I have been reading some folks' blogs today about slipping, falling, failing somehow at the task that they have set out for themselves. I'm not entirely sure why, but we all seem to think that we are the only ones who do this. And, yet, there are so many of us who do. It is rare, in my experience, that the road of anyone's journey is straight and free of detours. The assumption that we are alone in our misery and frailty seems to feed the guilt we feel when we indulge in our secret shame - in my case either food or wine.
But I have come to understand through my repeated failures, and yet repeated + 1 recoveries, that there are at least 2 great and wonderful lessons available to us in this process.
The first, most obvious, lesson is to find our triggers. Whatever it is - situation, environment, sugar or a combination or all of them - we are given the challenge of discovering how our Selves respond to these things. And then we get to figure out a way around them, through them or instead of them. We get to see what works in our lives and what doesn't. Sort of like "closet tossing" - we can try on different solutions and see what fits. We will keep those and toss the ones that don't.
The second, equally important but less obvious, lesson here is to understand that we have the tools, the power and the choice to recover our footing. We can get back up again, no matter what knocks us down. No matter how far down we fall, we have the power within us to get back up. We may do it a little bit at a time, or we may do it all at once. But we can do it.
And really, in all honesty and humility, what more important thing do we have to do?
Wednesday, August 28, 2013
Thursday, August 22, 2013
Ah, Drama
Some days, I hate the transparency of social media. This is one of those days.
Sometime in April, my former fiance, Bob, committed suicide. I say "sometime in April" because no one really knows when - he wasn't found for nearly 2 weeks. He had been physically ill for some time and, more importantly, severely depressed for months. We had broken up around Thanksgiving, but it still hit me hard. During the time that he was going downhill, I had started Medifast. I was choosing to get healthy. He was allowing himself to get sicker. I had been trying for months to get him to fight for himself - change doctors as the one he had wasn't helping, do some research into what exercise a person with COPD could do, walk around the block, eat better. I mean, I'm no nutritionist, but I'm pretty sure that Velveeta is not a miracle food, regardless of what Bob said.
Anyway, we broke up. He got sicker. And chose to end it. We had a wonderful memorial service for him at which I sang. I am still considered family by his mother and siblings.
Yesterday would have been his 61st birthday. Which brings me back to social media.
People were posting birthday wishes on his Facebook page, which his son has kept going. Then along comes his ex-wife, whom he divorced 40 years ago, commenting on his page. She had been given his private journal to read by their son and been given "friend" status after he died. She started making comments yesterday about how she would have been there for him if she had known he was no longer engaged. There is no woman in the world that Bob disliked more than his ex-wife, and these comments didn't set well with his sisters. This morning, there are new posts. She is now publicly blaming Bob's mother and I for his death. And I have been blocked from the page. Needless to say, his sisters are pretty upset and have asked for the page to be removed.
Ah, the drama! Bob hated drama. And to have it being played out on his page in his name is simply shameful. Regardless of what is said about me, it is just vile to walk on his memory this way. His private journals were not written for anyone to read, especially not his ex-wife. I never read them. I never asked to. They were private. His grasp on reality was already slipping when we broke up. I can only imagine what it was by the time he died.
No one was to blame for his death. Depression and mental illness were behind it, but he was the one who made the choice. Lets just let the the poor man rest. He is not here. He doesn't care about the mama drama. He is busy playing his drums in a band with Joplin, Hendrix, Morrison and Lennon!
Sometime in April, my former fiance, Bob, committed suicide. I say "sometime in April" because no one really knows when - he wasn't found for nearly 2 weeks. He had been physically ill for some time and, more importantly, severely depressed for months. We had broken up around Thanksgiving, but it still hit me hard. During the time that he was going downhill, I had started Medifast. I was choosing to get healthy. He was allowing himself to get sicker. I had been trying for months to get him to fight for himself - change doctors as the one he had wasn't helping, do some research into what exercise a person with COPD could do, walk around the block, eat better. I mean, I'm no nutritionist, but I'm pretty sure that Velveeta is not a miracle food, regardless of what Bob said.
