I'm having a day where I am feeling delicate...and angry...and stuck. I think I have been pretty "lost" since my visit with the doctor earlier this year where he told me I might be where I am meant to me. I didn't like hearing it then and it still doesn't sit well with me now. And, it isn't just stuck with my weight, but stuck financially as Shark Bait and I are on a five-year plan to get out of debt. And stuck emotionally with outside drama that cannot be avoided. The hardest part of all, is knowing I am stuck and feeling powerless to pull myself out of the swamps of sadness. I see all those posts on Pinterest and Facebook talking about living in the moment and not letting life pass you by, and changing your life if you don't like it, blah, blah, blah. And they are all true to a certain degree. Having that knowledge makes it all the harder to feel stuck.
I actually had a moment about a couple of weeks ago where I was getting ready for work and I was standing there in front of my closet trying to figure out what to wear. I was only wearing my bra and underwear. There is a full length mirror right there. I stopped for a moment and just looked in the mirror and looked at every inch of this body. I looked at my boobs being heightened to places only a boob job could take them, thanks to Victoria Secret. I looked at my stomach. It has small scars showing the past and present wounds of my lifetime struggle with obesity, but it's kind of flat. We really just have that lower belly that has melted to the lower territories. I mean, there will be no running on the beach in a bikini. Which is fine. Running is something people should only do when they are being chased by a bear or if their house is on fire, anyway. I looked at my thighs, I hate them, but it is what it is. I turned side-ways and looked. Nothing really sticks out, it's just a thick body. And for just a moment, I thought, "This isn't so bad. I'm okay with this body." In that moment, I accepted it. It felt pretty amazing to just let it go and say, 'Today is good enough and if tomorrow I look like this, too, that's also okay. That will also be good enough."
And so, I have been operating as though everything is okay. Operating like what I eat doesn't matter. If I go to the gym or not, it doesn't matter. Operating like life is never going to get any better, so I am just going to live each day for whatever it is. As Dr. Phil would ask, "How's that workin' for ya?" Well, Dr. Phil, it isn't.
The reality is, I'm not ready to be done trying yet. I'm not ready to accept defeat yet. I'm not ready to say, "this is as good as it gets." I'm not. But at the same time, I feel powerless to get out of this rut. I need an ass kicking. The Rug Doctor would say I need to be kind to myself and allow that self-talk to be nurturing and not negative and abusive. Apparently telling my fat ass to get to the gym is not nurturing. It always comes down to the voices. I have to get the voices to play nice. You know what my voice has to say about that, "it sucks." The voices are only nice when they say it's okay for me to have a cookie. And that isn't really nice, that is destructive. I can't get those voice bitches in line. I feel like we need to have a family meeting and really hash this out. I need at least one voice up there to say, "You can do this. You will do this. And, it's not that fucking hard...DO IT." Just one voice. One. And it can't be one of your voices (my friends), it has to be one of MINE for it to be effective. Preferably one of the strong voices. Not the Pony Whisperer, but like if we can find a voice that is an auctioneer. Like, "hey pretty lady, can you get the time, hey pretty lady get that attitude in line....gimme 20 on the elliptical, gimme 20 on the kettle bell, now who's gonna give me 10 minutes of stretching, who? Do I have that once? twice? Three times? SOLD! Pretty lady gets to the gym! That voice. I'll put out an APB for it, I guess.
So, to be clear, this isn't a pity party, it's more of a road trip that has lead me to a roadblock where I have a fallen tree in my way and I don't have a chainsaw. I feel like I need a bulldozer, but maybe all I need is good walking shoes? I don't know. It's complicated. Or it isn't. I don't know. I make everything more complicated than it needs to be. Except when it comes to pink pony flannel. The answer is always, "yes, buy it."
I have to go see the fat doctor again in a couple of weeks. He's not fat, he is just the doctor of fat people, to be clear. Anyway, he said he wanted me to have a plan. Not a goal weight, but a vision of how my life would look if I was losing the weight I needed to. What would I be doing and enjoying? What would my daily life look like that would help me maintain that. Because, if I can visualize it and start some of those habits, it will happen. This is his theory. I think part of my stuckness is because I don't know the answer to that question. It's hard, for me, to consider what I want my life to be when all I can see are the roadblocks that keep me from achieving success. One of the biggest roadblocks is me. I can't use a chainsaw for that. I mean I can, but I don't really see how that plays out well for, say, a 5 year plan.
