"I'm thinking of things a bit differently this time around in my health-journey. For one, I'm no longer focused - at all - on weight loss. I'm not weighing in. I realized from the last time that this is absolutely not about the weight. I got down to 135 last time after losing over 40 pounds and I was still triggered by something so ridiculous that it made me throw in the towel, renewed my self hate, and made me make the internal decision to ruin myself, because I was not worth a single pound of the weight I had lost.
So you tell me - does someone with that kind of mental and emotional fragility need to focus on 2 pounds lost a week with an eventual goal of looking good in a dress? Or should the goal be something else? Something solid that cannot be moved by a silly, external incident that one has no control over?
The truth is we have NO control over life events and other's reactions. So if we are to be hurt - really hurt to the core - over those things, we will be always at fate's mercy. A binge can be just a second away.
This time around, its about God. About TRULY loving all that I have been given in this lifetime and accepting - yes accepting - the shortcomings. Some things can be improved on, some can even be corrected, but not all. And those things just make us stronger. So in that way, we are BETTER people because of our shortcomings. They are obstacles that have made us resilient. With tenacity, we wake up each morning ready to tackle the challenges in front of us.
This is not a weight loss journey. Its a self-love one. I am proud of what I accomplished yesterday, and I love myself for all of the days before. Today will be a GREAT day, come what may."
So here's the deal on what happened to derail me my weight loss:
I was 175 pounds. I was big and quite unhappy. People looked at me with sympathy and disgust. I could see it in their faces. I would join Mommy Groups and the other mothers didn't seem to respond to me, but as usual they all seemed to relate to each other very well, even when just meeting each other. Surely it was my fat that was once again keeping me at a distance, keeping me lonely, filling me day after day with self hate. I spent the days taking care of my two little kids, eating all day, and especially all night. My life was not fulfilling for me - only for the kids. I spent my time thinking about how my life ended when the kids were born. It was all for them now. No life for myself. But, perhaps, if I lost weight, there would be more of a life for me? Maybe I could join things and not feel like a monster in the room? Maybe people would look at me and not see gluttany, but a friendly, happier face, ready for friendship and fun?
Enter Weight Watchers. My husband recommended it because of my love of the Biggest Loser Weigh Ins. He thought I would benefit from a weekly weigh in - something to reach for each week. And he was right. Each week was a challenge, and it appealed to my competitive nature. As long as each week had a (-) in the column, I was a happy camper, ready for the next week, and the next, and the next. I never posted a (+), so I never had a reason to binge. My self image was reinvented. I was now the person who overcame the weight. I had taken on a difficult challenge and was succeeding. I was going to the gym. I imagined myself the next aerobics instructor. Just a few more pounds down and I could be there.
People started noticing. It was like crack. Each compliment kept me running - I was craving them, waiting for who would notice next. I anticipated parties, family gatherings, making mental notes of who had not yet seen the change, and trying even harder in my next workout, hoping to get that person's attention. Soon, there were very little people left who hadn't noticed. Really only my grandmother remained. I only see her once in a while, so it would have to wait.
So many things I could do now with my new body. I danced more comfortably, I wore clothes and felt good about it. My husband certainly appreciated the changes. I made sure I blew off any comments that offended my past body. Things like "oh my god, I can't believe you used to look like THAT" after seeing the before pictures seemed innocuous. After all, I did look awful in them - and it wasn't like I would ever, ever, ever go back there again. I was reinvented.
It was a stupid event. Comic con. It was ridiculous. People dress up like comic book characters. Grown men and women. Geeks. My husband and I run a fine line between fitting in with "typical society" and "geekdom." We do enjoy science fiction, and I have always felt at home with people who enjoy that same type of thing. What harm could it do to dress up? I asked my husband for ideas. He wanted to see me as the Baroness.
I am dressed up like the Baroness from GI Joe. I could kick the ass of any of these people as I walk to the Jacob Javits Center in NYC. The regular NYC people are looking at me like I'm nuts. Maybe I am. My sleek black pleather is head to toe, and shows off everything. I am wearing a belt with fake guns that could pass as real. I wish they were. The guy at the parking garage looked like he wanted to eat me. For real. At the convention its more comfortable. People are taking pictures of me. Am I a celebrity? I can barely walk in these stiletto boots. I couldn't do this when I was fat. I am powerful, accepted, and finally not a joke. So what if I have to go to a COMIC BOOK convention to feel this way? Maybe its here that I belong. As a baroness. I stop and take more pictures with people. Some of them put their arms around me.
At home I run to the computer and do every search I know of to find recent comic con pictures. So many cameras flashing - someone must have posted a picture of me. I wanted something to prove that it had been real. "Baroness comic con" "baroness nyc" "baroness 2010." Hours, and hours, and hours for 4 days I searched. I found 5 other baronesses that dressed up and posed for the camera. Their poses were better than mine. Their outfits were really good. Their bodies - well, they were great. Maybe mine was a bit bulky? My hips were better - more hourglassy. But isn't that just a euphonism for fat? I was still fat, and that's why no one wanted to post a picture of me. No one would be caught dead posting a picture of the fat baroness. Maybe it wasn't the fat - maybe it was the ugly face? I mean maybe they thought I looked ok until they looked up and saw the face. I could lose all the weight in the world, but I can't change the face. The huge forehead. The off centered nose and eyes. No eyelashes - why on Earth was I born with such short eyelashes?
