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?