Danger, Will Robinson

As I start into week 4, I feel myself getting a little too … comfortable.

I am still weighing/measuring and logging, but I find myself estimating in advance, then nodding when my guess is confirmed by the actual weight/measurement.  Smug, like I know it all. 

I know this feeling.

Complacency/comfortableness in the past has made me eschew actual measuring for my personal “guesstimating” of what I was eating.  And, in the past, while those measurements started out more or less accurate, they expanded over time.  A tad more here, a dollop more there, a taste before I actually measured, and then I was back to eating whatever, whenever.

Yeah, *my* version of an eating plan sucks.

Cheating myself on an eating plan has never been a problem for me.

Keeping myself on an eating plan has been a HUGE problem for me.

I am thinking that I am going to buy a second set of measuring cups/spoons for my purse.  So, when I hit that salad bar/hot bar/restaurant?  I can put whatever I want on my plate, but I am going to measure and account for what actually goes in my body.  I am worth this effort.  A couple of weird glances and comments when I weigh/measure cannot *possibly* be worse than the nearly 50 years of fat shaming I have already endured.

To win this war, I am going to have to continue to fight -- one forkful and measuring spoon at a time.

Hibernation

Definition:  “Hibernation is a deep sleep that helps them to save energy and survive the winter without eating much. During hibernation the animal's body temperature drops, and its heartbeat and its breathing slow down so that it does not use much energy.”

I know that I am hibernating.  I find myself avoiding … well … pretty much everything.

I am resolutely following my eating plan, meal after meal, day after day.  Planning, shopping, preparing, eating, logging, tidying up.  Rinse, repeat, rinse, repeat.  I eat alone, for the most part (DH eats in front of the loud tv, and continues to snack in front of the tv into the evening.  WeeDD eats out, or late in the evening when I am in bed.  The cat makes poor dinner company.

I am not eating to be social, or for pleasure of any kind.  And certainly not for comfort.  I am eating because I am hungry, and it is time to put in the allotted number of calories.  Open slot, insert required amount.  A walking, talking food bank.

I have my head down, limbs pulled in, trying to just push through and avoid any storms.  I am avoiding arguments, conversations, social engagements, eating out.  I aim for a middle mood (no distracting highs, no food-craving lows).  I am plodding along, waiting for time to pass.  I feel almost disconnected from myself.  I feel like I am waiting.  Waiting for … something.

What?

Waiting for my weight metamorphosis?

Waiting for someone to notice?

Waiting for no one to notice?

HUNGRY

I have stuck resolutely to my eating plan, measuring and weighing everything that I have eaten.

It is still a battle between me and my fork, every meal, every day.

I sometimes *think* I want back the ease of “mindless eating,” but that term is really a lie. For me, “mindless eating” was just delayed guilt. I would think about, obsess about, analyze in excruciating detail what I had eaten, and I would torture myself and hate myself for it. It was only “mindless” when I was actually eating it, only during the actual process of obtaining it and physically consuming it.

Then, the thought process would kick in.

I think I kept eating a lot of the time to just delay further the waves of inevitable shame, guilt and hate, stretching binges to hours and days.

When I decided that I was tired of feeling bad (emotionally and physically), and that *something* had to change or I was just about to the point of giving up, I made myself log what I was *actually* eating for almost a week. (The week before starting this eating plan.)  Even though I think I subconsciously kept myself from eating even more extremely, because I did not want to have to admit it and write it down, my eating was bad, truly horrible. A lot of food, a lot of time, a lot of money. A lot of hidden eating, rushed eating, disguised eating. Shame, shame, and more shame. Followed by waves of self-hatred.

I cried as I logged it.

After a couple of days, I cried while I was eating it, too.

I have always cried once I was done eating.

When I looked back at the shame-filled (and tear-streaked) pages, it struck me hard how malnourished I truly was. I was taking in huge amounts of calories, but with zero thought to nutrition, to what I was actually eating. No thought to what it was doing to my body, to how it would make my body feel and function.