Anyway, we broke up. He got sicker. And chose to end it. We had a wonderful memorial service for him at which I sang. I am still considered family by his mother and siblings.
Yesterday would have been his 61st birthday. Which brings me back to social media.
People were posting birthday wishes on his Facebook page, which his son has kept going. Then along comes his ex-wife, whom he divorced 40 years ago, commenting on his page. She had been given his private journal to read by their son and been given "friend" status after he died. She started making comments yesterday about how she would have been there for him if she had known he was no longer engaged. There is no woman in the world that Bob disliked more than his ex-wife, and these comments didn't set well with his sisters. This morning, there are new posts. She is now publicly blaming Bob's mother and I for his death. And I have been blocked from the page. Needless to say, his sisters are pretty upset and have asked for the page to be removed.
Ah, the drama! Bob hated drama. And to have it being played out on his page in his name is simply shameful. Regardless of what is said about me, it is just vile to walk on his memory this way. His private journals were not written for anyone to read, especially not his ex-wife. I never read them. I never asked to. They were private. His grasp on reality was already slipping when we broke up. I can only imagine what it was by the time he died.
No one was to blame for his death. Depression and mental illness were behind it, but he was the one who made the choice. Lets just let the the poor man rest. He is not here. He doesn't care about the mama drama. He is busy playing his drums in a band with Joplin, Hendrix, Morrison and Lennon!
Wednesday, August 21, 2013
Be Careful What You Wish For
When I was a little girl - oh, maybe 5 or so - there were 2 things I wished for. I didn't want to be a mommy (yet). I didn't want to be an astronaut (yet). I wanted to be a nurse. And I wanted to marry my Daddy.
Over the years, I grew to want many different things. I wanted to be an archeologist, a teacher, marine biologist, a biomedical engineer. I wound up being cashier, a mommy, a waitress, a bartender and eventually a computer programmer and single parent. But I never lost my adoration of my Daddy.
My mother, sure. I lost that adoration. She was the disciplinarian, the time keeper, the rule setter and that horrible horrible person who made me stay in line and would never ever let me do anything I wanted to do. Like smoke. Or stay out past 7 pm. Or stay up late. Or not do my homework. Or talk back (freedom of speech? what was that?). She was "Mo-o-o-m!". Said with a sneer and rolled eyes. Behind her back of course - I wasn't that brave. Or that stupid. But Daddy? Now, he was always on our side. He stood up to the mean woman. He thought we were perfect just because we breathed. How could Mom ever have competed with that? And having been a Mom myself, I have also been that horrible horrible woman who never let them do anything fun.
Fast forward a whole lot of years. And where does life find me? I am my Dad's caretaker, and previously my Mom's too. I am in charge of the medicine. I have medical power of attorney. I spend all day, almost every day, 13 hours a day, with Dad - caring for him, monitoring his meds, his food, his exercise, doing my best to keep him safe. I am the nurse.
I also do the laundry, the shopping, the cooking, the planning, the organizing and manage the household expenses. I am the House Wife.
And I wouldn't have it any other way.
But be careful what you wish for. Even when you are 5. Life has a way of giving us exactly that. Eventually.
Over the years, I grew to want many different things. I wanted to be an archeologist, a teacher, marine biologist, a biomedical engineer. I wound up being cashier, a mommy, a waitress, a bartender and eventually a computer programmer and single parent. But I never lost my adoration of my Daddy.
My mother, sure. I lost that adoration. She was the disciplinarian, the time keeper, the rule setter and that horrible horrible person who made me stay in line and would never ever let me do anything I wanted to do. Like smoke. Or stay out past 7 pm. Or stay up late. Or not do my homework. Or talk back (freedom of speech? what was that?). She was "Mo-o-o-m!". Said with a sneer and rolled eyes. Behind her back of course - I wasn't that brave. Or that stupid. But Daddy? Now, he was always on our side. He stood up to the mean woman. He thought we were perfect just because we breathed. How could Mom ever have competed with that? And having been a Mom myself, I have also been that horrible horrible woman who never let them do anything fun.
