Someone on WW pointed out how close I am to goal (my numbers said that my goal was 145, and I'm at 147.6). My response sent me down a path I really didn't see coming. I've added to it here, as my thoughts are racing. Please bear with me. This is long and soul searching. It is bringing me to a deeper understanding of who I am. And if I own it, it's mine to let go, right? Carry on:
Oh, thanks for pointing that out to me! I forgot to change my target. I'm now shooting for 130.
I'm so DONE with being in the 140s!! For my height I should be between 101 - 136 lbs to be in the healthy BMI range. I've reset my goal to 130. Back when I first started losing weight it was at 135, but then when I stagnated at 145, I changed it to reflect that I was happy there. But truth be told, I'm not. If I fluctuate five pounds it is so noticable on this body! And it puts me in the double digit jeans, which is a huge NO to me.
I think the biggest thing is that I just want to be in the "normal healthy" range. I have a small structure, and I have fooled myself all my life that I am fine with my weight. But now that I am running, and excercising every day, and eating healthy, I see how good it makes me feel and I recognize my old ways for what they were.
My adoptive mother always told me I wasn't good enough. She worked really hard to tear me down. And where she didn't succeed in most areas, she did in my subconcious. And it came out in my weight. I was always fine with it. Or so I thought...
Isn't that funny... huh. *taps finger on teeth, thinking* I have always said that I gained weight and was fat because food tasted good. And to an extent it's true. A percentage of my issue was definately that. Another percentage was education about nutrition and portion size. But looking at it now, a huge percentage was "who cares". I mean, I knew that Steve cared. He twice tried in the NICEST way possible to tell me that I was getting bigger ("do you remember those jeans you wore back when we first met? you still have those? they were so nice... it would be awesome if you could wear those again"). But I didn't care. Well, I cared enough to cry, but not to do anything about it. Which looking back is not suprising, because you cannot do it for anyone else. It HAS to be for you. And I didn't care enough for me to do it.
I never "struggled" with my weight. It just was. I was never a yoyo dieter. Lorraine (my adopted mother), used to say that she was a professional cook and I was a professional eater.
OMG, LIGHTBULB MOMENT.
*pause to think*
You know, I never ever got praise from that woman. EVER. Is it possible that my subconcious took that moment, that sentence, of what my young mind perceived as praise and ran with it?? Could that be the pivotal moment where it became completely okay for me to enjoy food to an excess? An excess that became completely unhealthy? An excess that made up for the other areas that were so stunted?
I have so many awful memories of my childhood (she was a stay at home drunk), but the best memories are around food. Potatoes Romanoff... omg, it was good. Christmas baking... I used to steal it out of the freezer. Steak and lobster until I was sick of it, but it was still divine. Macaroni and weiners with ketchup and mustard? It made me cry tears of joy. The lasagna, the spaghetti (but not the leftovers... lol), the everything!
You know, this explains my issues with eggs, too. Anyone who knows me knows I wig RIGHT OUT when it comes to fried eggs. Those brown crunchy bits around the edges? I will puke. I seriously start hyperventilating, and cannot eat. I turn into a jeuvinile idiot if I get served those. But it makes sense... In my teen years, when things were BAD BAD BAD, my brothers had moved out, Dad was gone all the time on business trips, and she drank her meals, the only thing she had the energy to create was fried eggs on toast. But omg, they were snotty on top, crunchy brown around the edges, and loaded with pepper. Horrifying. And I had to eat them. (trust me when I tell you, I could not stand up to her and not eat them for fear of death).
It's like those eggs were a punishment, and I didn't deserve a good meal. I wasn't worth cooking for. I was only worth those crappy fried eggs on toast. I wasn't worth the effort it took to prepare something yummy. Hmmmm, interesting. *taps on teeth*
This is making so much sense to me. I've never understood my mindset around my weight. I've never understood why it was okay to be fat. Sam and I would have conversations and hers were filled with self loathing about her weight, and mine were always a shrug of not caring and a smile of whatever. She never understood HOW it was that I could be alright with my weight. It was mind boggling to her.
I'm totally interested to see what she thinks of this post...
My mantra during my weight loss was "because I deserve it... for a change". Little did I know how true those words would ring for me. I had no idea that I didn't feel I deserved it, I just thought it sounded good. Now, I can look back with my 20/20 hindsight and see it for what it really was. Isn't it funny... I subconciously picked the mantra that I needed. But guess what? It turns out that I DO deserve it! And I CAN do it! My mind does want what's best for me, and I didn't even know it. I can be healthy. I can be strong. And a great side effect of that is that I can lose weight, and I can wear small clothes. Watch... you'll see.
Day 20 OP and still going strong.
Because I deserve it... I really do.
Thanks for listening,
If you have issues, or baggage, you may be offended by what you read here. I work through my self loathing of my own fat, and my own fat issues, and I’m told this comes across as loathing all fat people. That is simply not the case.
Here I talk about my issues and my findings, without political correctness. I am not concerned with your issues, or your baggage, or what you may take from this. The title is "My Journey".
This blog is not meant to inspire anyone. I take no responsibility for what you take away from here. You are here as a guest into my inner thoughts.