“I’m not letting you stop…” August 30, 2010

You know, I’ve been doing this for a long time. We’re talking decades of weight loss attempts. Granted, I’ve not done it as well as I could have…as well as I *should* have. Some efforts were more successful than others, and at least I can say that…right now…I’m not as fat as I have been. So that’s a plus. Focus on the positive.

Throughout my attempts, there have been a LOT of people who tried to help me.

The elementary-school friend who wrote up my first ‘self improvement’ plan. And yes, I’m serious – ELEMENTARY SCHOOL.

The best friend who bought a Bally’s membership with me – even though she really couldn’t afford it – so I’d have someone to go with.

The bawdy friend who’d go walking with me and come over to my apartment to do Richard Simmons videos with me (and cuss out Richard right beside me – God bless her).

Then there was the Weight Watchers era, and a slew of friends (both “live” and “virtual”) who tried to root me on. Who asked me about my weigh ins, cheered the weight losses, and consoled the slip-ups.

The career girl friend who actually offered up the help of her own trainer.

The therapist who truly wanted to help me figure out what my root issues are. Even her woeful replacement who dispatched me to a psychiatrist for a Wellbutrin prescription and tried to shove Medifast down my gullet. Sigh.

The trainers I hired on my own – Trainers Barbie and Catherine Zeta (as christened by moi because, of course, it wasn’t enough that they were fit but they had to be gorgeous too, right? double sigh).

While some of these folks are still in my life, they’re on the periphery – by and large they gave up on me for giving up on myself. Some I left behind because it was easier to avoid vs. own up.

Lately though I’ve been reminded that I’m not alone. That there are people who somehow manage to love me despite my neuroses, and who still want to hang in there despite my worst flaws and abandonment/hibernation tendencies.

Lunch with beloved sweet friends yesterday helped remind me. They find a way to cut right through to my heart and it warms me immeasurably.

An e-mail today from a nutritionist friend helped seal the deal. Here I have this amazing friend who wants to help me – for free – and I got so caught up in my own issues that I’d avoided reporting in. I felt guilty I was wasting this fantastic gift. i felt she didn’t deserve a “client” like me who wasn’t putting in her all. I tried to “give up” and give her an out. And damn if she refused to take it. She writes in part:

I’m not going anywhere and I’m not letting you *give* in – this is a long process because it’s more than just switching to brown rice ya know?

Let me re-iterate something to you: this will not be easy and you do not need to be perfect for this to work…there is success in every small thing we accomplish.

So, I’m not letting you stop –

I’m not letting me stop, either.

Turning the lights back on. August 29, 2010

Fall down seven times, stand up eight – isn’t that how the saying goes?

I’ve pretty much abandoned this space for the past two months because I didn’t feel like I had anything worthy or new to say. And in the time I’ve been gone not much has changed except for various fits and starts and stops. Story of my life.

I met friends for lunch today. Friends I do not see or talk to nearly enough. And as typically is the case in these outings, I feel like I have little to contribute to the conversation. I feel like nothing every really happens in my life. I am the Queen of Status Quo. And even when I’m not…even when I’ve embarked upon The Next! Great! Weight! Loss! Adventure! I feel my own eyes start to roll about it because…nothing ever happens with it.

One of these dear friends said to me, “I’m incredibly frustrated with you…but I get it.”

I’m incredibly frustrated with me, too, and I don’t get it. I could easily write out 100 reasons or motivations I have to change my life – in so many areas – but I came to admit today that, as miserable as they make me feel, they’re apparently not miserable enough reasons to spark permanent change. AND I DON’T KNOW WHY BECAUSE THEY ALL PRETTY MUCH SUCK MONKEY BALLS.

My other friend, the Logical One, can’t understand why I stop. That makes sense…it’s not logical, so I don’t expect her to get it. Why do I stop the one thing that works for me, the one thing that is helping to put me in a position to permanently strip those reasons from my list? I don’t know.