Fast forward a whole lot of years. And where does life find me? I am my Dad's caretaker, and previously my Mom's too. I am in charge of the medicine. I have medical power of attorney. I spend all day, almost every day, 13 hours a day, with Dad - caring for him, monitoring his meds, his food, his exercise, doing my best to keep him safe. I am the nurse.
I also do the laundry, the shopping, the cooking, the planning, the organizing and manage the household expenses. I am the House Wife.
And I wouldn't have it any other way.
But be careful what you wish for. Even when you are 5. Life has a way of giving us exactly that. Eventually.
Tuesday, August 20, 2013
Shakespeare and I
Neither one of us has written much lately.
I have been struggling this past week. I had a couple of weeks where I was calm and working my program with no issues. But the stress of a particular circumstance that I can't do anything about but am not allowed to even talk about is getting to me. Enough so that I have, once again, broken out with Shingles.
I have been getting Shingles - more accurately, I have been getting A Shingle on my back - since I was 28 years old. That was 33 years ago. At first, I thought it was a spider bite on my back. But after getting them a few times I thought it was probably not likely that a spider was biting me in exactly the same place on my back each time. I was in at the doctor for an unrelated issue one time while in full outbreak and showed it to him. That is how I knew I had Shingles. It is not all that bad - for me, it is like having a big mosquito bite on my back. My back aches for a few days before the skin starts to itch and then the sore comes. Most years, since I have been taking care of my folks, I will get them 6 or 7 times per year. This is my first one this year, which is really something considering all the junk that has happened this year.
Anyway, I am itchy. I am cranky. And you know what doesn't help? Overeating. Trust me, I have tried it. Didn't help. But I have found some things that, even though they are supposedly healthy and do not contain sugar, I cannot eat in moderation. Now I know. Even when they are on sale, they are a bad buy for me.
Today is a new day. A whole new day full of promise. And chock full of the opportunities for new crises. But I will handle them, even though today I am not at my best. What a relief it is, though, knowing that there is something simple, like 5&1, to come "home" to. A no-brainer eating plan that will get my body back to top fighting form in a few days, if only I let it. I am so grateful that I found this. And that I have found this community. Without this community, my interactions would be comprised almost exclusively of the company of my Dad, an old man whose dementia progresses every day. I love him, but I need to talk to other people on occasion who have more going on in their life than America's Funniest Home Videos and Lawrence Welk. Bless his heart.
I have been struggling this past week. I had a couple of weeks where I was calm and working my program with no issues. But the stress of a particular circumstance that I can't do anything about but am not allowed to even talk about is getting to me. Enough so that I have, once again, broken out with Shingles.
I have been getting Shingles - more accurately, I have been getting A Shingle on my back - since I was 28 years old. That was 33 years ago. At first, I thought it was a spider bite on my back. But after getting them a few times I thought it was probably not likely that a spider was biting me in exactly the same place on my back each time. I was in at the doctor for an unrelated issue one time while in full outbreak and showed it to him. That is how I knew I had Shingles. It is not all that bad - for me, it is like having a big mosquito bite on my back. My back aches for a few days before the skin starts to itch and then the sore comes. Most years, since I have been taking care of my folks, I will get them 6 or 7 times per year. This is my first one this year, which is really something considering all the junk that has happened this year.
Anyway, I am itchy. I am cranky. And you know what doesn't help? Overeating. Trust me, I have tried it. Didn't help. But I have found some things that, even though they are supposedly healthy and do not contain sugar, I cannot eat in moderation. Now I know. Even when they are on sale, they are a bad buy for me.
