Reality hits...hard

Last year I lost a bunch of weight.  Around 40 pounds.  I was feeling proud of myself.  Energized and on my way toward reaching my weight loss goals (about 30 more pounds).  Then something happened.  Well, a few somethings, but I won't bore you with the details.  Suffice it to say, I gained almost all that weight back!  Woohoo for me! 

I've been conflicted about this weight gain for a couple of reasons.  I have an obsessive personality.  Most of the time, it is harmless.  But added to that is my own personal baggage (a lot of which has to do with body image).  The result is unhealthy diet and exercise habits.  When I was in college, I exercised for 1-2 hours everyday and often would eat next to nothing (we're talking one yogurt a day) in order to maintain my weight of 145 pounds.  At the time, I thought this was horribly high and constantly berated myself for my inability to go any lower.  When I became pregnant with my daughter at 24 years old, I was terrified of gaining weight.  It got to the point that I endangered myself and my unborn child and was put on bed rest.  I thought long and hard about my situation and how I had gotten there.  I decided then and there to get rid of my self image baggage.  Not for myself, but for my daughter.  I didn't want her to inherit my issues. 

For a while, I did pretty well.  But then stress of life and some serious changes in circumstance led me to spiral out of control.  I had no way to really exercise and was surrounded my fried foods with no way to afford healthy alternatives.  It may come as little surprise that I gained weight.  About 45 pounds, to be exact.  I went from 160 to 204 over the course of a year.  My life circumstances stabilized and my stress diminished and I made the decision to live a healthier lifestyle.  But then I fell into the trap so many do.  I was addicted to the compliments I was getting.  Every time I lost five pounds, people would tell me how great I looked.  I became obsessed again.  Another round of extreme dieting and exercise brought me down from a size 14 to a size 8.  I was down to 165 pounds.  Then something happened that devastated me.  My five-year-old daughter asked me if she was fat.

I think a little part of me died inside the day those words came out of her mouth.  I told her she was beautiful and perfect and that her body was miraculous.  It allowed her to play and swim and walk and talk and do myriad of things from day to day that were simply amazing.  I told her that she was healthy (I have always made sure she eats healthy, well-balanced and freshly made meals, even when I don't) and happy and didn't need to worry about anything else.  From that moment on I made a decided effort NOT to focus on my body.  I still exercised and ate healthy, but I didn't go to the extreme, and I NEVER talked about weight.

What happened next didn't happen all at once.  It happened in increments.  I had a miscarriage (the second one in a year) and became very depressed.  I stopped worrying about what I was eating.  Like, completely.  My source of exercise disappeared.  It was a dance fitness program and had been perfect for me, since I could bring my daughter with me.  As I am a stay-at-home mom who homeschools her daughter, I had to have a way to exercise where I could bring my daughter with me, so once this source virtually vanished, my opportunities to exercise greatly diminished.  She was too old for a jogging stroller (and hated it), so running outside was so much stress that it just wasn't a feasible option for me.  For a while I biked with her in a stroller behind me, but she soon outgrew that stroller and was horribly uncomfortable in it, so that option was gone as well.  So I went from eating 1000 calories a day to not having any idea how many calories I was eating (but definitely way over 1000).  At about the same time I went from exercising 11-14 hours a week to exercising 4 hours a week.  The toll this took on my body, as you can imagine, was great.

Two months ago, I weighed myself for the first time in six months.  200 pounds (again!).  I immediately bought a gym membership at a gym with daycare and promised myself I would get this under control.  Now here I am two months later and I doubt I've been to the gym 10 times in two months.  I do manage to exercise about three times a week outside of the gym, but it isn't enough.  I've lost no weight and I am about to burst into tears.  All because I am unhappy with my body.  I have thyroid issues, stress, and PCOS that don't make weight loss terribly easy either...and don't help with my emotional turmoil.  God, I'm a mess.

So here I am, trying to find a happy medium.  I don't quite know how to go about it, but I figured I owed it to myself and to my daughter to try. I need to be honest and accountable for my body issues.  I want to be healthy and have the energy to play with my daughter, but I don't want to become obsessed with my losing weight.  Here are the problems I have as I see them:

1.   I have a tendency to become obsessed with weight and weight loss (just like any woman, I suppose);

2.   I have a daughter who watches and emulates everything I do;

3.   I have a tendency to eat carb and sugar-heavy foods;

4.   I have a difficult time scheduling exercise into my day, since I am always going to have to have my daughter with me (except those rare occasions when my husband isn't working and can watch her while I work out);

5.   I am very unhappy with my body;

6.   I compare myself to unrealistic images of what I should look like;

7.   I use the fact that these standards of beauty are unrealistic to excuse my obesity;

8.   I am not happy!

I'm sure there are more issues (too many to enumerate here), but here is where I stand.  I want to get my weight under control, but at the same time, I don't want to worry about my weight (contradictory, I know, but what can I say?  I'm complicated).  And so I am here.  I am here to remind myself that I need to focus on getting healthy and not obsess over a number on a scale.  Because once I reach my goal, I will stop trying and just go back to my old bad habits.  Plus, my daughter will pick up on my obsession and place an unhealthy emphasis on her own body, which would kill me.

Here is what I propose.  I will post a journal of my daily food and exercise.  I will also, every Friday, post a picture of myself.  I will not, however, be posting any weigh-ins at all on this page.  I don't own a scale and will not purchase one.  I don't want to know that number.  But I do want to eat better and exercise regularly.  I want to be HEALTHY, not thin.  So to start myself off, here is my Friday picture (courtesy of my daughter, whom I told I was doing this for a new blog I was writing, but did not tell her the details.  Simply that I had to post a picture of myself once every week.):

And because I haven't suffered enough humiliation today, here is one more picture of me with messy hair, no makeup, and completely unflattering clothing:

Food I've eaten today:

1 egg
3 banana muffins (homemade, gluten and sugar-free, but still...three!  That was unnecessary!)
1 bowl of ice cream (two scoops...I have no idea how much this is.  Too much, that's for sure.  I will no longer buy ice cream, no matter what my husband says.)
Strawberries, blueberries, and almonds (about a cup altogether...the only decent thing I ate today)
Two cups of coffee with creamer.  I don't know for sure, but I'd guess about four tablespoons worth of creamer.  Excessive, but I can't drink coffee without it.  Maybe I need to find an alternative.  Will try vanilla almond milk and see how I like it, but I'm not making any promises there.
3 tablespoons of peanut butter
1 tablespoons of chocolate chips

Not good, right?  I think I am understanding why I have gained all this weight since December.  And this, believe it or not, is probably a good day.  Sad, I know.  Hardly fresh veggies or fruit on the list at all, which is interesting since I make it a point to give Lily fresh fruit and veggies at every meal.  That's going to change.

Exercise:

45 minutes on the elliptical machine.  Calories burned (according to the machine, which I don't entirely trust: 350)
15 minutes running on the treadmill (speed, 4.5)

This is a little bit mortifying (perhaps more than a little bit), but hopefully it will help me grow and keep me on track, both physically and mentally (right now, I can't include emotionally, since emotionally I am a mess).

Anyone who happens upon this embarrassing blog, thanks for giving me this outlet.  I hope it works (she says as she fights back tears...not a good beginning).