Weigh In: 276

I was FINALLY ASKED IF I'VE LOST WEIGHT.

That's one of my goals, to have someone ask if I've lost. Chhhheeeee-eck. Down. Unfortunately it was the same person who asked me last time (my sis-in-law) when I set that as a goal. So... I'm going to wait for someone else to ask me. But it was good to have someone notice something.


I weighed myself THREE times today. First it was 276. Then, I went to the bathroom and it went to 277 (what the fudge?) - then I did a final weigh in and it was back at 276. That's where I'm keeping it.

If it's wrong, the scale will remind me of that next time. And I'm due for a period again, so I'm sure it will remind me with blazing fury.


I don't know if that's success or not. Maintaining through a brutal food-laden holiday. Somewhat of success, I guess. I really could have gotten on that train Wednesday night and rode it bareback through Sunday. Maybe even through Monday. Then I would tell myself that I'd skip the weigh in, for shielding horror's sake, and wait until next week. Then next week, decide to wait one more because of my period, and allow two weeks to fly by, and who knows where I'd be.

It's not far-fetched. In fact, when I really think about it, trying to lose (or maintain) through the holidays is... pretty bold. Cocky, you might even say.

Well, I'm feeling cocky. I am fine with my maintaining of 276. Sure, I'd like to have dipped to 275 this week, but oh well. I didin't. I didn't shoot up to 280, which would have been devastating (and could have easily happened).

I'm back on track, counting my calories. Though I'm tired of it, novelty worn off. The desire to lose weight hasn't, so the discipline of monitoring my intake is still there. It's tiring and annoying and one more thing to do. But, it's also gotten me some results.

I feel better. I'm more confident. Just those two things alone are worth it.

I'm still determined to get below 250 here. To show myself that my 265 wasn't the lowest, and isn't. That I CAN do it. I'm scared. I am. Trying not to let the fear stop me. Fear of success, fear of failure. Fear of change. Of being pushed outside my comfort zone. Lots of fears.

THIS WEEK:
This week my challenge is going to be that I am busy. We have a large event being planned for the weekend and I'm one of the people in charge of it. I will be busy preparing. That might be good (because I'll eat less, be busy), or bad (because I'll be stressed and will eat). I'm hoping for the first option.

I also have some emotional stress I'm dealing with, so I'll want more than one glass of wine on occasion. I love my wine. I do, I do.

Finally, my period is coming up. Sometimes that brings on cravings that are, frankly, non-human. I've never really mastered that problem.

Mind over matter. Keep mind from getting too tired so it can continue the good fight.

20 Pounds

I guess I'll write it out since it makes it all the more real. Not that a summer spent in stretchy pants doesn't make it pretty freaking real. Jeans that feel like they are cutting off circulation; real. Shoot, my own skin feels tight on my body. Reality.

I know how I gained it. Same way I lost it, just the opposite. I lost sight of caring, really. Food was more important. Dear God, I HATE this. I'm so tired of it. The struggle. Being thinner really is better than the food I've eaten to put on weight. I know it is. I remember how it felt. How good it felt to put clothes on and have them be loose. Everything felt good.

I knew the struggle would come back. Bit by bit, slice by slice, day by day. It's always there, like a crack-addict. It was easier to quit smoking, I tell you. Easier! I haven't smoked in over a decade. Don't really miss it, either. But then I don't have to smoke five cigarettes a day, no less no more. I have to eat.

I also have to buy food. I have to balance checkbooks. I have to make dinners, keep schedules, earn money, clean house, fix broken things, wash my hair, bathe my dog... sometimes - MOST times - it is just flat out easier to not care what I'm eating. Hard enough to make meals that are nutritious, delicious and cost efficious (not a word, but it's a rhyme-ier way of saying "efficient" so let it go)!

Here I go grumbling again.

I feel like a broken record. Like an addict that keeps falling off the wagon, over and over and over.

Maybe I needed to gain this weight to appreciate what I had. Not that I didn't appreciate it. I did. Oh how I did. Shopping for clothes at the thrift store. Fitting into them so much better.

I have to remember what I liked, what felt good, how good it felt... or I'm going to continue heading down the path of self-destruction.

I was less self-conscious.
My clothes felt great.
I felt great.
I had more energy.
I didn't worry about where I sat.
I was more comfortable.

This was just 20 pounds. Twenty. Simple. Pounds. Right now I am the opposite of all of those things. Even though I'm not nearly as heavy as I was at my highest weight, I've been on the other side of 270 and it felt happier there. I was closer to 250 than 300. I liked it.

I want to go back.

My Addiction To Food

My addiction to food both disgusts and amazes me.

I love food in good and healthy ways. But (sometimes) I use it in ways food is not intended to be used. Don't go all mind-in-the-gutter on me. I mean that there are times when I can prepare my oatmeal and walnuts, pack a shake for lunch and a piece of fruit and use food to nourish my body. This is fine, good, and controllable. But when I come home, whip up some waffles, reheat some pork chops and gorge, it doesn't feel good.

It doesn't even feel right.

Strangely, I cut out all the fat on the chops, and was reasonable with the waffles, but it was a big production of food-making, planning, anticipating... and then a frenzy. I ate fast and hard, like I've seen my kid do (and don't like because it is a reflection of me). I enjoyed the sweet, salty, chewy, buttery flavors mixed together and washed down with ice-cold milk. I knew I wouldn't journal my food because it was already a failure.

I caught myself gobbling.

It's disgusting.

I finished off with one more small waffle, lathered with peanut butter. I totally didn't need it, and could have powered through, not eating it. But I did. I wanted it.