Today is a new day. A whole new day full of promise. And chock full of the opportunities for new crises. But I will handle them, even though today I am not at my best. What a relief it is, though, knowing that there is something simple, like 5&1, to come "home" to. A no-brainer eating plan that will get my body back to top fighting form in a few days, if only I let it. I am so grateful that I found this. And that I have found this community. Without this community, my interactions would be comprised almost exclusively of the company of my Dad, an old man whose dementia progresses every day. I love him, but I need to talk to other people on occasion who have more going on in their life than America's Funniest Home Videos and Lawrence Welk. Bless his heart.
Friday, August 9, 2013
Why?
I have been considering this for some time - why? Why am I doing this? Why am I still doing this after so much time? What is my reason for being on this program or any other program? I was stumped on how to identify this. Then I started looking back at some really old writings, from back when I started, and found it again.
Six and 1/2 years ago, I was 300 lbs. and in the hospital with a nasty case of cellulitis up my whole left leg. I was only in for 4 days, but it took weeks and months to actually recover. (Side note: I have a good friend who was hospitalized on April 3 with a case that was not as serious as mine upon presentation, but she is STILL not home, some 4+ months later. I didn't realize how serious this can be.) I was weak, sick, fat, alone 3000 miles away from my family and very depressed. While lying in my hospital bed, though, I had a lot of time to think. About where I was, why I was there, what was going on in my life, etc. After being released and finding out that I would not be feeling well for quite some time, that recovery would be counted in weeks, not days, I was slapped in the face with my own mortality.
At the time, I was 54 years old, almost 55. But this illness was not enough to make me do anything about my health. But it was enough to make me think. And my thoughts turned to my mother. After the age of 60, my mother developed heart problems, had a heart attack, developed Crohn's disease, had a pacemaker/defibrillator implanted and eventually developed Type 2 Diabetes. But she would not do anything about it for herself. Rather, she would sit in her chair expecting to be waited on and deteriorating. She had a definite princess complex, and my Dad went along with it. I decided that, even though I may still become victim of these things, I was not going to sit on the couch and wait for it to happen. I was going to give Disease and Death a moving target. So I joined Weight Watchers, and over the course of 2 years, lost 113 lbs. I joined a gym. I bought a bicycle and rode it. I walked. I took up yoga.
Then 3 1/2 years ago, my always thin, healthy active Dad went in for a "routine" stent placement, and the thing blew up in his heart. He was without a pulse for more than 30 seconds, had a couple of heart attacks and a stroke. He, too, wound up with a pacemaker/defibrillator implanted. I left my career of 25+ years and came home to be their caretaker.
Over the course of the next year or so, I suffered a severe identity crisis. I was also hospitalized, again, with cellulitis. And, again, was in the hospital for Christmas. I gained back half of the weight that I had lost, even though I was still going to Weight Watchers. I was still strong, active, going to the gym every day, eating clean most of the time, but I ate too much. And I lost my grasp on why I had started this journey in the first place.
I know I made a short story long, but getting back to my why. I am not running FROM disease and death. But I look at the choices my mother made and what the results were. I look at the fact that she refused to do anything for herself until she got so bad that she could no longer do it if she tried. I watched her mentally deteriorate from repeated strokes due to badly controlled Diabetes that eventually left her paralyzed on one side, unable to speak and with difficulty swallowing. And it makes me angry that she wouldn't fight for herself. I watched my fiance give in to depression and disease waiting for a magic pill to make him all better, refusing to fight for himself until he no longer could. So he committed suicide. And it makes me angry. I see my Dad struggle with failing health and dementia, even though he did everything right (ate right, low blood pressure, retired after the age of 70, avid reader, crossword puzzle aficionado, played bridge, walked every day, etc). He has survived 3 separate unrelated cancers. And this, too, makes me angry.
But it spurs me on. I know that these things could be waiting for me, too. This is my genetic history, and I am 61 years old. But I don't have to just accept it. And this is my WHY.
I refuse to be a sitting target for Death and Disease. I refuse to wait for them to get to me. If they want me, they are going to have to move quickly because I don't sit still for long. I will do everything I can, whatever is up to me, so that I can avoid or at the least postpone the illnesses that have befallen my parents. I will fight for myself, for my life, because it matters. My mother mattered. My fiance mattered. My father matters. Nothing that I could ever put into my mouth can ever be as important as this. I will fight because I matter!
