machines. I tried to brush that off and went over to the treadmill. The most I could do was five minutes. I thought I was going to die. As I stepped off the treadmill, the man next to me, who was running on the treadmill, said to me "That's it? That was hardly worth the effort!" I went over to try the recumbent bike but my left knee wouldn't bend enough to allow me to use that either. I crumpled up the exercise plan that the personal trainer had designed for me and I left, hoping I would make it to my car before starting to cry. I never went back, even though I paid the membership fee each month for a full year. I would so much rather admit to being an alcoholic and drug addict, a sexual abuse and rape survivor, or that I am living with mental illness than have to have the whole world see that I am fat.<br />
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I don't know where to go from here. I know that I don't have any answers. This entry is coming from a place of deep pain and frustration. I've lost roughly 60 pounds in the past six months. But, (yes, there is a but) I've gained back 7 pounds in the last two weeks, due in part to a medication change which has resulted in a significantly increased appetite. So, I'm feeling defeated, again. I worry that no matter what I do, or how hard I try, I'm never going to reach an acceptable weight. I'm finding it so hard not to give up.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14297696725664759917noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6605606187521774001.post-27674363665581442542018-05-12T20:31:00.001-07:002018-05-12T20:31:14.797-07:00It Still HurtsIt's after 10:00 p.m. and I'm getting pretty tired but I wanted to write this while it was still fresh in my mind. I don't really know how to start. There are so many thoughts and emotions running through my mind. So, I guess I'll just start writing and hope that at some point it will make sense. <br />
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This afternoon, after visiting my mom, I went to Wal Mart to pick up a few groceries. For about the past six months, I have been using the motorized carts to do my shopping. Last September, I was at my highest weight ever, weighing 437 pounds. I have become involved in a couple of programs to help me address this and become a healthier person. As of today, my weight is down to 383 pounds. I know that I still have a long way to go, but I'm working on it. Besides my weight, I have several other health problems that impact my mobility. As a result of a car accident back in 1997, I have a lot of metal in my right foot and since that injury, experience tremendous pain in my foot and ankle with every single step I take. I also have severe osteoarthritis in my knees. There is no cartilage at all left in my left knee. Over the years, NSAID pain relievers and cortisone injections have helped with the knee pain, but they no longer provide even minimal relief. I am still too heavy for knee replacement surgery and at this time there aren't really any other options. Throw in a diminished lung capacity, due in large part to my asthma, and a heart arrhythmia, and well, it all makes things a bit harder for me to do many things I once took for granted.<br />
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It has taken some getting used to on my part to adjust to limitations in my mobility. There are simply some things that I am not able to do at this time, and shopping is one of them. I am often uncomfortable and self-conscious when I use the motorized carts. I see older adults pushing grocery carts through the store and find myself thinking that if they can do it, then I should be able to do it. I see other morbidly obese customers pushing carts and chastise myself for not "trying harder" and I hear that overly critical voice inside my head saying that I'm being too lazy. All of my difficulties are my own fault anyway, so I should just suck it up and push the damn cart! I start to imagine what others must be thinking of me when I scoot past them, which makes me forget why I am in the store in the first place. I practice my defense for every item in my cart because God forbid I have anything in it that I "shouldn't" have. And I pray that the unthinkable doesn't happen. I pray that the cart doesn't lose it's charge while I am still shopping, leaving me stranded.<br />
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Well, today, it happened. I was finished with my shopping and was heading to the checkout lane when the cart ran out of juice. There I was, stuck in the middle of the aisle, completely blocking the way of people coming from both directions. Shit. So, I flagged down a store employee and told him that the cart had died and asked if there was someone who could help me by bringing me another cart and get the one I was using out of the middle of the aisle so that the other shoppers could get through. The guy looked at me and said that he was stocking shelves and that it wasn't his job to do that. Um, okay. Then he turned around and walked away. So, still stuck, I flagged down a second employee who informed me that he was on his lunch break before I even got my plea for help out of my mouth. When I heard that, I apologized and asked if he could ask someone else to help me but he had already turned away from me and started to walk away. My old way of thinking immediately pounced on me and I felt guilty and ashamed. I found myself thinking that all of this was my fault. My fault for being too fat. My fault for playing the catcher's position in softball for years, which everyone knows is bad for your knees. My fault for having asthma. My fault for trying to do my grocery shopping in the middle of a Saturday afternoon, and worse yet, on a holiday weekend when the store was so busy. My fault for not more closely watching the battery charge on the cart. My fault for being an inconvenience. <br />
