Milestones…

I’ll admit it.  I had a rough Wednesday this week.  It started out fine enough.  I had a reasonable breakfast, and plans to attend my first weight watchers meeting.  For those who missed my last post, I have decided to attend WW from this point to help me continue healing my relationship with food and to have some accountability.  But I was tired.  Much like tonight, I didn’t sleep all the way through Tuesday night.  My energy was low, and I hadn’t made it to the gym because I had to get my car in the shop in the a.m.  Regardless, by the evening I was exhausted and my daughter offered to catch up on a few of our shows together.  I was so in.  The problem, watching TV at night, when I’m tired, is a dangerous combination.  It leads to a snack-attack.

Now, with that said, it isn’t what it used to be.  Surgery certainly controls what portions I can have, and a snack attack which used to consist of ridiculous things like ice cream, bread and potato chips, now equals a few Triscuits with cheese and pepperoni on top.  And by a few, I mean like three.  But still, it was well after 7pm and let’s be honest, it wasn’t planned, or even thought out.  I was an autoton.  Eating mindlessly in front of the TV.  {sigh} old habits die hard.  However, I note the change with a little reflection.

85 pounds ago I was so easily defeated.  If I’d been eating well, exercising and the like, and then I had an evening like this, or worse as was often the case, I threw in the towel.  A few hours of off-plan grazing would equal failure in my eyes.  I was so tired and so trying to be “perfect” when I was trying to lose weight at all, that if I slipped I would immediately swell with guilt and shame and that caused a cycle that would lead into the next day — if I had “screwed up” the night before and felt the weight of shame, I would eat a crappy breakfast as well.  Once I had done that, I couldn’t very well exercise, I was so bloated.  Which would lead me to the scale, which would ultimately be up a pound or two from the salt intake and bloat and that would be really defeating and that would lead to a horrible day, which would lead to a horrible three or four days, a week, a month, months and years.  Wow.  I was not very kind to that girl.  No wonder I wound up where I was.  Tired, sick, sad and unhealthy.  And I felt like there was no way to win.

Fast forward to Thursday morning.  Eh, it was an evening of not great decisions, but look at that sunrise…

A new day a new set of choices before me.  I was going to the gym anyway, and that’s only about a mile and a half from the house.  And it’s going to be a gorgeous spring day here in SC.  So, I got on my shoes and my gear and put in my ear phones and turned on my tunes and off I went, walking to the gym.  I felt strong.  Not the sum of my food choices, but the sum of my decisions, and today I would decide to let the night before go.  I have never been so thankful for the choices I made a year ago that led to my surgery.  Surgery didn’t fix everything.  I’ve said it before many, many times.  They removed a portion of my stomach, but left my brain wholly intact.  My thinking still gets me sometimes, but now, facing 200 #s in the face v. 300 #s, I have regained my health.  And tasted what that feels like.  And it’s so worth fighting for.

So, I bounce back quicker.  I can compartmentalize my actions and not let them overshadow all the good choices.  That’s all it is.  A series of choices.  Not one of them define who I am, my actions as a whole define me, and as a whole, I make pretty dang good decisions.  I’d say 85% = 90% of the time I eat really well.  Balanced, with healthy proteins in the lead.  I consume a lot of vegetables and some fruits.  Occasionally I add in some carbs, working out like I do, and understanding the science of my body, I need them to replace the glycogen I frequently burn.  I don’t obsessively weigh myself anymore, which is such a blessing.  And for those times I am less than “perfect”, which let’s face it, is so NOT the goal anyway, I am forgiving.  I don’t throw in the towel, I simply forgive myself and get my butt going back on track.  And because of that, tonight I hit another milestone of sorts…a fun one.

Frank and I ran errands tonight.  More blinds (boy we have a LOT of windows in this house), a hunt for a small dresser for the guest room which my sister will occupy in only a few weeks and a stop at my new favorite clothing store.  Something I NEVER would have done with him this time last year.  I was terrified he’d figure out I weighed so much more than he did.  Of course he knew.  Unlike other compulsions/addictions, eventually over eating comes to the surface and cannot be hidden.  But Frank has literally loved me through thick and thin, always encouraging me, always trying to get me to see the beauty of the person inside of my skin.  So, tonight, I invited him to do the one thing most men abhor, going into a girls clothing store.  He was so great.  He looked at all the options with me.  I really needed pants.  My size 16 jeans are constantly being tugged at because they are slipping.  But it’s moving into spring and then the heat will set in here in the south and I don’t know just how much denim I’m going to want to wear.  I found these adorable ankle pants in a light blue and beige.  I grabbed the 14’s figuring that would probably do the trick.  But, they were loose.  Like baggy around my thighs and a little less than fitting my waist.  I took a gamble, loving them both, and grabbed the 12s and bought them.

Upon arriving home I tried them on.  Holy cow.  They FIT.  And by fit, I mean, they really fit.  Not tight, but nice.  They are comfortable, I can breathe and they show off the shape of my legs that I’ve been working so hard on.  I swear I could hear the angels singing in that instant.

When I started this journey, I was wearing a 22, but should have been a 24.  I was uncomfortable in my skin.  I was always the biggest girl in the room, and the loudest, hoping to distract everyone from my size.  Today, I’m more reserved.  In a good way.  I don’t feel the need to “hide” anymore.  I am comfortable with who I am.  Comfortable in my skin.  I don’t feel like I’m automatically the center of attention when I enter a space because of how I look.  So, therefore I have nothing to “cover up” by being the loudest, or the funniest, in the room.  I’m just me.  I enjoy observing people.  I enjoy good conversation.  I enjoy listening.  I was so busy over compensating in my old life that I didn’t realize the joy I was missing out on.

And I love that I can embrace the milestones; big and little, along the way.  Weight loss surgery certainly isn’t for everyone, but I am thankful it was the solution I hoped it would be for me.  It gave me a chance to heal my body, my health, and even my mind along the way.  I’m a work in progress.  Aren’t we all.  That’s part of the fun of life, I think.  The ability to continue learning along the way.