My eating was also not feeding my soul, my spirit. I was starving my true self. Eliminating any chance of liking (much less loving) myself. Taking away the ability for self-acceptance, self-pride. So much pain. An overfull, painfully full stomach. Black, bottomless emptiness inside.

All those thousands of calories I was consuming, and I was still so … HUNGRY.

Feelings are Hard

Feelings are hard.

Feelings without my normal coping skills of food/alcohol/spending $$ are excruciatingly hard.

I stuck to my eating plan over the weekend, but it was with gritted teeth, calorie-by-calorie, hour-by-hour.

Ugh.

I cannot seem to get to a place of relative civility with my DH.  I am trying to flap my fledgling wings and express my feelings honestly (which I stuffed down and in with food and other stuff previously), and he just does not get it and is not offering the support that I need.  I literally sat him down on Friday night and bared my soul with how hard I am struggling and how much I just need some space and some grace.  I am overwhelmed at work (and pretty much hate my job), I am overwhelmed at home (the house is a wreck since the weeDD moved back in, and we were in the process of a major purge when she did, plus we have all of the leftover stuff from our now-defunct resale business cluttering up the basement and garage.  It is visual chaos, everywhere you look)  I am trying to re-establish a relationship of some sort with my mom, after an 18-month estrangement.  She is tough for me to handle, even when I could stuff her down with tequila and cookies.  Adding the stress that DH generates in endless waves, and I am over my limit.  I do not know whether to scream or cry or run.

DH has pretty much been a major penis-head all weekend.

My visit with my mom was okay-ish.

I killed myself painting 2/3 of weeDD’s room, and my body is screaming in pain today (yeah, Lupus!).

It is Monday, and work  s—u—c—k—s  donkey gonads.

I would usually hit the local donut stand for a double large quick sugar/carb rush.  Let me be brutally honest that my coffee and protein shake breakfast is just not cutting it, comfort-wise.  I am exceptionally and exquisitely cranky right now.

I am still moving forward, but it is forward motion while cattle-prodding myself constantly today.

Ugh.

God & Gratitude

Since I am embarking on a journey of major life change, and I am scared in so, so many ways, I have spent hours scouring my Bible for inspiration and encouragement. This has been a change for me – I am more apt to scour my Bible for comfort and justification. I do what I *want*, then seek absolution. Now, I seek to do what I *need* to do, what I feel *led* to do, and guidance from Scripture to help me.

 

It has been very peaceful/painful/enlightening/convicting to do this.

 

It has reminded me that God loves me, even though I lack the capacity currently to love myself. It has also pointed out to me that I frequently seek *my* will and not God’s will. I do not get help, because I do not seek it. Not from myself, not from others, not from God. My God is not small. If He created the universe, why do I feel he is not able help me to be healthy and happy? Why is He not my first lifeline when I need help? Why do I feel that I do *not* need help?   Dr. Phil keeps repeating in my mind: “How’s that working for you?”

 

Let me be real here – it is *not* working for me.

 

This is a verse from my Bible study, that hit me full-force today:

Give thanks to the LORD, for he is good.

His love endures forever.

Give thanks to the God of gods.

His love endures forever. (Psalm 136:1-2).

 

I am so busy focusing on/feeling sorry about my weight/health problems, family relationship problems, work problems, self-image and doubt problems, that I have not *thanked* God for much of anything. I focus so on the negative, that I am blind to the positive of my life. I know God has never left me. Even through the sh*t parts of my life, He was there. I felt him. I do not deserve his Grace, but I have it. This is, truly, the only constant, sustaining, and unconditional relationship that I have. Why, why, do I not honor it more?

 

So, I am going to work on refocusing my thoughts during this journey. I seek to praise first, and ask second. To thank always, and ask only sometimes. To remember who *I* am, and where I came from. To remember that becoming healthy/happy is not only about food and the scale – that all parts of my life have to come into harmony. No part of me can be neglected, if I want the whole of me to heal.
 