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Thankfully, another customer had been there and witnessed what had happened and heard what the two employees had said to me. She went looking for another employee to help me, and made it clear that I had been treated disrespectfully and promptly dismissed by the others. This worker went and brought another cart to me and helped me to transfer my groceries to the other cart. I sheepishly thanked him, still feeling like I needed to justify myself or explain why I was worthy of his time and assistance. I then proceeded to the checkout, paid for my groceries, and headed out to my car. And then I started to cry. I still couldn't shake the feeling that I had deserved to be treated that way. And then I was angry - not at the workers, but at MYSELF! How could I have let what was a ten minute long unpleasant experience totally wipe out all of the progress I've made over the past six months to take care of myself, physically, mentally, and spiritually? I found myself wondering if I would ever learn to love myself enough to not feel like I owe the world an apology for living. After I got home and had an opportunity to collect myself, I called the store and asked to speak to a manager. She apologized and told me that she would address the issue. And here I am, eight hours later, still trying to figure out how I'm going to get my groceries from now on because the fear of that happening again seems insurmountable. I shouldn't have to feel that way. No one deserves to be brushed aside. I have to remember that how I was treated this afternoon is a reflection on two insensitive individuals and not on me. But, it still hurts.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14297696725664759917noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6605606187521774001.post-28835918840963543202017-07-16T21:31:00.001-07:002017-07-16T21:31:16.076-07:00I'm ScaredI am scared. I am struggling. I am feeling defeated. This past weekend, I went to a convention in Fort Wayne but I never left my hotel room. When I arrived and went to register, I discovered that I couldn't walk the distance to the registration table. I was totally winded, huffing and puffing and struggling to catch my breath. My legs were throbbing. I couldn't do it. My friends went on ahead and registered for me but it was immediately clear that I would not be able to walk the distances needed to be able to attend the convention sessions. The convention center had wheelchairs, but they were regular width wheelchairs and at 426 pounds, that would not work for me. I became painfully aware of just how deconditioned I have become. It had never occurred to me that I would have difficulty attending the conference. I was so upset over this that I ended up making myself sick and so not only was I restricted to my hotel room, I was physically ill all weekend on top of that.<br />
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Needless to say, I had a lot of time to think and to feel over the past two days. I was embarrassed that I was so out of shape. I was ashamed of how I have become. I was saddened and lonely. I felt trapped in my body. I even thought about dying. At one point in my life, I swore that if I ever reached 400 pounds, I'd kill myself. Then I reached 400 pounds. Those thoughts came back to me this weekend. I found myself thinking about the quality of my life. Right now, I'd have to say that my quality of life is poor. I do have friends and family who love me dearly, and yet I feel so very alone. I don't want my life to continue on this way. And yet, I don't want to die. But I'm afraid that that is what is happening to me. I get out of breath putting on my shoes and socks. If I take a bag of trash to the dumpster, it feels like my heart is going to jump right out of my chest. Then I start to panic, which only makes matters worse. I really thought that I was going to collapse at the convention center this weekend trying to walk to the registration table. That was a frightening feeling. That is how I feel all of the time now. I can't do this any more.<br />
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I wish that I could say that this experience this past weekend has left me motivated to take action. I pray that it will, after my emotions settle down some. Right now, I am extremely sad. I feel like giving up. It is so hard for me to see the big picture of what my life would look like if I lost the weight. Even seeing small improvements is hard for me right now. I'm scared that I don't have it in me to do the work that it will take to get the weight off. I'm afraid of the physical pain and discomfort, the blood, sweat, and tears that are going to be an inevitable part of the journey. I'm choking back tears as I'm sitting here writing this because I feel so lost. I'm hurting so deeply inside. I'm not so sure that I know what to do at this point. This is not how my life is supposed to be.<br />
