Hello, Wednesday! We've made it halfway through the week and I thought I would check in about my weight stuff instead of The Brit for an day. After all, it can't be boys, boys, boys all the time, can it? I'm thinking I'll reserve Wednesday's from here on out (no, not only Wednesdays but at least Wednesday's) for my post related to weight and fitness and my overactive imagination on what I see when I look in the mirror. So here goes...
On my 24th birthday, I weighed 235 pounds. I had been overweight my entire life and I was getting pretty freaking sick of being the fat girl. I remember counting the calories in my lunch I packed in 3rd grade. Bologna (in case you were wondering, yes, I did just sing the Oscar Mayer song to spell that) sandwich with fat-free bologna? 220 calories. Snackwell sandwich cookies? 120 calories. Yup, this was my life...good times. After a lifetime of dieting though, at 24, I had nothing but stretch marks to show for it. I decided to change my plans. I was getting healthy and losing the weight for me and not because I thought it was what society would want from me. On my 24th birthday I decided that what I wanted that year was a real life — one that wasn’t limited by how much I weighed or how I felt about my body. One that wasn’t consumed by a constant battle with the number on the scale and the body I loathed in the mirror.
Three years later, I am now 27. At my lowest scale number I had lost 99 pounds. That 99 was pretty unreasonable though as I had let dieting and exercise completely take over my life... so I now stand pretty steady (though I lose and gain the same 5-7 pounds every 2 months more or less) around 155. I'm mostly happy here. My jeans are size 6 and my shirts are size small or medium. I can now shop in most any store I want. And yet, to be honest, most weeks I fight with the mirror more than I ever did when I weighed in at 240. This is likely due to the fact that I never really looked into the mirror closely before, but this overall trend is concerning in and of itself.
I've made progress over the past few months. I was getting to the point where my dieting was becoming an eating disorder. At my lowest (around the time I weighed in at my 99 pound loss), I spent one terrible evening when I had been so hungry, I decided I would binge and purge, crying on my bathroom floor. This was my very darkest hour, without a doubt. I ate. And I ate. And then I went to stick my finger down my throat. (Hey, if they could do it on Full House, I could too, right?) As I sat on the bathroom floor, I knew just how crazy this plan was and I judged myself. Harshly. Nevertheless, I rammed my finger as far down my throat as I could manage over and over again. I gagged repeatedly but I never could manage to make myself throw up. Self preservation? Maybe. But my eyes watered and my face swelled with the struggle and finally, after 10 minutes or so of trying, I crumpled to the bathroom floor feeling completely broken and abused by the warped pieces of my own mind.
I knew how bad this was. I knew how entirely wrong and unhealthy this was. And I had to do something about it. I called my trainer the next day and told him my story and that I was devastated. I told him I could no longer follow the strict plan I was on and that I needed a mental break. It was one of the hardest and best decisions I have ever made. I was spiraling completely out of control and I need to regain my footing quick before I couldn't recover. I didn't want an eating disorder but I was quickly finding myself one and I need to make some changes.
That night on the bathroom floor happened about a year and a half ago. Since then, I have never done anything like that again. But I have struggled with balance tremendously. I have gained and lost repeatedly. I did a full marathon. I did a half marathon. I did a sprint triathlon. I tried many fitness classes and even Bikram yoga. I gained 10 pounds and I lost 15. Then I gained 10 pounds again and I lost only 5. This all happens frequently. I gain and I lose and I repeat the cycle. A lot.
About 6 months ago, I started seeing a therapist. I call her my crazy-friend. I see her for pretty much everything I talk about on here. In fact, she will be really proud of me for even starting this blog because I've talked about it a lot. (gold star for me!) I have started to really work on my balance with diet and fitness and my body image. Over the past 2 months, I have stopped jumping on the scale every morning and judging myself based on the number glowing back. I trust myself to know where I am. (And you know what? I do! Every time I have check my brain weight against the scale weight, Ive been dead on. I know me. That's huge.)
In talking to my crazy-friend, I have made a lot of progress. I like where I am right now. I am at peace with the number on the scale. I didn't say I wanted it to stay there — I think I will forever want to be just a bit thinner or a bit fitter — but I am good here. I still have a lot of changes I want to make and I know they will take time. I can wait. I feel like I can slow down and find a good way to get myself there now instead of feeling like I need a 'quick fix'. Right now, I like myself. And that is a whole lot more than I used to be able to say. I feel happy to be me and I let my happy shine out into the world. And while it's not the end of my journey (or even likely a halfway point), its a pretty damn good place to start.
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