Today, I …

• Thank you, God, for allowing me to live this long, so I have a chance to change.
• Thank you, God, for healthy food, so that I may feel better.
• Thank you, God, for your unfailing love, so that I can learn to love myself.
• Thank you, God, for my family, so that I am not alone.
• Thank you, God, for my job, so that my life is easier.
• Thank you, God, for your Son, so that I have Grace and hope for today.

Current Reality/Ms. Obsessive

I abandoned all caring for myself and let myself get fat.  Very fat.

I started my current journey on May 4, at 300 pounds.

I will have to search for pictures.  I either do not allow them to be taken, step behind something to hide myself, or do the picture taking so that I am not in any of the photos.  It is sad, really.  When I look at photos of an event, I am never "in" the event.  I know I was there, participating, but I am not in any photos or videos.  The ghost of self-acceptance past, robbing me of happy memories.  And *I* let that happen.

My week 1 weigh in was May 11.  I weighed in at 290.8 pounds (down 9.2).

On previous weight loss attempts, I started as high as 363.6 (but was heavier than that -- I had to lose some and find a scale that could weigh me).  I got as low as 202.  It will be emotional to pass 202 someday.  I want to get there.

I am trying to focus more on loving myself, and less on pounds.  I kind of loathe the scale; I do not need another reason to hate myself.  However, achieving better health, feeling better, and being more active will only come with pounds lost.  Many, many pounds lost.  Again, *I* did this to myself.

My current plan had been to weigh monthly, but that made me obsess about the scale all week.  So, I think I will weigh weekly, on Wednesdays, and keep a posting of my progress.

That is, of course, if my obsessive self allows that.

Mothering Myself

Well, I have not posted since May of 2015.


I have not been kind to myself in the year since then.  I did not follow any kind of diet (other than the "see food" one, where I saw food and ate it).  I did not exercise.  I did not do much of anything for my own happiness.  I tried to refine a toxic relationship and slipped into a dark place.  It has been a hell of a year, but not for "Oh, Yeah!" kind of reasons.


As I got lower mentally and emotionally, my physical health really slipped.  I have started to have some mobility issues, and the energy issues intensified.  I was feeling *every one* of my 58 years.  I was starting to be really afraid of what I would be like in 5 years, much less 10 or 20.


I tried alcohol to ease my pain, followed by more food, spending, crying, and hibernating in my room for as long as possible (excepting for employment and maintaining some sort of family relationships).  None of that worked for me.  I have been so, so depressed and anxious.


I tried turning to prayer, but found after months of neglecting my prayer and spiritual life that God felt radio silent for me.  I was angry.  Where was He, when I really needed him?  It just seemed to reinforce my aloneness, loneliness, feelings of unworthiness, uselessness, shame -- all of the things that I battle on a daily, if not hourly, basis.


I did not give up on the prayer, though.  That is really the *only* thing (other than my family relationships and job) that I have stayed with this past year.  It gave me *something* to do that felt at least a little positive (because, Lord knows, I was being HORRIBLE to myself otherwise).


Then, a week ago, I felt a whisper.  I was praying, or trying to.  It really amounted to a snotty, sobbing mess, mentally vomiting my version of my endless faults, failings and general despair, done silently with bowed head. 


I felt, but not really heard, the whisper -- it was almost like a vibration in my head.  "Mother yourself," the whisper said.  It stunned me. 


I have punished myself, hurt myself, blamed myself, denied myself, hated myself.  I have done endless things to harm myself -- physically and mentally.  I have ignored myself, neglected myself, put myself down.  I have lied about my feelings and needs - to myself and others.  I have put myself last, while resenting myself and others for not putting me first (or considering my needs at all).  I have waged a war to silence myself for so long, that my need to be heard is almost overwhelming.  I have hated myself for so long that I have a gaping, bottomless pit of need to be loved.  I am so very, very wounded now.