So, what is your WHY?
Six and 1/2 years ago, I was 300 lbs. and in the hospital with a nasty case of cellulitis up my whole left leg. I was only in for 4 days, but it took weeks and months to actually recover. (Side note: I have a good friend who was hospitalized on April 3 with a case that was not as serious as mine upon presentation, but she is STILL not home, some 4+ months later. I didn't realize how serious this can be.) I was weak, sick, fat, alone 3000 miles away from my family and very depressed. While lying in my hospital bed, though, I had a lot of time to think. About where I was, why I was there, what was going on in my life, etc. After being released and finding out that I would not be feeling well for quite some time, that recovery would be counted in weeks, not days, I was slapped in the face with my own mortality.
At the time, I was 54 years old, almost 55. But this illness was not enough to make me do anything about my health. But it was enough to make me think. And my thoughts turned to my mother. After the age of 60, my mother developed heart problems, had a heart attack, developed Crohn's disease, had a pacemaker/defibrillator implanted and eventually developed Type 2 Diabetes. But she would not do anything about it for herself. Rather, she would sit in her chair expecting to be waited on and deteriorating. She had a definite princess complex, and my Dad went along with it. I decided that, even though I may still become victim of these things, I was not going to sit on the couch and wait for it to happen. I was going to give Disease and Death a moving target. So I joined Weight Watchers, and over the course of 2 years, lost 113 lbs. I joined a gym. I bought a bicycle and rode it. I walked. I took up yoga.
Then 3 1/2 years ago, my always thin, healthy active Dad went in for a "routine" stent placement, and the thing blew up in his heart. He was without a pulse for more than 30 seconds, had a couple of heart attacks and a stroke. He, too, wound up with a pacemaker/defibrillator implanted. I left my career of 25+ years and came home to be their caretaker.
Over the course of the next year or so, I suffered a severe identity crisis. I was also hospitalized, again, with cellulitis. And, again, was in the hospital for Christmas. I gained back half of the weight that I had lost, even though I was still going to Weight Watchers. I was still strong, active, going to the gym every day, eating clean most of the time, but I ate too much. And I lost my grasp on why I had started this journey in the first place.
I know I made a short story long, but getting back to my why. I am not running FROM disease and death. But I look at the choices my mother made and what the results were. I look at the fact that she refused to do anything for herself until she got so bad that she could no longer do it if she tried. I watched her mentally deteriorate from repeated strokes due to badly controlled Diabetes that eventually left her paralyzed on one side, unable to speak and with difficulty swallowing. And it makes me angry that she wouldn't fight for herself. I watched my fiance give in to depression and disease waiting for a magic pill to make him all better, refusing to fight for himself until he no longer could. So he committed suicide. And it makes me angry. I see my Dad struggle with failing health and dementia, even though he did everything right (ate right, low blood pressure, retired after the age of 70, avid reader, crossword puzzle aficionado, played bridge, walked every day, etc). He has survived 3 separate unrelated cancers. And this, too, makes me angry.
But it spurs me on. I know that these things could be waiting for me, too. This is my genetic history, and I am 61 years old. But I don't have to just accept it. And this is my WHY.
I refuse to be a sitting target for Death and Disease. I refuse to wait for them to get to me. If they want me, they are going to have to move quickly because I don't sit still for long. I will do everything I can, whatever is up to me, so that I can avoid or at the least postpone the illnesses that have befallen my parents. I will fight for myself, for my life, because it matters. My mother mattered. My fiance mattered. My father matters. Nothing that I could ever put into my mouth can ever be as important as this. I will fight because I matter!
So, what is your WHY?
Thursday, August 8, 2013
One thing at a time
I have been seeing this particular philosophy in several other people's blogs - tackle on bad habit at a time. I thought "I don't get it". I'm not sure what I didn't "get", but I would read that and respond with nothing but a mental question mark.