My fifth day of searching was reluctantly cut short by my grandmother's visit. She's 80 and says anything she thinks she should say. Of course, she did that when she was 50 too. I would listen to her when I was a kid and laugh at her stories. She had such opinions of people, and would tell elaborate stories that told of their short comings, but always in a way that delivered a laugh. The woman that lived next to her was such a slob. She never did wash. She would go out to buy new clothes for her husband because she forgot to do a load. But God bless her, the kids were always clean. The house was a shit hole, but the kids were clean. With her family, she's a bit more direct. She tells my mother she's too skinny. My mother has an eating disorder, and my grandmother never lets her forget it. My cousin recently lost a crazy amount of weight and he started lifting weights. She'll tell us how he's become loony tunes, waking up a ridiculously early hours before his family wakes up, workout out like a lunatic, afraid to gain any weight, but God Bless Him he's a great father. When I was a kid, she would tell me in that same tone that I had lost so much weight and look great. As I got into my teenage years, I would wonder what she meant - I hadn't lost weight - I think I actually gained weight. Why was she saying I looked thinner?
My Grandmother's visit marked an important part of my weight loss journey. Comic con had been a disaster, but I wouldn't let it continue to get me down. I had started to binge again for the first time in 9 months of weight loss. Surely my next weigh in would be in the (+) for the first time. This could all be undone. I bought a nice outfit right before seeing her. I had the kids packed up and arrived at my mom's doorstep where she was inside. Her door opened, my car doors opened. The kids jumped out, and hand in hand we walked to see each other. Last time I had seen her I was 175, now I was 135. That was a huge difference. Now I could see what pride really looked like on her face. I could compare it to her face from my teenage years, and her disingenuity would be washed away.
She was so happy to see my kids. Who wouldn't be? They are beautiful. She always tells me what a good mother I am. On the phone, she tells me constantly how she'll tell my mother to stop worrying and saying bad things about me because I turned out great. Look what a great mother I am.
Jennifer! Its great to see you.
5 minutes. More grandchildren talk.
Finally 20 minutes in - "You look great. You've really done a lot of great work. I hope you'll never go back. Promise me Jennifer, promise me you'll never go back."
I promise Grandma. Thank you Grandma
"I mean it Jennifer. Really. You never can go back to that. It was so unhealthy. I was so worried about you. Its not about the weight. You could die when you are fat."
I know Grandma. I promise Grandma.
"Promise me."
I promise.
"Maybe another 10 or 20 pounds? I think? That would be just right. What do you think? No more than 10, for sure. I think that would be perfect."
OK Grandma. Another 10 pounds.
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That night I ate. I ate so much it hurt and I kept going. And going. I never went to another weigh in. I just didn't care anymore. What difference did it all make? I was a joke.
I am 8 years old being tortured by my peers in the bathroom. I am 10 years old and the boys are making fun of me again. I am 12 years old and a bunch of kids stole my pocketbook and flung my maxi pads in the elementary school hallway. I am 13 and the boy next to me at the locker loudly made fun of my ass to everyone. The girls in Art class come up behind me and smear rubber cement into my hair. The boy in spanish class tries to stick a pencil up my butt.
I'm never comfortable sitting in an open backed chair in a classroom again.
I'm never comfortable in a public bathroom again.
I'm never comfortable with my looks again.
I'm never comfortable with my peers again.
Every conversation. Every single one is painful. I self monitor, hoping the words don't betray my self consciousness, my weakness, my worthlessness. Groups are worse. The loneliness never ends. This life is ruined forever. Only my children matter now. They still have a chance.
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My little boy has pdd-nos. He's high functioning, but presents with many speech issues, impulsivity. He's a good boy. He's sweet, innocent. The kids pick on him on the playground. Sometimes I come home and cry for hours after witnessing the other kid's cruelty. My daughter was very social - she's gorgeous with stunning curls and blue eyes. But in the past few months, she's become different. She just wants to be with me. The other kids don't respond to her in a way that she expects. Many times they exclude her. Again, I am clueless as to how to help her. I think they would be better off with a different mother.
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I thought I was pregnant in early April. In fact I had a molar pregnancy. They removed a tumor in the next month from my uterus in an emergency D&C. Non-cancerous. I was lucky. It was another chance to get things right. I keep screwing stuff up, but somehow, I continue to be given chances.
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I rediscovered God recently. I had always been Catholic, but it meant nothing to me. I decided to find a church with childcare on Sundays, and found two wonderful churches. I go back and forth between them. They both have amazing music, and the messages keep me going all week. I no longer am without God. I try every day to think about Jesus, and what he did for us. I read the Bible. I connect with God's word. I had been missing spirituality, and feel better as a person. But what about the weight? What about the past 9 months where I have binged and destroyed my body?
I am working to forgive myself, as God forgives me. I am working on loving my faults. I am not a great speaker, or communicator. Like my son, I have an auditory processing disorder that makes it difficult to understand what people are saying, especially when there are background conversations in progress. People think I'm disinterested in conversations or not too sharp, (or nervous, which I AM) but I'm just taking a longer time thinking and want to say the right thing back. While this has been hard to live with, it has made me strong in other ways.
But the point is, it doesn't matter what my faults are - what matters is that I am grateful for every blessing in my life - and there are many. Every person in my family, especially my beautiful children - reminds me of God's incredible power and love. I see God in nature - and even rainy overcast days are so beautiful that tears are brought to my eyes. Thank God I can see it, appreciate it, and share it with the people on this Earth. Every single day is God's will. Every event and person that I had no control of was his will as well. Who am I to argue with Him? These things are not bad or good, they simply are. And I must simply accept.
Today I eat for health. I fuel my body and give thanks for every bite. I exercise through the aches and pains, and give thanks that I can move this body. I smile at the world, and hope they are people that can smile back. If they can't I pray for them. This is the life we are living and there is no do-overs. Do the best you can with what you have today.
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