Lest you think I'm getting this all figured out and am just sailing along (you don't really think that, do you?) let me let you in on my headspace lately.
I am up three pounds. Realistically, I know it's still likely water retention from mother nature. Even though the "worst" of it is past, I'm still technically in my cycle. And I know better than to weigh during this time, but I did it anyway. And as soon as I saw that number on the scale I started mentally wailing on myself. I ate out twice last week, and twice so far this week. I got a cookie with my lunch Sunday and ate the whole thing. Then I baked a small batch of sugar cookies Sunday night and ate a couple of them. I'm drinking too much coffee with cream. Not drinking enough water. I'm not walking enough. I mean, I literally went down a list of all the "wrong" things I've been doing which conventional "dieting" will tell you is bad and whipped myself into a frenzy of self-loathing all in the space of about then minutes. Then I stared hatefully at my naked body in a mirror and mentally screamed at myself that it's no wonder I'm still single at nearly 40 with no prospects. I wouldn't want to date/marry me either because I'm disgusting!
It's amazing and terrible the hateful things we say to ourselves, isn't it?
I let myself wallow a bit this morning but still ate my regular breakfast--no punishment. No starvation. I ate a small serving of chia seed pudding and a slice of peanut butter toast with five slices of banana and a drizzle of honey. And I drank my morning water.
By the time I got up to get dressed for the day, I'd calmed myself down. A good snuggle with my Libster helped. She loves me no matter how fat I am.
I put on my baggy (two sizes down) pants and a blouse that I wore twice 13 years ago before it got too snug and now it's a little drape-y on me. I turned and looked at the profile of my belly and took a few deep breaths, reminding myself of how far I've come. Seven months ago my belly would have stood out further than my boobs. That's no longer the case. And I reminded myself of all the good things I've done for my body lately. All the ab exercises I've done every morning for a week. The weights I've lifted nearly every day for a week. The squats I've worked up to doing in sets of 24 instead of 12.
The scale and my own past will never cease mind fucking me. I'm so used to failure...so used to being mocked by the scale that I let my mind abuse me and kick me around. It's ridiculous. But that's where I'm at. I'm glad I'm finally learning the tools to talk myself back down, but y'all, I still feel like this could all collapse in the blink of an eye and that's why the scale and those stupid numbers on it still have such power over me. I haven't yet learned to trust myself that I'm really doing this in a healthy, long term way. I have to KEEP reminding myself that yes, there will be weeks when I need to go out with my friends more. There will be days when the cookie just proves too tempting to pass up. There will be days/weeks/months when keeping up the pace of 10000 steps a day is just too much. But I also have to keep reminding myself that there are also days when I barely eat. Days when I don't crave sugar. Days when I pick up the dumbbells and feel strong and capable and kickass. Days when I can't wait to push myself for those 10000 steps. Days when I wake up and feel great about myself.
This is all a part of life. It's never going to be easy. It's never going to just ride a wave and deliver me safely to shore. Life is one day at a time, fighting to keep my head above water while my feet are firmly on the ground. It's a give and take. All I have to do is stay alert, stay resolved, and never let my mind and all the garbage I carry in it overwhelm me beyond recovery.
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