Thursday, July 16, 2015
I forgot how fantastic the community is on this website. It's difficult for me to reach out to people, and getting any responses on a blog post was entirely unexpected. Anyway, thank you to everyone who had kind and supportive words for me after my previous post!
I've made it one of my Spark Goals to write a blog post every day. It's a challenging goal for me since I tend not to write if I feel like I have nothing to say, so a lot of my posts (this one included) are going to be rather stream-of-consciousness.
I feel I can honestly say today was a good day. My macronutrients weren't balanced in a way that I'd like, so there's room for improvement there. But I finished day 2 of the new SP Workout at Home challenge and remained within my calorie limits.
I'm getting better about tracking things I'd rather not track. Maybe it's my binge eating or my bulimic attitude, but I tend to feel very secretive about my poor eating habits. I only over indulge if I know no one is watching. Tonight there were some snacks in the break room and I indulged a little as I knew I could spare a few hundred calories. Normally I have this fear of tracking that sort of thing. As if the world would end if the internet gods knew of my eating transgressions... as if seeing the numbers adding up to a normal calorie count would mean I somehow failed myself. I don't know if that means much yet, but it feels like progress. It feels like I'm finally addressing the deep-seated emotional issues that cause my weight to fluctuate rather than relying on the screwed up impossible standards I've maintained for myself for so many years.
My shift ended with a little wine, cheese, crackers and olives for an employee tasting. I normally don't like to track tastings either, but I tracked that too. And you know what? The world didn't end. I didn't even go over my calorie budget. I ate a reasonable 1600 calories, which comes under my minimum calorie limit for a pound weekly weight loss.
And all this has made me realize what a crippling role fear has played in inhibiting my weight loss. I've been afraid of failing, afraid to admit to myself how much I've been eating... I think I've even been afraid of what success would mean.
It took me most of my life to learn to love myself at all, let alone as much as I do now. But my love for myself has always come with an asterisk that says "*except for that flabby belly and those poor eating habits." It's like the final rebellion of the old me... the me that couldn't stand myself -- the me that would abuse me whenever I walked past a mirror. "Fat, disgusting... what a worthless slob you are. You should just kill yourself." That voice, once so loud that it consumed my entire thought process, is now little more than a faint whisper. It's learned to cleverly disguise itself as constructive criticism with a harsh tone, but it's still there lingering... waiting to make some snide inner comment about how my thighs don't look good in those shorts or how I look extra chubby today.
Succeeding would mean killing that little voice once and for all, and for some reason that frightens me. It's like I've developed Stockholm syndrome over my own self oppression. The thought of being free to love myself unconditionally and with no asterisks is strangely terrifying. I'm finally beginning to understand the full extent of the emotional abuse I endured as a child and how it conditioned me for a life of criticism. I can't remember a time in my life where I wasn't aware of being too fat, thanks in part to the daily reminders from my grandmother that date back to as far as I can remember. I found it in myself to forgive her years ago, but I don't think I've yet lived a day in my life where I didn't feel too fat -- even when I was down to a normal weight.
It's been a long hard fight these many years on my journey to self-acceptance, and it's hard to admit that I still have a long way to go... but I do. Hopefully admitting that is a step in the right direction.