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I am utterly and totally defeated now. I guess that that means there is nowhere to go but up. I have scheduled appointments at the medically supervised weight loss clinic and also with a trainer at the gym to see about designing an exercise program that would help to get me moving. I'm not looking forward to either of those appointments at this moment. I am hoping that in the next couple of days I will find some strength and courage to proceed down this path to a healthier me. I know that it's going to be hard and I don't like that. But, it is what it is and I will prevail. Tonight, I'm going to curl up with my kitties and cry myself to sleep, knowing that tomorrow is a new day.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14297696725664759917noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6605606187521774001.post-88781372055803851932017-07-12T20:17:00.002-07:002017-07-12T20:17:43.126-07:00To Be Or Not To Be...As I'm sitting here, trying to get my mind to turn off so that I can fall asleep, I'm thinking about what kind of person that I want to <em>be</em> moving forward. I have decided that I want to be the person who takes charge of her health and well being, rather than the person who leaves things up to chance and makes poor decisions for herself. I'm so very tired of being dragged down by apathy and self-pity. Neither of those states feel comfortable to me anymore. I'm ready for some changes. I have already started implementing some new practices into my daily routine, including writing down what I am eating and drinking more water. I'm starting to exercise, even though it is very difficult for me to do. I'm taking action on making myself a priority. I no longer want to be the fat girl sitting in the drive through parking lot stuffing French fries into her mouth and gulping down cokes. I don't want to spend all of my spare money on junk food and treats that I eat in seclusion and shame. It's time for me to be the person that God has meant for me to be.<br />
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I know that I can do this. I have lost weight before. I have taken care of myself and felt good about it in the past. I want to be able to go to Alaska with my family next summer. So it's really not a question of whether or not I can do this, it's a question of whether or not I'm going to do this. I have to believe that God wants good for me and that He wants me to take care of myself so that I can be a blessing to others. I cannot do that if I'm just sitting around, stuffing my face full of donuts and crying. I'm lucky to have a strong support network available to me if I would just tap into that and allow others to love me. Its time tp move beyond my good intentions and put some work in on being the best me that I can be. Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14297696725664759917noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6605606187521774001.post-33902485259746697872017-07-08T17:36:00.002-07:002017-07-08T17:54:14.719-07:00At a Crossorads<br />
It's been nearly a month since I've written anything. When I came back to this blog in April, I had wanted to commit to writing an entry a week but I haven't managed to stick to that. Maybe because I only thought that that was what I was going to do. I thought about the commitment, but had not fully, well, committed to it. Then I thought that it was too late now, because after all, I'd already missed several weeks in a row. And then it hit me. It's not too late to begin again.<br />
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I'm finding myself at a crossroad in my weight loss journey right now. I have recently gained some weight again and so I'm asking myself just how important am I? I mean, really? Am I important enough to do something about it or not? Do I care enough about myself to want to make the changes necessary to live a healthier life? I thought that I was but I'm sure not acting like it. It's getting harder and harder to justify eating the Mary Lou donuts and Peanut Buster Parfaits. I don't get any enjoyment out of eating those things anymore but I feel compelled to eat them anyway. I have been using my addiction to food as an excuse to continue eating, rather than as a catalyst for change. I have been allowing myself to believe the myth that I don't know any better. But that is not the truth. I do know better, I just haven't been choosing better.<br />
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I am remembering the quote by Maya Angelou: "When you know better, you do better". I am particularly mindful of those last three words, "you <em>do</em> better". Its about taking action. I have to first make the commitment, but then move beyond that and act on it in order to be truly successful. Otherwise, nothing is going to change. I have the opportunity to go on an Alaskan cruise in June of 2018 with my whole family. At my current weight that would be extremely difficult to do. I don't want to miss out on a chance of a lifetime. That is just under a year away. I'm running out of time to "begin again" if I want to achieve my goal of being able to go on that cruise with my family.<br />
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So, what <em>am</em> I willing to do? Between now and next Saturday, I will write down what I am eating and share that with a friend who is willing to help to hold me accountable. I will drink 64 ounces of water every day. I will exercise 3 times. I am writing these three things down on a card that I will post in several places in my apartment to help remind me of my action plan for the week. When I do my next blog entry in a week, I will report on how I did with my goals. I am important. This is worth it. I can do it!Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14297696725664759917noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6605606187521774001.post-71850517473629632872017-05-28T18:56:00.001-07:002017-05-28T18:56:38.928-07:00Today, I am SadToday, I am sad. I'm not so sure why, but I am. I have been sitting here in front of the computer for over an hour trying to figure out what to write this week and nothing has really come to me besides this overwhelming feeling of sadness. As I sit here at my desk looking out the window, I have a view of the pond with the fountain, some nice big trees and lots of green grass. The sky is that perfect shade of light blue, with white fluffy clouds floating in the air. It is in the mid 70s today, and is quite nice now that the rain has moved on.<br />