Am I afraid to fall off the wagon so I just purposely step off?
Do I truly not believe that I have these problems?
Do I honestly believe that if I just close my eyes, tap my toes, and utter some Harry Potter catchphrase that I’ll awaken to a whole new life?

It’s weird. I would tell you that I feel like my life is on autopilot, that I just go and do my thing without care or concern or thought. But that’s not true. Every day I make a million decisions that put me at odds with what I say are my goals, that I say are my truest and deepest wants. There’s nothing automatic about that, or wait, maybe there is. Maybe I’m so used to giving up that I don’t see them as choices.

I don’t know.

This is why I stopped writing here. Because a big bowlful of my head isn’t really helpful to anyone. And no one can help me help myself. I’ve tried. With friends. Loved ones. Employees. Programs. I’ve thrown thousands of dollars at this problem and I’m still wrestling with the same issues.

I guess if nothing else getting it out helps on some level.

This is a Freakin’ Weight Loss Blog June 21, 2010

I started this as a weight loss blog.
I want this to be a weight loss blog.

Both of the above statements would indicate that I should be blogging about losing weight, right?

Let’s cut to the chase: I need to be losing weight.

I read this today and it hit me square between the eyes:

All the Weigh Blog – Things I’ve Learned

I want to be able to write this kind of post in a year.
I want to feel the way she feels.
I want to experience the joy she expresses.
I want to know in my bones that I am on the right path and won’t go “back” to my “old ways.”

I want this to be a weight LOSS blog, not a whine-about-not-losing-weight blog.

Every day I need to be moving toward a goal of a healthier life. Of losing weight. Of being whole. Every day I need to ask myself what I want and what I’m willing to do to get it.

A while back a former trainer of mine met Jillian Michaels and had her autograph the Master Your Metabolism book for me. The inscription read “What is it you REALLY want? Love, Jillian xoxo”

I framed that page and put it on my nightstand so it’s the first thing I see when I wake up, and the last thing I see when I wake up and the last thing I see when I go to bed.

What is it I REALLY want?

I want to be happy. And I KNOW that weight loss is not an elixir for happiness. But I do know that a lot of my unhappiness comes from dissatisfaction about my weight. It comes from the pain I experience everyday just hauling my carcass around. It comes from feeling so unbelievably *conspicuous* because of my size.

I want to live a long and healthy life with my beloved. I want to enjoy our life together in every way possible.

What I want is to have this be a successful weight loss blog. Not in terms of traffic, but in terms of content. I want this to be a blog about me successfully LOSING WEIGHT.

Hi. May 31, 2010

It’s pretty sad when you’ve been away from your blog for so long that it doesn’t even show up in your browser history. That’s a long absence.

When I get into trouble – when things get hard – I disappear. And, well, I got into trouble and things got hard, and under my rock I climbed. It’s second-nature behavior for me. I’m good at recognizing it but haven’t yet succeeded in rethinking/reframing/rebehaving in a way that helps me through the challenges vs. just running away from them.

I’m reading a really great book by Geneen Roth called Women, Food and God. Because I’m a woman, obsessed with food, and utterly conflicted about God. So it’s a good fit, and a real eye opener.

When I read these “kinds” of books (and let’s face it, I’ve read a LOT of these kinds of books), I tend to underline passages that resonate with me. I’ve probably underlined 1/4th of it thus far and I’d *love* to post them but they’re so many I’m sure I’d get sued for copyright infringement.

What’s grabbing me the most, the thing that makes me tear up when I read it, is just how much I’ve used food as an escape. I have finally figured out that I’m not one of those people who says they “just love food.” I don’t love the food. Most of the time, I loathe the food (as I’m shoveling it down my gullet). What I love is what the food does for me. I love how the food makes me feel for the nanosecond I am eating it…before it’s gone.

There’s a line in the book where she writes (and I’m paraphrasing) that basically all the evils of the world would vanish when she’d eat a Hostess Sno-ball. In that moment, she became all that she didn’t believe she was at the moment. Until it was gone, of course.

