I had a busy day yesterday...doing what, I'm not completely sure, but I was busy, I know that. I have a tendency of staying too busy during short vacations, and I never hit the "*sigh* I'm bored" feeling. I WANT to hit that feeling, and it just isn't gonna happen this vacay. Maybe over Thanksgiving week next month. Yeah...
Still having SO much fun reading new blogs, and enjoying them SO much! Here's a couple of more you might enjoy as well:
1. This lovely lady is a crack up, but deadly serious about weight loss/maintenance at the same time. She's clever and her hair is awesome...check out her post from 10/15, entitled: "I don't have a weight problem" http://msbitchcakes.blogspot.com/
2. A thought provoking article... http://www.backinskinnyjeans.com/ from this blog in which the discussion is: what would you do if you found out your trainer/health professional had an eating disorder?
Hmmm...that discussion from #2 made me think: if I were getting good results (and the author was), would I be a strong enough person to distance myself from someone who was NOT living a healthy lifestyle? Now, not to give away the ending, the author stood by her trainer as the trainer worked through her bulimia...was she ever "cured?" Doubtful anyone ever is...bulimia seems to be the most difficult disorder to overcome...but one can manage it...but, wow, if I were getting fab results and the person who was helping me get there was self destructive (yet wasn't heaping it on ME), would I kick them to the curb? No...I would gently offer my support in her turning around her lifestyle. Gawd, do I suck, or what?!
I've been overweight many years of my life. The years from 1995 to 2007 were the worst. I probably weighed in the neighborhood of 250 for a year or two, and 220-ish for most of the rest of those years. I'm 5'4" on a tall day, and I wouldn't say I'm "big boned!" I only had ONE person ever say anything to me about my weight all of those years. (Nope, the ONE person wasn't a DOCTOR, either!) I had many "subtle" messages from family and friends, but no one ever said to me: FatMom, you're going to kill yourself!
Growing up, I was chubby...not grossly overweight, but "sturdy." My family gave me shit nearly every day of my growing up years for it. My mom was 102 pounds on a fat day, and clocked in at a hefty 120 when 9 months pregnant at 35 years old. Weight was very important to my mom, and yet it appeared she was blessed with a flea's metabolism. She ATE! I, on the other hand, ate as well, and it stuck to me like bark on a tree. So, I became anorexic. My family LOVED how I looked. (Finally...) Of course all that positive feedback did was reinforce the obsessive need to NOT eat. I became extremely underweight (80 pounds), and FINALLY they became alarmed. All of their shouting and negative comments did was FURTHER reinforce my desire to not eat.
I ended up recovering, at least outwardly, in that I started to eat again, and hovered around 110 pounds for the rest of my late teens/early 20's. But the anorexia was ingrained deeply inside of me. Or, rather, the whole "eating disorder" thing was now a part of every cell in my abused body. When I got pregnant with my son in 1994, both of my parents were dead. My mom had died the month before, and I was sad. I started to eat again...a lot. Between my sadness, my out of control feelings and now a new pregnancy, I ate and ate and ate. I gained 55 pounds with my son. He barely weighed 6 pounds. 9 months later, I got pregnant with my daughter. I kept my weight gain to 40 pounds. She weighed 8 pounds. When I delivered my daughter, I weighed 225 pounds. My husband and I had been married 2.5 years, popped out two kids and I now weighed 100 pounds more than I did the day we got married.
He must have thought: REFUND!!!
Was it the pregnancies that "made" me gain weight? Nah... It was an excuse to eat. For the first time in my life, I felt that I could EAT and no one could say a word.
However, after having my son, I got all the way down (!!) to 170, just before getting pregnant with my daughter. After my daughter was born, things really sucked in my marriage, and I didn't lose any weight, and, in fact...gained a lot more. That's when I got up to around 250+ and stayed there for a couple/three years. I can't believe I didn't have a heart attack.
I went on a zillion diets. Every Monday was "the DAY." God help me if the FIRST of the month was ALSO a Monday, because that was a double whammy.
It took me years to realize my weight was not about eating. It wasn't about food. It wasn't about my marriage, my family, my job, my lack of self discipline (because hey...being anorexic takes more self discipline than you can shake a stick at)...my fatness wasn't about my love of great tasting food...do you know how many times I've eaten something IN ITS ENTIRETY, all the while saying out loud: Gawd, this doesn't taste very good... it was about filling up a hole inside of me with food. And until I could learn to fill up the hole with something besides food, I'd always be fat.
I'm still trying to find what fills up that hole. But I'm learning little bits here and there. I've learned that the hole cannot be filled up with potato chips, cookies or pizza. I think that once I learn to TRULY love myself, then the hole can be filled. Once that hole is filled, I think I'll plant a beautiful tree in it...