Happy Weekend :)
In a great mood today - had a fun night last night stamping with some friends. It was so nice to catch up with them, have a glass of wine (yup, had one) and a giggle. Got caught up in my back log of Coronation Street shows (think I've missed maybe 5 episodes in the last 16 years - total addict!) so got to sleep later than I should have … but feeling really content and grateful the morning. Just sitting here smiling to myself.
Got up, grabbed my ever-so-sensible-and-butt-ugly-Mom-running shoes and hobbled to the bathroom (my feet are much better but I still can't walk sans shoes yet). Checked out my curvy bod in the mirror and thought - hmmmmm - ya, think I may have lost a few pounds in the last two weeks. If my scaled were in that bathroom you better believe I would have stepped on it. Lucky for me it's not. It's in the downstairs bathroom. It's there for a reason. If you haven't noticed I'm *slightly OCD* in, oh, just about every regard. I don't use that term jokingly or haphazardly, I truly am an obsessive/addictive personality. Not so much compulsive but definitely over-the-top and fairly obsessive. When I would diet I wouldn't just weigh myself every week - not even every day - not even twice a day … it would very often be three times a day. Seriously. Three. Obsessive much? *lol* My day was good or bad, depending on what that little number said. Didn't matter if I had three tablespoons of salt with my dinner and was holding 7 pounds of water. Didn't matter ifI had my period. Didn't matter if I had only eaten lettuce for three days - if that scale was up I was a failure, had gained fat and my day was ruined.
So.
Messed.
Up.
I'm happy to say I have well and truly broken up with my scale. I hadn't weighed myself for months until about February when I started working with a nutritionist. I didn't WANT to weigh myself but it was one of the only ways to measure improvement, so I did it … just once a week.
I broke up with my nutritionist and since then have only weighed myself twice, I think.
I was tempted to this morning.
Nah.
What would that achieve? It would go one of two ways.
The scale would be the same as it was 2-3 weeks ago, or worse, it would my higher. I would then proceed to eat my way through the fridge thinking "what the fuck is the point? All that focused time and energy and I'm not further ahead". Then, tomorrow, I would wake up, likely weigh myself again .. the scale WOULD be up this time due to all the salt intake from the day before and the cycle would continue for about 2 weeks, at which point I would TRULY be up 5 pounds (I don't just comfort eat 1 twinkie I comfort eat 12 boxes … again … *slightly* compulsive!), my clothes wouldn't fit and … well … you get the idea.
The other result would be that the scale would be a bit lower. Fantastic! Yay me! The system works! I'm going to celebrate with an English Muffin and jam … oh hell, I've worked hard … I'll have two … ohhhhh, Craig's jam is so good - what's one more? … and I would celebrate-eat my way through the day … and then I would remember just how good all those treats taste and, well, one more day "off" won't hurt … then "oh look, it's holiday - can't be "good" on vacation" …. and two weeks from now I'll be up 5 pounds, my clothes wouldn't fit and … well … you get the idea.
I know me. I'm a it of a hot mess when it comes to this healthy living / balance / anything in moderation gig.
Weighing myself will do nothing but add 5 pounds to my butt. So I'm not gunna do it. Not gunna! Once again - IT JUST DOESN'T MATTER!
Back in the first week of posts I said I'm finally HEARING my friends when they say they love me the way I am, it's not my size that matters etc etc etc. I forgot, though, to write about the number one thing that was said to me that started this journey some time last year. I heard it … I'd heard it a hundred times but it never registered … this time it did … it came through as a whisper but was loud enough to crack through the wall of my insecurities. It's what started it all. It was Craig. My husband. For the hundredth time he looked at me and said (this time a little more firmly and frustrated / angrily)
Who are you trying to impress? I love you! You're GORGEOUS! Why don't you believe me? I don't give a SHIT what size you are. Just live your live and be happy!
… or something along those lines. And I heard him.
And I continue to hear him.
How much fun is it to be around someone who is always putting themselves down. Rebecca does it all the time and it makes me so angry. I have friends who do it and it makes me so sad. Why can't they see what I see?? So I took a long hard look at myself - literally - bra and underwear only - over and over and over (I needed to send pictures to my nutritionist every week so for months I did so … and really LOOKED at the pictures) and slowly, I started to think that I wasn't "that bad". I then started looking at other women and seeing that no, not everyone out there is thinner than me. I started looking at the Additionelle models in the ads landing in my in box every week … really looking at the models. I didn't think THEY were fat or unattractive .. and they were larger and/or curvier than I was …. and slowly I've come to a place where I don't hate my thighs. I don't hate my fat. I don't hate the way I look. And I'm happy. I've stopped competing with my younger, thinner self. I'm not that girl anymore. I don;t WANNA be that girl any more (she was dumb as shit *lol*). And I'm happy.
Am I gunna weigh myself? Nope. Not gunna do it.
Just.
Doesn't.
Matter.
Love you girlfriend. TTYT
Tam
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