When I eat, I am normal. And whole. And loved. When I eat, it’s a reward for putting in the extra hours (although, if I didn’t put in the extra hours, I wouldn’t be eating as poorly as I do). When I eat, it’s because I’m “treating” myself (even though 90% of time, the food is kinda crappy). When I eat, I am not the me I otherwise know myself to be (even if that “me” isn’t an accurate perception).

—-

So, yeah, there’s that.

I got into trouble not long after the “I think it’s gonna stick” post. Because, yeah, that was a smart idea – crowing to the universe about my newfound strength and resolve. Sigh. I found my eating habits getting a bit lax. I found my work life getting crazier. I found a seriously fantastic new way to distract myself from myself, and I fell off my wagon. HARD. And then I just abandoned everything I had been doing, and using every self-numbing tactic I knew. I found myself up 2 pounds on the home scale, and then skipped my Weight Watchers meeting. At the time I told myself it was okay. At the time I said that it was normal to have a gain after six great weeks. At the time I said no problem, I’ll shake it off and drop 4 pounds the next week.

And I haven’t been back since.
Nor have I gotten on any scale.
And I’m ashamed and embarrassed.

So here I am. Trying to grab hold and pull myself back from the brink. I’ve spent part of the day cleaning. Organizing my closet. Putting order to the chaos around me.

I’ve just thrown out my winter sweaters – my fall back clothes. They are so overworn (because nothing else fits and I hate shopping) that I couldn’t bear the sight of them anymore. Come next winter, I will have to buy new clothes, regardless of my size. I pray they will be smaller.

I’ve thrown out my folder of clippings. I’ve been clipping magazine articles about anything and everything for probably 10 years. Diet trends. Weight loss success stories. Exercise cards. “7 Ways to Feel Fearless!” kind of psychobabble. I’d look at my folder and always say to myself, “one day I’m going to work through that.” I would convince myself that my salvation would be found in the next story or sample menu. And, really, all I’ve ever done with it is schlep it from house to house, fiddle with it occasionally, and put it back wistfully because I wasn’t “ready” yet. Well, I’m never going to be ready. So it’s in the trash. I saved maybe 12 out of what is easily (no exaggeration) 200 pages. One page is a closet I covet (for my “next house”, of course). Another two pages are charts from when I was working with a trainer on free weights about, oh, 7 years ago? I’d like to get back to those numbers. I saved a group of pages from People’s “I Lost Half My Size” series because I look so much like their Before pictures – if they can do it, so can I. And I saved one article of a woman who started losing 150+ pounds after 40. Because 41 is ready to slap me upside the head in 2 weeks.

So, no, I don’t have any clue if *this* is going to stick. But I’d like it to be a tad sticky, at the very least. The fact that I’m posting today instead of deleting my entire blog (something I’ve done before), is a positive step in that direction – as is admitting how I’ve failed yet again.

I haven’t decided if I’ll be at my WW meeting on Saturday. As I think about it, I hear a friend’s voice in my ear asking me, “Why not just go?”

Perhaps.

My Life in Boxes April 11, 2010

I spent a good part of yesterday “Spring cleaning” our master bedroom and study. I’d intended to do more but I got derailed by a lengthy visit down memory lane in the form of five (yes, five) boxes of “for when I’m skinny” clothes.

I figured it would be a quick eyeball of things and I’d be on my way but that was not the case. I opened each box and carefully inspected each item. There had to be close to 100 different items of clothing by the time I was done.

Some of them I’d worn in the past and I ache to wear again.
Some were keepsake items of my previous “before” weights.
Some didn’t fit even back in the day and had tags on them…still waiting to see the light of day.

I often say that I don’t think or care much about clothes. I say that because I find no joy in the shopping experience. My goal is pretty simple – find something that covers me (not “fits”) and in a style/color I don’t hate. But truth be told, I do care. Of course I care. I have pride and vanity and I want to look good. I desperately want to enjoy clothes and clothes shopping.

I want to look soft and pretty when I’m out on a date with my husband, and hot and sexy when we’re behind closed doors. I want to look crisp and professional when at work. I want to look all cute and jaunty when out with the girls. I want to throw open my closet doors and be overwhelmed with options, not relegated to Option 2 of 5. I know I care, I just have locked those feelings away in order to deal with my current situation.