Today, I think I see what they meant. I have a few bad habits that I need to work on in order to maintain the weight I have lost and will continue to lose. Until I get these things under control, I will wind up gaining back the weight that I got rid of. A few of them are:
- "helping" the dog eat the cheese that is wrapped around his pills
- tasting the ice cream when I dish it up for Dad
- indulging in an extra meal (or so) after my final meal of the day while in bed
- over-topping the whipped cream on my jello
- tasting the off plan food I am cooking for others to check for doneness
- and probably several more that are not coming to me right now.
What made me get that I needed to tackle one at a time, rather than all at once, was the sudden realization last night that I no longer eat the cheese while pilling the dog. It doesn't even occur to me to do it, and I'm not sure when that happened. But I do recall actively reminding myself to not eat the cheese. And now, I don't. I give him his pills, feed him his homemade meal and put it all away again. None goes into my mouth. That is one thing that I've conquered.
So rather than tackling everything all at once like I normally would do, I will work on one at a time until I have that habit down pat. Like the cheese. This next habit that I am going to work on getting a handle on is the biggest one for me - the extra meal (or so) in bed. Which often leads to a full blown binge because once I get too full, I am off and running. The other things are fairly minor by comparison.
I have one day under my belt already, although overcoming a habit that isn't rearing its ugly head at the time is really not a big accomplishment. And one day does not break a habit. But it has to start with the first day. And continue. And then keep going to protect what I fixed. And then, one day, I will suddenly realize that this is no longer an issue. And then I will have 2.
Today, I think I see what they meant. I have a few bad habits that I need to work on in order to maintain the weight I have lost and will continue to lose. Until I get these things under control, I will wind up gaining back the weight that I got rid of. A few of them are:
- "helping" the dog eat the cheese that is wrapped around his pills
- tasting the ice cream when I dish it up for Dad
- indulging in an extra meal (or so) after my final meal of the day while in bed
- over-topping the whipped cream on my jello
- tasting the off plan food I am cooking for others to check for doneness
- and probably several more that are not coming to me right now.
What made me get that I needed to tackle one at a time, rather than all at once, was the sudden realization last night that I no longer eat the cheese while pilling the dog. It doesn't even occur to me to do it, and I'm not sure when that happened. But I do recall actively reminding myself to not eat the cheese. And now, I don't. I give him his pills, feed him his homemade meal and put it all away again. None goes into my mouth. That is one thing that I've conquered.
So rather than tackling everything all at once like I normally would do, I will work on one at a time until I have that habit down pat. Like the cheese. This next habit that I am going to work on getting a handle on is the biggest one for me - the extra meal (or so) in bed. Which often leads to a full blown binge because once I get too full, I am off and running. The other things are fairly minor by comparison.
I have one day under my belt already, although overcoming a habit that isn't rearing its ugly head at the time is really not a big accomplishment. And one day does not break a habit. But it has to start with the first day. And continue. And then keep going to protect what I fixed. And then, one day, I will suddenly realize that this is no longer an issue. And then I will have 2.
Tuesday, August 6, 2013
I did it
I have been a little off kilter of late. Not binging, per se, but a little bit more generous in my bites and tastes here and there. Yesterday, I decided that, rather than going for 100% on plan, I would simply have an all Medifast day and then my lean & green. Ok, that sounds like the same thing, I know. But, for me, saying "I'm going to be 100% On Plan for 2 weeks" just felt like too much pressure. But to say "Here are my meals, this is what I will eat today. Tomorrow will take care of itself." was so much more doable. And calming. I'm not sure exactly why it is different - this is what I do most days. But this journey, more than anything else, is a journey of the mind. And in my mind, this was different.
So, I went along yesterday, eating my meals, not really even caring about anything else. Until dinner time. I was cooking tater tots for Dad. Not even thinking, I popped on in my mouth to test to see if they were done. Nope. So 5 minutes later, I did it again. It took 4 tater tots to deem them ready to eat. Now, had I been going for the "100% OP" thing, that would have spelled doom. Instead, I said "oops, I didn't mean to do that. I need to find a different means of testing those things". Had I been going for 100%, the next step would have been tasting the ice cream when I dished it up - especially that big solid salty dark chocolate piece that was just sitting there waiting for me. I gave it to Dad. I didn't even lick my fingers because, you know, I hadn't actually failed yet.
