Sunday, November 8, 2009

I am not who they think I am.

I was at a workshop this week where we were asked to do a short free-write based on the prompt "I am not who they think I am." No other guidance than that. I rolled my eyes, hating this type of touchy-feely crap. but as soon as my pen touched paper, I ran with it. Here's what came out:

I am not who they think I am. I am weak. I am afraid. I am a person behind a person. I am looking for me, the one who can be comfortable in her own skin. My relationships surround me, but they don't all get to see me. I don't let them. I am on a journey to myself. They say that it's not the destination, it's the journey. Nope. I just want to get there. I want to plant my flag in the soil that is me, the me within. Who I am. Wherever that is.

Even though the workshop didn't have anything to do at all with weight, self-esteem, or any of that inner/outer self stuff, I knew when the first words were written that I was speaking of my weight loss journey. I've been thin before. Four years ago I visited size 8. Didn't stay long, though. I got cocky, careless, and ate my feelings and stress. Sooooooo much to learn.

Time to hit the road. I've loaded up the car, pulled out my map... just gotta check the tire pressure, windshield wipers, traffic, look for gas stations ... wait, where are my keys???

Groundhog Day

Hi. Me again. It's been two and a half months since my last entry. And boy, have I ever sinned.

Before I get into today's story, let me get this out there into the universe ... today when I woke up, I weighed 243 pounds. Technically, I probably weighed more than that, but I refuse to weigh until I've tinkled. Every little bit helps, right? So I was bummed, of course. Huge number. Biggest I've ever seen on my home scale.

I tried something new today. I decided that I needed a person. Someone who knows my number (243 ... gasp!) and can therefore appreciate when I've dropped a few or sigh along with me when I've gone the wrong way. Someone who I can be accountable to. Someone who won't judge me, 'cause she's dealing with the same issue. Not my husband, or my son. My weight loss counselor knows my number, but she doesn't really count. She doesn't love me the way my person loves me. I called my sister.

I shared my number with her, out loud. It scared me. 243 pounds is a BMI of 41.7. Both numbers are equally frightening. What's scarier, though, is the possibility that I'm now closer than ever to being 250 pounds. That's an eighth of a ton. What?!?!

I've spent much of my adult life looking for the trigger, the epiphany... the moment when I finally realize why I should lose weight, the motivation. And it's bothered me that it's never really one thing. But I think what I'm learning -- finally -- is that in order for me to conquer THE BEAST I need to have an epiphany every single day. Maybe more than one. Whatever it takes for me to realize that I've never done anything so bad in life that I need to punish myself with poor health... that I'm worth good health, and my family is worth it, too.

Today's revelation? Just that ... that I can have as many as I need to get on track and stay there.