And opening those boxes yesterday opened up those feelings. I was surprised to discover how much I *cared* about the clothes in the boxes.

There was the knit black dress, circa 1990. And it still looks great. And when I wore it I was around 200-210, and I thought I looked hot in it. No idea what size it is…because I suck and I cut all the sizes out of my clothes so no one else could see them. Sigh. It’s probably an XL, but clingy. I would wear this out to all the clubs along with a leather blazer. I smile more at the memories vs. the actual dress. And I sigh in regret, too. I was so close to goal back then. If only…

Also from that timeframe was the garnet skirt. Closest thing to a pencil skirt I’ve ever owned and I loved it then, and I loved it again yesterday. It’s probably a size 16. It looks so small.

There was the red sweater with black zipper, circa 2003. A friend who’d lost weight was cleaning out her closet and gifted me with this gem. It was a little snug into it but I was confident that I’d wear it soon. Still want to…still waiting.

Then came the Race Box. The Race Box is filled with t-shirts from various fitness events that I actually participated in. Had to be at least ten of them and the irony is that they’re all in pristine condition – because while I was “fit” enough to partake in the activity, I could not FIT into the commemorative shirt.

Then more recent history. There was the burgundy shirt I wore on my first-ever date with my now-husband. There’s the baby blue and white shirt I wore to a birthday brunch with my girlfriends – incidentaly, one of the best pictures ever taken of all of us. There’s the paint-stained t-shirt I wore when decorating my first-ever home. There were a TON of sleeveless shirts I wore throughout one of the best summers of my life. A silk robe I wished closed a bit tighter. Looking at them all, it’s hard to believe they ever covered my body – they look like they shrunk in the wash, but I know they haven’t.

There were four pairs of jeans. I have never really worn jeans because my shape makes it hard to find good-fitting jeans.

There was a pair of size 22 jeans, another weight-loss friend’s castoff, that I tried for the LONGEST time to get into, and the angels SANG when I finally did. Me! In Jeans! I finally felt normal. No more. There was a pair of size 20 black jeans that *were* to be my next goal. I’m not sure if they’ve ever been unfolded. There are two more recent pairs of jeans, size unknown (yep, tag cut off) that I know I wore the year of my wedding. Don’t fit.

Last, but not least, I found The Magic Dress. The Magic Dress is a size 18/20 black polyester shirtdress with a johnny collar and front zipper. It hits at the knee, is flared, and damn cute. It got the “magic” designation because nearly ANYBODY with ANY BODY TYPE could wear this dress. My girlfriends are all built differently, but it didn’t matter which one of us put the dress on, it worked. It camouflaged flabby tummies and ample hips. It’s been worn to death and still looks Day One fresh. I didn’t have the heart to even try on The Magic Dress yesterday, for fear of tarnishing its reputation. It’s back in the box.

They’re all packed back in their boxes, along with those memories and feelings. Just waiting for me.

I’ll be there soon.

Traumatized March 30, 2010

I am beyond traumatized.

By myself.

Today and tomorrow I have to take part in a class about giving presentations. Day 1 was daunting. I’ve never been comfortable in front of a crowd – I don’t even go to big GTGs – or public speaking, so this was a daunting enough exercise in and of itself. But to add insult to injury, we were filmed today. Three times.

Part of my homework tonight is to review the DVD and rate myself. It’s horrible. Horrible. And.I.Don’t.Even.Have.The.Sound.On. I don’t even care how I sound. I cannot bear to look at myself. I don’t think I got more than 30 seconds in to each presentations before I shut the laptop. Literally just slammed it shut and shoved it aside.

I’m bigger than I ever realized and I know I’m big. It’s horrible.

And I even wore something I felt was “flattering.” I wear my weight in so many ways I never realized. The way I walk…the way I carry myself…the compensations I make for my size and how I try to hide it. I waddle. I’ve never seen myself in that way before. Sure I look in the mirror everyday, but I’ve become so oblivious to myself that it doesn’t even resonate anymore. This was such a slap in the face. I want to just crawl in hole and hide.