In bed, Felix The Cat and I shared our bag o' bites. And my mind kept telling me that I could have something more. I didn't need it, but my mind played these very familiar games. "Nutrition Support says you can have a 6th meal if you need it". "You are probably in great shape for carbs, you can fit this in.", etc. However, I didn't need an extra meal. I wasn't hungry. And I wasn't fighting binge demons. No, what I was fighting was HABIT. Three times, my foot started to come out of bed to go get a bar, or a bag of cereal, or some pretzels. And three times, before my foot hit the floor, I said, out loud, "NO" and pulled the limb back under the covers. And picked up my book and continued reading. I have no doubt, though, that had I given in to the habit, the binge demons would have woken up and started screaming. And I know how that would have ended.
So, in the end, I did quite well. I avoided 2 big habits of mine - tasting the ice cream and grabbing an extra meal in bed. And, this morning again, I woke up glad I had not given in. And, today again, I have my food planned out. This is what I will eat today. The one variable in today's plan is that I am off and my son is cooking dinner. So I really have no idea what we will be having. Likely, we will go out as he is not feeling well - he has a molar that has him in agony and will not be feeling like eating. But, that is tonight. I will handle that. Today is sunny, warm and full of possibilities.
So, I went along yesterday, eating my meals, not really even caring about anything else. Until dinner time. I was cooking tater tots for Dad. Not even thinking, I popped on in my mouth to test to see if they were done. Nope. So 5 minutes later, I did it again. It took 4 tater tots to deem them ready to eat. Now, had I been going for the "100% OP" thing, that would have spelled doom. Instead, I said "oops, I didn't mean to do that. I need to find a different means of testing those things". Had I been going for 100%, the next step would have been tasting the ice cream when I dished it up - especially that big solid salty dark chocolate piece that was just sitting there waiting for me. I gave it to Dad. I didn't even lick my fingers because, you know, I hadn't actually failed yet.
In bed, Felix The Cat and I shared our bag o' bites. And my mind kept telling me that I could have something more. I didn't need it, but my mind played these very familiar games. "Nutrition Support says you can have a 6th meal if you need it". "You are probably in great shape for carbs, you can fit this in.", etc. However, I didn't need an extra meal. I wasn't hungry. And I wasn't fighting binge demons. No, what I was fighting was HABIT. Three times, my foot started to come out of bed to go get a bar, or a bag of cereal, or some pretzels. And three times, before my foot hit the floor, I said, out loud, "NO" and pulled the limb back under the covers. And picked up my book and continued reading. I have no doubt, though, that had I given in to the habit, the binge demons would have woken up and started screaming. And I know how that would have ended.
So, in the end, I did quite well. I avoided 2 big habits of mine - tasting the ice cream and grabbing an extra meal in bed. And, this morning again, I woke up glad I had not given in. And, today again, I have my food planned out. This is what I will eat today. The one variable in today's plan is that I am off and my son is cooking dinner. So I really have no idea what we will be having. Likely, we will go out as he is not feeling well - he has a molar that has him in agony and will not be feeling like eating. But, that is tonight. I will handle that. Today is sunny, warm and full of possibilities.
Thursday, August 1, 2013
Why did I do this? or Lessons learned
There have been so many times over the past 20 years or so that I bemoaned the fact that I had allowed myself to become morbidly obese. What kind of person does that to themselves? What kind of weak excuse for a human being was I?
Well, I am here to say that nothing in life is wasted. We are precious, complicated creatures who are greatly valuable just as we are. We never really needed to prove anything or be anything other than who we were. We learn and we grow, even during these excruciatingly difficult periods of our lives. Maybe especially during these times.
