I got on the scale this morning. What I knew was happening showed up in the numbers: I’m up by over 5lbs from my lowest weight for the first time in over 2 years (not including my pregnancy).
It’s no surprise, I’m finally going out a little more, having some drinks, checking out restaurants. Portion-control is totally out the window and I’ve been hitting the junk food a lot, something that hasn’t effected me all that much until now as I’m cutting back on breastfeeding around the clock. The bonus of burning an extra 500 calories a day is no more!
All of this plus my return to being mostly sedentary has culminated to my finally hitting the panic button this morning. It’s what I need. I need to be scared and worried. I need to be punched in the proverbial gut with a dose of reality. The fear is making me wake up. It’s making me responsive again. Alert. Aware. Already today, I’ve walked to the far away bathroom twice. I’m on already on my second refill of my 32 oz water bottle and it’s not even noon. I’m charging my fitbit and firing up My Fitness Pal. I’ve committed to 2 pacts on Pact. I’m asking people on my facebook page to join me on a small challenge for the week.
I’m not going to keep slipping backwards. Why? Because it’s no fun back there. I just got done donating my old size 20 and 18 clothes when we moved in December.
If I slip back I have to BUY THOSE SIZES AGAIN.
If I slip back, I will start hiding in pictures and avoid looking in the mirror.
If I slip back, I won’t feel as sexy in front of my husband.
If I slip back, I may never get those race medals out of my sock drawer.
If I slip back, I’ll find myself slightly depressed, passive and unwilling to play outside with my kids.
If I slip back, I will feel less like the real me.
I often struggle with weight loss making me feel beautiful. I bounce back and forth between focusing on what I want to look and feel like for me versus what I want everyone else to see. A doctor or personal trainer might use the scale to rate my level of health but I use it to rate how willing or unwilling I am to take care of myself. The thing is, if I’m a size 16 for the rest of my life, I’m pretty ok with that as I have learned in the last year or so. I arrived at this size right before my pregnancy last year and I have been here since then and I’ve been pretty content. What I am scared about is the prospect of going BACK. Back to a time that had nothing to do with taking care of myself. Weight and clothing sizes are nothing but numbers, this I know to be true. But there are certain numbers that alert me to the fact that I am forgetting to nurture myself from the inside out. The number on the scale I saw today and the tight fit of my jeans over the weekend was a wake up call. I’m slipping on my self-care. I’m treating every day like a holiday and I’m quickly forgetting what it’s like to truly “treat myself” or enjoy a special occasion. I’m “eating my feelings” a lot lately, feelings associated with being tired (which is always because kids), stressed (which is always because kids and my job) and stretched a little thin (which is always because I’m a stubborn multitasker that likes attention).
So really, enough is enough already with the use of food as a coping mechanism. That was the old schtick that made me miserable. Although it is true that every day is a gift worth celebrating, I think I’m finally ready to stop partying it up with daily cake and get back to business.