Maybe someday I’ll look back at this day and see this as an “aha” moment or something like that but I can’t stop crying or feeling like crap. Intellectually I know that I have a really, really, really long way to go. I knew looking at that video would suck. But, damn, seeing that visually represented and understanding that person is *me* and having to confront that hurts way more than I ever thought it would. It makes me sad to see what I’ve done to myself – no one else to blame. Me. I did this. And it sucks to admit that and try to figure out why. Why? What the hell is wrong with me that I did this to myself?

Back. March 14, 2010

I fell of the face of the earth for a while.
But I’m back to ride this out through the finish.

I joined Weight Watchers today. Weighed in at 363. Gulp.
There, I said it.

Here’s to a new adventure…

Fat Girl Fraud and Ninja Assassins January 14, 2010

Why are we our own worst enemy sometimes?
Why is it so much easier to do the wrong things for ourselves and harder to do what we need most?
Why is it so hard to find that right mental “place?”

Or are y’all just fine and it’s just me?

There have been times in my life – sporadic, I’ll admit – where I felt on track. On the wagon. Humming along. And each time, something happens and what was once working well suddenly just doesn’t. And what’s interesting is that the disruption is never a big thing. Big things I could understand. It’s always something subtle. A hiccup. And yet it doesn’t seem to matter – once derailed, you’re derailed.

I know what I should be doing for myself. I know what my goals are. I know each and every day I have a million opportunities to make a good choice and so many times I choose differently. Why do I do that? What am I waiting for? What do I need? What is the switch and where is it and how do you turn it on and keep it on? How do I get rid of this Fat Girl once and for all?

I come here every day trying to figure it out. Some days I think I get closer, and I get my hopes up that *this* is *it*…and then the very next day I just kind of throw it all out the window. And it makes me feel so fraudulent. I know the person I want to be and I miss the mark every day. And when I say that I’m not talking about being skinny or pretty or fabulously fashionable – I mean that the person I want to be is strong and disciplined and focused and doing what ought to be done.

Part of what I share here is for my own “therapy.” But another part is because I want to help other people NOT live the life I have lived. There is a vanity within me who makes me want to be a success story and a role model and an inspiration to other people. Because even if I don’t know you, I don’t want your 20 pounds to lose to become 40 pounds or 80 pounds or 160 pounds. No one (not even the lame-o’s in school who tormented me and my fat as as kid) should have to travel that road…it’s fraught with potholes and crazy ninja assassins lurking in the shadows. Yes. Ninja assassins. It SUCKS SO BAD.

I want to be the person I want to be. Make sense?

When I make my next choice, I want it to be a GOOD choice. Not only do I want it to be respectful of the person I want to be…and I want that person to be the person I am becoming.

No Easy Way to Say This November 19, 2009

I’ve kind of gone off the deep-end a bit. Eating to medicate, trying to figure some things out, trying to find some joy to break the sadness.

Be back soon.

Ultimate Fail November 5, 2009

I am failing at daily weigh-ins.
I am failing at healthy eating.
I am failing at managing stress.
I am failing at not drinking.
I am failing at finding a way to be happy when all I want to do is just cry.

I don’t know what’s wrong with me.
Tomorrow I’m going to surprise someone with a boatload of money that we raised to help someone in need. She doesn’t even know. Funny thing is that she IS moving forward, all on her own, and has a million times more optimism than someone facing her challenges should have, and yet she’s HAPPY. I should be so excited for tomorrow but I just feel numb.

People have told me all week that I’m wonderful and it makes me cry. I don’t deserve it.

My stressful situation that was hanging around for weeks has resolved, and I’m not happy.
I’m eating to soothe.
I’m drinking to soothe.
And yet I am not soothed.
I’m crying.

I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I don’t know how I can be humming along just fine one minute and then not only fall apart but am completely flailing.

I am failure and a fraud.
And I feel so alone.