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I met up with a friend Friday afternoon and we talked a little about finding some way that I could make a beginning at being more active. She wanted to "do the math" and figure out how many steps a day I'm getting in so that I can set a goal to strive for. I hem-hawed around that one, embarrassed to acknowledge how few steps a day I really get in. She offered to be a walking buddy sometime and as I sat there listening to her say those words, all I could think about was how I used to power walk four miles a day after work and now I can hardly walk 100 feet, and I felt crushed beneath my weight. Again. This morning I went to church with my parents. I was out of breath. Not just a little out of breath, but huffing and puffing out of breath by the time I went up my six stairs and walked down the sidewalk to get into the car. I try not to make it so obvious that I'm winded by trying to breathe deeply, in through my nose and out through my mouth, but there is no quiet way to "suck air".<br />
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I wish that I could be out there, enjoying the fresh air, walking through the grass with my dad's dog Max, watching the geese at the pond. I feel as though my world is closing in on me with each passing day. My life is quickly passing me by. I feel trapped inside my body, limited by what I can no longer do. I wonder how I must look to others, even though I "shouldn't" and I want nothing more than to be able to shrink down in size or fall through a crack in the Earth. I'm becoming more and more socially isolated because I now have to consider whether or not restaurants and theaters and coffee shops will have chairs that I can sit in. And if I fit, will it hold me? Picnic season is upon us and lawn chairs are not designed to hold someone who weighs 408 pounds. I can't even sit on the porch swing at my mom's house right now. <br />
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I know that I have people out there rooting for me and supporting me. But right now, that doesn't change the fact that I feel so helpless and alone. I think that it is important for me to acknowledge my sadness and to allow myself to feel it, rather than trying to push it away or minimize it. I am hurting, and that is okay. I am now acutely more aware of all of the things that I took for granted when I was smaller (like fitting in a chair or putting on my shoes) and it stings and I'm going to have to work through that. I just wish that hurting wasn't part of the path on my journey towards healing.<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14297696725664759917noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6605606187521774001.post-59652411093866915492017-05-14T03:06:00.000-07:002017-05-14T03:06:18.073-07:00Pride Goeth Before the FallLet me start off by saying that I hate grocery shopping. I absolutely hate it! First of all, there is the arguing with myself over what I am and am not going to buy to eat for the week. After all, if I don't buy CRAP, I won't have CRAP in the house to tempt me, right? So, I stick to the perimeter of the store, forgoing the Froot Loops and the cinnamon raisin bagels in favor of the spinach, kale, and fresh raspberries, all of which I do just so happen to like anyway to begin with. So what is the problem, you may be wondering? Well, you see, I'm lazy. Sloth lazy. With Froot Loops, you just open the box, dump them in a bowl, and drown them in milk. Voila! Dinner is served! Creating meals with fresh "ingredients" takes effort and I don't wanna do that. I like the end result, but don't want to put forth the effort to get it. If it sounds like I'm whining, I'll admit it, I am. And I struggle with valuing myself enough to invest the time and energy into becoming a healthier me. But I'm getting there.<br />
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Last Wednesday I was unloading my groceries. Again, because I'm lazy, I was determined to carry them all in from the van in one trip. I loaded up my arms, shut the back end with my back end, and headed for my apartment. I knew that I was off balance but thought I could make it up the three steps to the landing okay. I was wrong. I fell forward and to the left, landing in the bushes, on top of my groceries. Dammit to hell! Yogurt had exploded. Strawberries and raspberries were smashed. My knee was throbbing. And there I was, lying there on the ground, huffing and puffing, feeling like a giant lard ass.<br />
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Two people saw me fall. One was my neighbor from the apartment next to mine. I'd put her in her mid twenties. She watched me fall, then stepped OVER me and kept right on going, laughing as she walked past me. The other was a young man, probably in his thirties, who lives upstairs. He was so kind to me! After asking if I was okay, he rebagged my groceries for me and carried them to my door. Then he helped me get up off the ground. He again asked if I was okay. I was brushing myself off, mumbling about how embarrassed I was when he said the kindest thing. He said "there is no judgment coming from me". I was so much more worried about how I looked lying there on the ground than I was about my knee and he wasn't even judging me!<br />
