Sunday, July 13, 2014
Ten pounds is not life-threatening. Ten pounds is not worthy of the power over my life I've accorded it. Ten pounds will not make or break me.
I've gained at least 10 pounds since I last posted a blog. I don't know how much I've gained, exactly, because I'm afraid to get on the scale. But I know my size 14 pants are very tight "across the beam" these days, and they weren't before. I know jeans that fit me six months ago no longer button or zip.
I've been stressing out A LOT over this -- way more than the situation warrants. Look, I lost my grandson five years ago. NOTHING could ever be more horrible than that. I need to keep a sense of perspective.
It's true I've been doing everything wrong. I haven't been tracking calories. I haven't been exercising. I've been eating at night. I've been feeling (physically) just miserable. Digestive problems I won't even go into here. Potato chips and white bread and ice cream -- I've known no boundaries for the past many months.
I hope today represents a turning point, but then I've hoped that before (as you'll see if you scroll back through old blog posts). Today I counted calories and kept within my range. Next week, I will resume going to the gym ("next week" only because my granddaughter is with us on vacation, and I don't want to miss a moment with her). I am seriously re-dedicating myself to my old ways of eating. I WILL get off this crap diet I've been indulging.
But, still. It's only 10 pounds. Yes, I need to head this binge off at the pass lest 10 pounds turn into 20. But right now it's only 10 pounds. It's not going to kill me.