"Mother" is a complex thing to me.  My own mother battled, and still does battle, emotional, mental and esteem issues.  Her attempted suicide, endless threats of attempted suicide, and emotional vacancy have held me in a terrible place for a long, long time.  I rationally know that she did the best she could by and for me, given her circumstances, but I also know that I have deep needs that were not met during my childhood.  I am a physically bordering-on-elderly women, who is still an emotional child in many ways.  I am mother to two girls.  I loved the caring for them, holding them, rocking them, feeding them, reading to them, tucking them safely into bed.  Cooking for them, doing crafts, making clothes and costumes for them.  I was very successful at most areas of mothering them (but, admittedly, I was unable to give them a healthy role model either physically or emotionally).  Still, being a mother is one of the few things I that feel I was pretty much successful at -- my girls are grown, they are beautiful, they are smart, they are kind, they are talented.


"Mother youryself."  What did that even mean?  If one of my girls came to me in my current state and situation, what would I do to and for them?


I would try to heal them.  I would try to soothe them.  I would cook for them, clothe them, arrange special things for them.  I would do it over and over and over (because that is what Mothers do -- they love by repetition and constancy).  I would smile at them, I would tell them that I love them, in words and deeds.  I would not let a cranky mood stop me -- children are cranky and we love them anyway.  I would delight in their success, and listen to their problems.


Can I do this for myself?  Is this the answer to healing myself?


I started on May 4.  I made a good, healthy breakfast for myself.  I ate it at my kitchen table, set with a lovely tablecloth, on the dishes that I like.  I took time to really be there in the moment, enjoying the food and the meal.  True, I ate it alone.  Even though married, our schedules and temperaments do not really mesh.  He is all "his schedule, his routine" in the morning, and is a creature of noise and input (television first thing, lots of lights on, bustle).  I am a creature of introspection and silence, and even more so in the morning.  My mornings are best with prayer time, calm time at the table, silence or low music.


My day on the 4th included a drive to work with music I like, the usual (not too stressful, thankfully) work day, a good, healthy lunch I had packed and brought from home so that I did not buy crap and eat it during the day.  I had a couple of snacks planned, too.  Dinner was at my table again, in the calm, and included candles that I like.  I had a warm, scented bath, and put myself to bed early.  It was just an ordinary day, but extraordinary for me.  Just a day before, I would have skipped breakfast, perhaps sniping with my husband about his morning noise and commotion.  I would have stressed about the traffic on the way to work.  I would have worked to the point of hunger, then overloaded by buying a huge lunch and snacks from the local deli.  I would have felt bad about the food later (knowing that I am so fat, and I just added to it), and it would not have been nutritious food to take care of my body, anyway).  After another stressful drive home, it would be dinner in the car through a drive through, or carryout at home, or some large carby thing, washed down with beer or wine or diet soda.  Up late, playing games or trolling the internet or reading, falling asleep when exhausted, knowing that I had to be up in 3 or 4 or 5 hours to do it again.


I have logged a full week of being kinder to myself.  I am trying to give my body the food it needs, the water it needs, the sleep it needs.  I am choosing to not react to (or not react as strongly to) emotional triggers in my family relationships.  I have reached out to see my mom again (after a 1+ year estrangement on my part).  I am still unclear if that is a good thing or a bad thing for me.  I will see her this weekend, and will know after if this adds to my life or not.


I have cooked for myself, fixed up some clothes that needed it and I had never gotten around to, bought a pair of shoes that do not hurt my feet, listened to music that I like.  I have not let myself get too exhausted, or too hungry.  I have made a point to smile at myself in the mirror.  I am trying to take care of the old/young, adult/child that stares back at me.


I am using an App (Lose It!) to help with meal planning and tracking, knowing that I need to mother myself by taking care of my body now.  I have shopped for foods that I like that I will fix for myself (with extra servings for my family).  I am still mostly focused on mothering through food, scent, music and sleep right now.  With a few more weeks, I will add some mothering that takes me outside my house.  But, for right now, I am feeling better physically, more cared for, calmer, and more rested.


It is a much needed, and much appreciated, start.