Anyway, these are the deep thoughts on a Sunday. Shark Bait bought me this planner yesterday. Why? Because it was on sale for $5 and Shark Bait loves office supplies, I guess. Anyway, I feel like I need a plan. I should totally write something in this book...thoughts? I welcome them. I mean, I might shoot them down, but I still welcome them.
I actually had a moment about a couple of weeks ago where I was getting ready for work and I was standing there in front of my closet trying to figure out what to wear. I was only wearing my bra and underwear. There is a full length mirror right there. I stopped for a moment and just looked in the mirror and looked at every inch of this body. I looked at my boobs being heightened to places only a boob job could take them, thanks to Victoria Secret. I looked at my stomach. It has small scars showing the past and present wounds of my lifetime struggle with obesity, but it's kind of flat. We really just have that lower belly that has melted to the lower territories. I mean, there will be no running on the beach in a bikini. Which is fine. Running is something people should only do when they are being chased by a bear or if their house is on fire, anyway. I looked at my thighs, I hate them, but it is what it is. I turned side-ways and looked. Nothing really sticks out, it's just a thick body. And for just a moment, I thought, "This isn't so bad. I'm okay with this body." In that moment, I accepted it. It felt pretty amazing to just let it go and say, 'Today is good enough and if tomorrow I look like this, too, that's also okay. That will also be good enough."
And so, I have been operating as though everything is okay. Operating like what I eat doesn't matter. If I go to the gym or not, it doesn't matter. Operating like life is never going to get any better, so I am just going to live each day for whatever it is. As Dr. Phil would ask, "How's that workin' for ya?" Well, Dr. Phil, it isn't.
The reality is, I'm not ready to be done trying yet. I'm not ready to accept defeat yet. I'm not ready to say, "this is as good as it gets." I'm not. But at the same time, I feel powerless to get out of this rut. I need an ass kicking. The Rug Doctor would say I need to be kind to myself and allow that self-talk to be nurturing and not negative and abusive. Apparently telling my fat ass to get to the gym is not nurturing. It always comes down to the voices. I have to get the voices to play nice. You know what my voice has to say about that, "it sucks." The voices are only nice when they say it's okay for me to have a cookie. And that isn't really nice, that is destructive. I can't get those voice bitches in line. I feel like we need to have a family meeting and really hash this out. I need at least one voice up there to say, "You can do this. You will do this. And, it's not that fucking hard...DO IT." Just one voice. One. And it can't be one of your voices (my friends), it has to be one of MINE for it to be effective. Preferably one of the strong voices. Not the Pony Whisperer, but like if we can find a voice that is an auctioneer. Like, "hey pretty lady, can you get the time, hey pretty lady get that attitude in line....gimme 20 on the elliptical, gimme 20 on the kettle bell, now who's gonna give me 10 minutes of stretching, who? Do I have that once? twice? Three times? SOLD! Pretty lady gets to the gym! That voice. I'll put out an APB for it, I guess.
So, to be clear, this isn't a pity party, it's more of a road trip that has lead me to a roadblock where I have a fallen tree in my way and I don't have a chainsaw. I feel like I need a bulldozer, but maybe all I need is good walking shoes? I don't know. It's complicated. Or it isn't. I don't know. I make everything more complicated than it needs to be. Except when it comes to pink pony flannel. The answer is always, "yes, buy it."
I have to go see the fat doctor again in a couple of weeks. He's not fat, he is just the doctor of fat people, to be clear. Anyway, he said he wanted me to have a plan. Not a goal weight, but a vision of how my life would look if I was losing the weight I needed to. What would I be doing and enjoying? What would my daily life look like that would help me maintain that. Because, if I can visualize it and start some of those habits, it will happen. This is his theory. I think part of my stuckness is because I don't know the answer to that question. It's hard, for me, to consider what I want my life to be when all I can see are the roadblocks that keep me from achieving success. One of the biggest roadblocks is me. I can't use a chainsaw for that. I mean I can, but I don't really see how that plays out well for, say, a 5 year plan.
Anyway, these are the deep thoughts on a Sunday. Shark Bait bought me this planner yesterday. Why? Because it was on sale for $5 and Shark Bait loves office supplies, I guess. Anyway, I feel like I need a plan. I should totally write something in this book...thoughts? I welcome them. I mean, I might shoot them down, but I still welcome them.
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