Rereading many of my posts, I realize how disconnected I am emotionally with what is happening to my body. How ironic. One of the biggest reasons for keeping this blog was to integrate my new way of eating and new behaviors into my entire being – now it seems I’ve kept my emotional self pretty much apart from what has been happening.
It’s so easy for me to step away as I have written, even get academic at times, without being mindful – not fully present or in touch with how the changes in body, which have resulted from my behavior changes, have made me feel. So here goes…
(After a 20 minute pause.) I was fearful starting to lose weight again – afraid and anxious that I would fail, again. Relapse and recycling might be normative, but I had become so discouraged being in “chronic contemplation” – always thinking about losing weight and never acting on it, all the while continue to gain. I have been afraid that I would just slip again. Look at yo-yo in the dictionary and see my face, right next to some famous yo-yo’ers.
I have also been afraid of my new-body-to-come. How will it feel to be small again? To have people actually SEE ME? The last time I lost a significant amount of weight, I was terrified by unwanted looks from men (yes, I was much younger). I am accustomed to being invisible while at the same time I can’t stand it. Confusing, eh?
I was angry and disgusted at having regained all of my weight and having to go through this struggle again. I have had continued bouts of disgust at my sagging body as the pounds left and my post-menopausal state refused to tone up as in previous attempts.
Staying with the negative emotions and in the anger category, I experienced a bit of rage at my parents, which was waaaay out of proportion to the situation. The feelings, no matter how justified, were exacerbated by the perception of my weight-loss attempts being thwarted.
I experienced envy reading on my favorite forums and blogs as others stroll quickly down the scale while I hit plateau after plateau and injury stalls my exercise. “It’s not fair!” screams my reptilian brain. I try to be supportive (being the good do-bee as I’ve been trained to do), but damn – I want to whoosh along at a steady clip and believe my own mantra that the scale is not the measure of success.
Irritation has hit recently when a craving for cupcakes hit me out of the blue. WTF? I haven’t had cravings for anything – much less something I never ate to begin with. Also, more than a bit of exasperation that my cholesterol is still out of whack and my blood pressure remains higher than I would like.
I am sad and ashamed at what I have done to my body. Now that I actually am starting to see myself in the mirror and view pre and current pictures, how did I let this happen? Why would I hurt myself this way?
Before this gets too depressing, I have experienced joy during the last 6 months of this journey – wearing my wedding ring again, donating hundreds of dollars of beautiful suits and clothes to underprivileged women – an estimated $3,000.00 worth so far; buying clothes in “real” stores, even if they are the biggest sizes; being able to run a little distance; hopping out of the bath tub without using the assist rail; fitting in airline seats without an extender; having more energy than I have had in years; my sweetie getting her arms all the way around me 😉 .
There have been moments of pride in watching the efforts of my behavior change reflect on the scale and in inches lost and looking better in smaller sized clothing; amazement at the “whooshes” of steep weight loss; surges of satisfaction when I stay on plan despite feeling bored, tempted, etc.; and finally, optimism that I really can maintain these behavior changes for life.
I notice that there are many more negative words than positive ones. I don’t call this a struggle without good reasons.