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It took me several minutes to collect myself once I got into my apartment before I could sort through the groceries and assess the damage and put everything away. As I was putting things in the refrigerator, I started to laugh. It dawned on me that salad mixes, fresh fruit, and meat broke my fall. Not Froot Loops. Not Ding Dongs. But kale! I wasn't at all embarrassed by what had spilled from my bags. In the past, I would have been worried about being judged for what I was eating. But I had made good choices at the grocery store on Wednesday. I let my pride get the best of me when I decided to try to haul all of those bags in at once, all by myself. I let my pride get the best of me when I was lying on the ground spewing self-disparaging remarks at myself for having fallen down. I was so flustered that I don't remember my kind neighbor's name but I'll never forget how he treated me with dignity and respect. And I'm going to keep right on doing my part by making good choices for myself and holding my head high!Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14297696725664759917noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6605606187521774001.post-61889596114460079962017-05-07T19:36:00.001-07:002017-05-07T19:36:11.335-07:00I Can't BreatheI'm just getting back in town from a weekend away at a women's retreat. It was so wonderful to get away and spend some time with 60+ women all walking a similar journey together. I was a little, okay, a lot!, anxious as Friday afternoon rolled around and the time came to go to Camp Tecumseh. Even though I've been to these retreats before, I'm never fully prepared for all of the feelings and emotions that might arise during the course of the weekend,<br />
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The opening night activity was just sort of okay for me emotionally and I was having a hard time envisioning how the theme of the retreat was going to connect for me as the weekend progressed. I think that part of my "problem" was that the theme was tied to the Wizard of Oz and I really do not care for that movie. But, I went along with it. I muddled through the small group activities and free time on Saturday afternoon and I found myself feeling, well, just sort of meh. I toyed with the idea of going home early, but this little voice inside me said "Stick it out", so I did.<br />
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The Saturday evening speaker's story was powerful. Her words reached me in the depths of my soul. She spoke of fear. I know fear. I'm introduced to someone new and I'm afraid that they're judging me by my fat before they even hear me say my first name. I'm walking to my mailbox and I get so short of breath that I can't breathe and I'm afraid that I'm going to have a heart attack and die in the parking lot. I'm afraid that my obesity is going to shorten my lifespan. I'm afraid that I'm dying. She spoke of looking at her reflection in the mirror and seeing dead eyes staring back at her. I have those eyes. Hollow. Empty. Distant. Cold. And as I sat there listening to her speak, choking back the tears, I was fervently praying "Please tell me that there is hope. Please. This can't be it!"<br />
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And then our speaker got to courage. Courage to give up the fight. Courage to let go and let God. Courage to ask for help. She got to compassion and I heard her say to allow others to love me as I am, and to keep loving me even when I don't love myself. Finally, she spoke of wisdom, wisdom to make the right decisions and to do the next right thing with guidance from God and the love and support from all of the people placed along the path to help me. And then it happened! I got my lightbulb moment. I'm suffocating because I'm still trying to do this on my own! I'm not allowing God to love me and I'm not allowing you to love me because I don't love me. Once I realized that, I was able to begin to breathe again, through my sobbing. My story doesn't have to end here. Tonight, I'm making the choice to take care of myself. Tonight, I'm making the choice to breathe!Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14297696725664759917noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6605606187521774001.post-49002840650719709142017-04-23T19:07:00.002-07:002017-04-23T19:07:57.510-07:00AvoidanceAccording to Google on my phone, the definition of avoidance is "the action of keeping away from or not doing something". I have been practicing avoidance lately. I have been avoiding talking to God about my struggles with my eating behaviors. I know that for me, from past experience, when I pray about a situation that weighs heavily on my mind (no pun intended), it helps me to deal with the circumstances I find myself facing. So why have I been hesitant to go to God with this particular problem? Because there is a lot of shame attached to my eating behaviors and I find myself believing that I should have better control over myself. Certainly God has bigger things to worry about than what I am shoveling into my mouth! Or does He?<br />