Case in point: I list one of my NSVs as being able to get up off of the floor without doing any crazy gymnastics to get there. But 3 years ago, I left my life in Florida and moved back to Spokane to take care of my parents - my mother in particular, at the time. She had gotten very weak on one side of her body from repeated mini strokes over time. And she was obese, short and difficult to hold on to. It was not uncommon for her to fall. My Dad, who was 84 at that time, had just gotten out of the hospital after having a "routine stent" blow up in his heart during placement and as a result was not in great shape either. So, she would fall. And they would have no choice but to call the Fire Department to get her up off the floor.
The first time she fell after I got here, I thought "I know how to do this! I used to have to do this to get up off the floor myself! When I weighed 300 lbs, I had no choice.". So I had her get on her knees and hold onto a chair while I helped get her legs up under her and then she could stand. No Fire Department needed.
Had I not "allowed myself" to become morbidly obese, I would not have started my weight loss journey and learned how to feed my body in a healthy manner. I would never have become a "Food Nazi". As a result of learning these lessons for myself, however, I was able to feed my mother's body, control her diabetes and help to slowly take some sadly needed weight off of her poor little frame.
Had I not been where I had been, I would not have learned the compassion I needed to see my parents as the frail old people they had become over time. Because I would have still been judging myself for being fat and weak and would have projected it onto them. I would not have spent any time at a gym and as a result I would not have had the physical strength to get my mother in and out of the shower, up off the floor, get her wheelchair up and down the too-short ramp we installed in the garage and before that get her weak body up and down stairs to get in and out of the house.
And, now that Mom is gone, Dad needs much the same sort of help.
So the next time we find ourselves berating ourselves for allowing ourselves to be where we are, or were, let's stop and ask ourselves - what lessons am I learning by being in this place? Where might I possible apply what I am learning? Because, whether we realize it or not, we are learning. If we are alive, we are learning.
Well, I am here to say that nothing in life is wasted. We are precious, complicated creatures who are greatly valuable just as we are. We never really needed to prove anything or be anything other than who we were. We learn and we grow, even during these excruciatingly difficult periods of our lives. Maybe especially during these times.
Case in point: I list one of my NSVs as being able to get up off of the floor without doing any crazy gymnastics to get there. But 3 years ago, I left my life in Florida and moved back to Spokane to take care of my parents - my mother in particular, at the time. She had gotten very weak on one side of her body from repeated mini strokes over time. And she was obese, short and difficult to hold on to. It was not uncommon for her to fall. My Dad, who was 84 at that time, had just gotten out of the hospital after having a "routine stent" blow up in his heart during placement and as a result was not in great shape either. So, she would fall. And they would have no choice but to call the Fire Department to get her up off the floor.
The first time she fell after I got here, I thought "I know how to do this! I used to have to do this to get up off the floor myself! When I weighed 300 lbs, I had no choice.". So I had her get on her knees and hold onto a chair while I helped get her legs up under her and then she could stand. No Fire Department needed.
Had I not "allowed myself" to become morbidly obese, I would not have started my weight loss journey and learned how to feed my body in a healthy manner. I would never have become a "Food Nazi". As a result of learning these lessons for myself, however, I was able to feed my mother's body, control her diabetes and help to slowly take some sadly needed weight off of her poor little frame.
Had I not been where I had been, I would not have learned the compassion I needed to see my parents as the frail old people they had become over time. Because I would have still been judging myself for being fat and weak and would have projected it onto them. I would not have spent any time at a gym and as a result I would not have had the physical strength to get my mother in and out of the shower, up off the floor, get her wheelchair up and down the too-short ramp we installed in the garage and before that get her weak body up and down stairs to get in and out of the house.
And, now that Mom is gone, Dad needs much the same sort of help.
So the next time we find ourselves berating ourselves for allowing ourselves to be where we are, or were, let's stop and ask ourselves - what lessons am I learning by being in this place? Where might I possible apply what I am learning? Because, whether we realize it or not, we are learning. If we are alive, we are learning.
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