I tell myself I'm fine, but I'm not sure if I am. Either by habit or by emotions that I've blocked, I managed to cancel out my thoughtful eating this morning with a few minutes of feasting. I feel full. Heavy with food and drink. Satiated. Disappointed in myself. Wanting to shed the pounds I've gained (about 7). Wanting to get past the goal I made months ago.

I'm not letting myself do it. Why?

Well Hello

Last time I checked in I was 272 pounds. Prior to that, I was 277. The holidays I let my hair down a bit, indulged in cookies and the like, and paid the price.

Three months later, I'm back to my lowest weight. Again.

And I'm ready to rock and roll.

It's hard not to look at time past and kick myself for not staying on track. I could have been under 250 right now, had I stayed the course. Assumably. But, then also, I could have been topping 300 again. Either way, I could have gone.

One year ago I was 293 pounds. I'm almost down 30 from that one year later. If I can be down 30 from here a year from now and hold it - that is a victory.

What delights me is that my body came back down to where it was before. The maintaining of that weight for a while seemed to make it my new "normal" for weight. I didn't so much concentrate on what I was doing to lose weight, but I snipped out the bad practices of the holidays, and the weight came off. I guess.

I'm back to tracking on Spark. Right now my calorie range is to eat between 1630 and 1980 calories per day. Honestly, that seems a little low to me. But, since I've gone down, so has my calorie allowance. I've always tried to eat on the high end of the calorie range. As long as I lose weight, that's fine. The more I can have, the happier I am. Heh.

I've done pretty well the past few days with eating. Not so great with exercising, though. Have to get back into that. One step at a time, though.

First goal: 257. I'd like to get there by the end of May.

Manure Hits Fan

My emotions are tied to my eating. I know and recognize this. Part of my (gag-cliche-gag) journey in all this is facing things head on, sacrificing my pride, and relearning.

I've done good. 70 pounds down, not shabby. But the last couple weeks I've been sliding. The scale hasn't much reflected it, but the way I've been eating has, and the scale is sure to follow. OK. That's a lie. The scale isn't going down. That's how it is reflecting. I'm no longer losing. I'm maintaining, and soon I will be gaining.

I could wax poetic for a bunch of paragraphs, but I'll just claim the truth of it and work with that.

So here it is: my depressed and anxiety-prone adult child is living with us again. For four years we went through, (dragging us with) a nightmare with her as she entered her teen years, barreling through them with drugs, alcohol, risky behavior and excitement, with disregard for everyone around her. I haven't healed from all of that yet, and now we find her back with us. I still have kids in the house who are not grown, which sets off a whole different dynamic.

I'm scarred, and not yet healed from the trauma that we went through. Having her here again has re-opened wounds. The only good thing about having her home is that we know where she is at night, and we know she's not out on the streets doing who knows what. Been there, not easy, but you learn to live with it. I'm not saying it's right or good or even going to "work" letting her stay here in the long run. I'm just saying it is what is now.

Through all those years I never went to counseling. I survived, I got through. I learned and grew as a mother and a human being. I suffered. A lot. More than I care to think of right now. I believe I have a some PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder) from all of those years of trauma, lies, fear.

Just as I started to find some peace and healing, acceptance... it comes crashing down again. I've been taking Xanax, occasionally. I went to a counselor for the first time two weeks ago. I'm anxious and irritable, depressed. Feeling the stress in nearly every corner of my world.

I feel horrible, complaining like this, which is why I haven't said anything about it. But today, as I looked at my nearly expended calories, felt stuffed to the gills, poured a Guinness (drank half, then poured it out), climbed in my car for a chocolate run (with a kid in tow to run into the store for me -- I look a hot mess), came back and ate 200 calories of Hershey's (half of that in the car, and half on the couch, still within my calorie range) - and then within a half-hour decided to completely blow it, made an egg bagel, slathered with butter and a dash of grape jelly (I never eat this crap, so I know I'm on a binge), eat it furiously and sit down to type this? I know I have to face it, claim it, name it, pray about it, give it up to God -- whatever I can do to not be consumed by it.

This is where the tough part comes in, honey. And it is tough. Because the most wicked saboteur is not friends, family, commercials, celebrity or anything else. It's SELF. And I was wondering when it would kick in. I was wondering when my willpower and drive would fail. And it is now. When the manure hits the fan.

If I can't keep on the path, despite my unhappiness, then I have problems. I need to face this problem, whatever it is at the root, dig it up and get rid of it.

I don't know how yet. But I'm standing in the hole with a shovel, ready to cut into the root, or pull the dirt over my head.

Not A Stellar Day

Yeah, so today was kind of a reckless day for me. Not a bad day in a whole, but I'm guessing I didn't make any strides in the right direction.

I'ma put it to you straight, momma: I'm on my period. So I literally, like, literally, might need to have PDOs once a month.

Period Day Off.

Because I just have to go wild one day, it seems, or I end up either raging on the world, or crying in the fetal position in line at Target. Neither is really good.

For lunch I went to the Indian buffet and for dinner I ended up chowing down on take-out Chinese.

Neither dinner came from a box that said Healthy Choice, Lean Cuisine or anything, so as you can imagine, they were filled with fat and calories. It was way more laziness and less craving, really. And I allowed myself that. No excuses tomorrow, though, I gotta be a really (really) good girl if I want to make my goal.

I did not gorge, though, at either meal, which is still a shift to a better way of being. I would have taken a walk if I weren't busy shopping and feeling like I was walking around with lead in my butt.

OH. But I did get a pedicure. And if it weren't for that lead feeling, I'd take a picture and show you how cute my toes are. Trust me, they're cute. And it was a good pedicure. Splurged an extra 5 bucks for the leg massage, foot massage and extra pampering. Worth it, totally. Although I had some stubble on my leg, so the dude who gave me the pedicure had to cut his hands while he massaged my calves.

All in a days work.