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I believe that God loves me deeply and unconditionally. I believe that God wants what is best for me and wants to see me happy and healthy and enjoying life. Therefore, it stands to reason that He would take an interest in how I am treating my body. When I'm eating compulsively and to excess, I am miserable. I am frustrated with myself. No, I am furious with myself. And that leads me to say some pretty mean and hateful things to myself, things that I would never even dream of saying to another human being. I start making these ridiculous bargains with myself over what I will or will not eat, when I will or will not eat, "borrowing" calories and carbs from one meal's allotment to be used at another's. I become so totally obsessed with the food that I am not only consuming it, it is consuming me. And so I sit there, chocolate chip cookies in hand, shoving them into my mouth as fast as I can, almost choking myself on them as I try to chew fast enough to keep up with myself. Where is God in this picture?<br />
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This was the scene for me earlier this week. As I sat in the car scarfing down the chocolate chip cookies from McDonald's, I was overcome with an intense sadness, for I could hear God weeping. Not because He was disappointed in me, but because it hurt Him to see me hurting so deeply. I have been trying to avoid acknowledging the depth of my pain, falsely believing that that would make it go away. I have been avoiding sharing it with God, falsely believing that if I didn't speak of it in prayer, He would not know. But God sees what is on my heart and in my mind. He knows. And He stands willing to love me and guide me if I will let Him. He does care about what I put into my mouth because He cares about me in my totality. No amount of food is going to make me "whole". The hole inside me has to be filled with something else. Its time for me to stop avoiding God and allow Him to lovingly fill that void inside my heart.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14297696725664759917noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6605606187521774001.post-43336153545553827972015-06-27T14:16:00.002-07:002015-06-27T14:16:46.061-07:00Excuses, Excuses...So...I have been avoiding writing any more entries because I have been struggling more than I would care to admit to. This whole journey to a healthier me is not turning out to be as easy as I thought it would be! In fact, it's hard. Damn hard. For every step I take forward I feel like I take two steps back. Right now, if I am to be honest, I would have to say that I feel like giving up - again.<br />
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I saw my family physician on Thursday and after following up on some issues, the topic of my weight came up. I knew that it would, so this was no surprise. My doctor has a particular diet that he feels would be best for me to follow and I disagree with him. I have done some research and feel that what he is suggesting would not work well for me. When I said that, he said that he felt like I was looking for excuses not to follow this diet. That comment stung and I immediately felt defensive. I really did not know how to respond. I left there feeling like a giant failure, like someone incapable of change. When I got home, I cried for several hours before I could calm down enough to call a friend to talk.<br />
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Now, why did my doctor's comment trigger that kind of reaction in me? Something that I have learned about myself over the past several years is that if something bothers me, there is something in that situation to take a look at. And, as much as I hate to admit this, if I am to be rigorously honest with myself, I have been looking for excuses. Not necessarily for excuses to not do the diet my doctor is recommending, but for excuses to not do anything at all since I do not know what to do. I am afraid of having another failure so I'm making excuses to "wait until tomorrow" to commit to a healthier lifestyle. I can't exercise because my knees hurt and I get short of breath. I can't compete with his or her workout. I can't drink 64 ounces of water a day because the seal on my water bottle is broken. I can't fix interesting, healthy meals because I'm not a very good cook. Blah, blah, blah.<br />
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I know that no one can do these things for me. I'm not real sure where my motivation is going to come from because I'm having a real hard time imagining anything different from the way things are now. I have a decision to make. Have I had enough? Have I had enough of having to lay down on the bed to zip my pants? Of becoming out of breath taking the trash to the dumpster? Of not being able to go to the park or the zoo with my family because I can't walk around without pain? Am I now willing to DO something differently?<br />
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At the end of my appointment, my doctor made the comment that ultimately it is my choice as to which type of diet or eating plan I choose to follow and that the important thing is that I make a choice and stick with it because my weight is adversely affecting my health. No more excuses. I can't afford them anymore. I have a paperweight on my desk that says "You can't build a reputation on what you're going to do. Do it now." Good advice, don't you think?Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14297696725664759917noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6605606187521774001.post-28726848272140766302015-05-18T11:11:00.000-07:002015-05-18T11:12:22.366-07:00Don't Throw the Baby Out With the Bathwater!I wasn't going to write an entry today because my last two weeks have not been perfect! Now, how crazy is that? I still have not been able to eliminate pop completely and I had one day where I just binged and binged and binged. I binged on healthy foods and then I gave in to temptation and went to the store and bought pure junk and proceeded to eat all of that as well. I tried to figure out what was bothering me, hoping to pinpoint just what had triggered the desire to binge so that I could avoid it at all costs in the future, but to no avail. All I know is that I made no attempts to stop the binging once it started that day. It was as if I had decided that since I had started down that path, I had to continue with the binge. There was no going back! And then I felt like CRAP afterwards, physically and emotionally.<br />
