This past weekend when I was home, I did a side-by-side comparison of a photo of me at my slimmest (summer 2005) hanging in a family collage in my bedroom and of a photo of me at the wedding in Oaxaca in my purple dress this past March.
The cuts of the dresses being nearly equal, I was shocked to see that, although the scale tells me I have gained about 15 lbs since my lightest … I didn’t look all that different and, in fact, my shoulders looked good and square and my face didn’t look terribly different, either (ok, full disclosure: much better make-up now 😉 I’m a BareMinerals freak!).
Don’t get me wrong; I know I’ve gained and I can see exactly where (more padding on my hips, a thicker/ less defined waist, my ribs don’t stick out as much as they used to —hello, perhaps they never should have!?) but all in all, I didn’t look that dramatically different. And that, dear readers, was a shock to me.
I’ve focused so much on the whole “Yes, I’ve gained!” that sometimes I wonder if the weight just distributed itself somehow. Tangibly, it’s on my body … but it doesn’t look as bad as I guess I envision.
Truth be told, I haven’t weighed myself in a couple weeks and lord knows I won’t share numbers here. But I am sure I’ve gained; I noted before I left for N.J. that I have been over-eating (which means above my RMR for me), as I’ve managed to nip my chew/spit behavior. The next step will be eating less.
But … revelation … even with the extra pounds, I don’t feel heinous about myself. Consider this … my “winter coat,” if you will. Michigan winters are brutal, but I know it’s spring-time and I’m going to be enjoying more salads at lunch, lighter choices in general, will be outside biking more and/or running … so I’m not going to sweat it.
I finally feel like I’m making amends with myself … how I am now, today, not five months from now. And I know I posted about that in my April 13 post … but I am reiterating it because I really, truly feel good.
I don’t want to hate my reflection in the mirror, or be caught poking or prodding at any part of me. I want to just see me and be done with it. Obsess about my hair, sure … but not the size of my hips.
I am lifting, and working out — all of which makes my body stronger. And I am not eating as cleanly as I could, but I’m making strides. I am sleeping more (not rushing to the gym at the crack of dawn on an anxiety-fueled mission) and I’m pampering myself a little each day with long hot showers, a good book, good chocolate.
I have to admit, sometimes it’s hard to have a blog on disordered eating when I am trying to lose weight again. I did it the healthy way before, and though I’m not losing (yet) I am still behaving in a non-disordered manner.
The thing is, a part of me is less interested in the number on the scale, lately, than how I feel about myself.
For over two years now, I’ve been in this weight range I swore I’d never see again … but how realistic was that “never again” approach? Maybe this is where I’m meant to be. I struggle with this notion all the time.
My husband, friends, family … everyone wants me to be happy where I am, now. Not where I “was” or where I “could be.”
And despite journaling like a fiend (even when I go wayyyy over) and working out all the time, I am not seeing tangible results … but I’m also (admittedly) not giving it my all. (And sometimes I question if I really want to …)
So on the one hand, I’d like to say, “I’m good where I am and don’t need to lose weight,” but realistically, I know I can lose again and that I don’t look my healthiest. It’s a double-edged sword, for sure.
Everyone says, “When you stop trying, it will happen.” I’ve heard that about love (it’s never come about when I was looking for it, but has, each time, when I wasn’t) and I’m beginning to think that approach might work here, too.
I think it’s time to stop trying so hard. Not to give up on living a healthy life, but to start looking ahead … to being as healthy as I can so we can start a family. So I can live a long, prosperous life. So I can be a good role model for my family someday.
No one but me knows what that number on the scale says … and it doesn’t change who I am on the inside. I know once I make amends with me … the rest will fall into place.
Consider this my “Day One” … my (new) beginning of the end of the madness that has consumed me for three years. Making amends … with me.
How about you? How have you made amends with your body as it is now, or are you still struggling, too?