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So, does that mean that there is no hope for me? No, it does not! It simply means that I have more learning and growing to do! I am learning from others who have been on this path before me that I can stop binging and ask for help at any point along the way. Now, that may sound easy, but for any of you who have been there, you know that it is not. But I hear it can be done and so I have faith that if others have been able to do it, than so can I, as long as I don't give up along the way. <br />
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All too often, I place unreasonable expectations on myself and when I do not live up to them, I beat myself up for not being a "stronger" person, or a "healthier" person in this case. I expect perfect adherence to principles and guidelines, which cannot possibly be achieved, and then I wonder why I am so frustrated with myself for falling short. What I am failing to realize is that as long as I stick with it and don't give up on my goal of living a healthier life, I'm not really falling short in the end. I have to remember that this is not a race and that I have countless opportunities to make better choices for myself that nurture my body, my mind, and my soul. <br />
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Despite the binge, I did still lose weight. As of today, I weigh 393.1 pounds, for a total loss of 13.9 pounds! Yippee! I have been able to stay off of the scale, except for my weekly weigh-ins on Monday mornings, which is a miracle in itself. I'm really working hard on not obsessing about the numbers on the scale and instead, focusing on how I am feeling and what I am able to do. Once again, I am able to bend over and tie my shoes while sitting on the side of the bed, which I could not do six weeks ago when I was at my highest weight of 421 pounds. Progress, not perfection, and on that note, I think that I will continue on this journey, one day at a time!Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14297696725664759917noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6605606187521774001.post-32645315342787405912015-05-05T11:11:00.001-07:002015-05-05T11:12:05.657-07:00Loving Myself as I AmWell, it's been a week since I decided to do this blog about my journey to a healthier me. I stepped on the scale yesterday morning and it read 401.4 pounds, for a loss of 5.6 pounds. Yay me! Of course, I know not to expect that every week, but it was nice to see. I have gone one week with only one Coke. My first goal is to phase out pop completely. It has been challenging to do because I really like the taste of Coke but it does not really quench my thirst. I find that when I do break down and have one, I still feel thirsty and I crave sugar all the more. It's not that I don't like water. Actually, I do. It's just a matter of changing my habits. I hear that it takes something like 21 days to make something a habit so I'm going to keep plugging away on that one. It is my goal to make it through this week without a pop.<br />
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That being said, I am not going to make this journey about deprivation. I am choosing to focus on the positive side of what I am trying to do which is making healthier choices for myself. I do not want to be picked on for what I do or do not put in my mouth. News Flash: that does not help! I am aware that I have many trigger foods that I will have to work on eliminating from my diet if I am going to be free from the strong cravings that occur whenever I put those foods in my mouth. There are things that no matter how hard I try, I cannot eat just one! So, those will have to go. Step by step, I am going to replace those foods with ones that nourish my body and give my body the nutrients it needs.<br />
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In addition to making physical changes, I am making spiritual and emotional changes in my lifestyle. I have found that prayer and meditation have helped me to quit drinking and I truly believe that prayer will play a vital role in my ability to handle the changes I am trying t make in my food choices. I have faith that God will give me the strength to care for myself the way He cares for me. I have always had a difficult time loving myself. I cannot even begin to count the number if times I have pledged to start loving myself once I reached 140 pounds. Well, I do not know if I will ever get down to 140 pounds. I cannot focus on that and I can no longer emotionally afford to place such absurd conditions on whether or not I am going to love myself. I am no longer going to wait until I lose weight to love myself and do things that feel good to me. I refuse to continue to see myself as broken. I do not need to be "fixed". I just need to be the woman that God created me to be and to love the body, mind, and soul that He has blessed me with.<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14297696725664759917noreply@blogger.com1