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Hello friends.
So it’s been a while. I’ve got a pretty solid excuse for my lack of attention to my little patch of cyberspace here, but since this is (in theory anyway) a weight-loss blog and not a talk-about-my-crazy-and-sordid-little-life blog, you’re just going to have to trust me that my energy and focus was needed elsewhere for a while. In my quest to get my life back (or just get one, period) I’ve been thinking about the things that make me happy, that define who I am and what’s important to me. On the list of places I’d like to divert my newly freed up time and attention to, it turns out that I’m still surprisingly passionate about this whole weight loss thing, and to putting that passion into print. So away we go!
Again.
If there is a silver lining to this little storm cloud that’s been following me around, it’s that it’s given a real boost to my weight loss. I’m not recommending crushing depression as a reliable diet plan, nor do I endorse panic attacks as a particularly effective form of cardio, but it’s hard to look at a 13-pound net loss this month and feel like it’s a bad thing.
The phenomenon of “emotional eating” is something that is bandied about in weight loss circles, and the concept that we cannot hope to control what we’re eating until we define just what’s eating us has become conventional fat fighting wisdom. I think that there’s a lot of truth in the idea that there are a myriad of reasons people overeat that have nothing to do with actual hunger. I’ve engaged in a few (read: a zillion) of them myself. So it’s somewhat strange to me that this most recent round of emotional distress has all but extinguished my desire to eat. Anything. At all. And on the off chance that there is something that the thought of chewing and swallowing doesn’t sound abhorrent to me, it turns out that I’m not terribly interested in more than the first few bites.
I know this probably isn’t going to last. And if the cost of a severely diminished appetite is abject sorrow, then I’m not willing to pay that price long term. I’ll take fat and marginally happy over slightly less fat with a side of massive despair any day. I figure that when I start to feel like myself again I’ll probably have to accept that my intrinsic set of food issues is part and parcel with the deal and get back to the business of beating them back with a whip and chair.
But just for today, I’m going to stop asking the gift horse to open up and say “ahh!” and be thankful that I’m not chasing down my problems with peanut butter brownies, chili cheese dogs and #25 enchilada platters…yet.
What the hell is with all the anorexic people in this world? I see them sometimes when I’m out and about. I watch their frail bodies stagger uncertainly through aisles, watch them strain while pushing shopping carts that probably weigh more than they do. I see their sharp elbows poking through the sleeves of their shirts, their size zero pants hanging off of emaciated pelvises, their withered cheeks hollow and gaunt. I watch them stand in front of the frozen food cases in the supermarket, see them obsessively checking the calorie content of one low calorie item against another and I can’t help but roll my eyes and think “Yeah, like you are really going to eat either one of those, you bony freak!” I even see them on TV, crying to Oprah or Dr. Phil about how hard their lives are. Some of them even say they have a disease that makes them starve themselves, and I want to scream at the screen “Here, I’ve got a cure for your ‘disease’, it’s called a SANDWICH. Try one, you skeleton-headed witch!” They sit there and talk about how hard it is for them to eat, how they think they’re fat, when the truth is that they’re just stupid. Everyone knows if you actually EAT food, you don’t end up weighing 88 pounds and dying of malnutrition. I mean, they KNOW they should eat, and yet they don’t do it. It’s not that hard, moron. Open your mouth, insert food, chew, swallow. For Christ’s sake, babies and farm animals can do it without being taught. I, for one, have never had any problem eating food so I don’t see why they can’t do it like everyone else.I think they should round up all the people with this so called “disease” and put them on an island where they’re all chained to a 24 hour buffet so then maybe they’d be forced to eat something for a change. Then we wouldn’t have to look at their disgusting wasted bodies or listen to how we should feel sorry for them because they can’t seem to get their shit together already. Why don’t you quit your whining, get your head out of your non-existent asses, and GAIN SOME WEIGHT, you skinny freaks!(Cue the angry mob with the torches and pitchforks.)Ridiculous, right? Who in their right mind would ever say that and think it was appropriate? Anorexia is a serious, debilitating, life altering eating disorder. Rewrite it to rail against obesity, though, and that's A-OK.(I know, I know. Understated, I’m not. But I’ve never claimed subtlety as a strong point.)I was doing a bit of research early this morning for the blog entry I meant to write today, when I happened upon a web page that’s been burned into my retinas ever since. I hesitated at first to even post the link, but in the end I decided that when you have the choice between ignoring hate and looking it in the face, it’s always better to know your enemy than not. There are some very angry people out there, and I'm pretty sure they’re just the tip of the iceberg. These are just the folks who took the time to put fingers to their keyboards and post their deep thoughts for the world to see, and for every one of them there are thousands of others who are thinking exactly what these people said out loud. I bet that there are more sites out there (like, say, hundreds) that are full of exactly the same kind of sentiment. At least I assume there are, but the truth is that I just couldn’t bring myself to actively search for them. I didn’t read every entry on that page. I didn’t even read a tenth of them, but I suspect I didn’t really need to. Despite my general stance that I am rubber and they are glue, the hate behind the words (atrocious grammar and spelling aside) clings to my skin with a sticky familiarity, and as hard as I’ve been trying to brush it off all day I just can’t.I’ve been fat my whole life. I have also been smart my whole life, too. I am not ignorant of how the world sees obesity any more than I’m unaware of the conventional formula of “eat less + move more = smaller ass” for weight loss. But since fat is my reality, and one that I’ve been both fighting against and examining closely over the last few years, it’s hard for me to fathom how a world that has found so much compassion and understanding for nearly every other behavior-related affliction on earth can still muster up the kind of CAPS LOCK HATRED that sites like that one encourage. Obesity threatens people in a way that few things in this world do. Our extra bulk reminds people of their darkest fear that self control is tenuous at best, and that we are what happens when weakness of character is allowed to run rampant. Believing that the fat is a simple foe that strong people can keep at bay helps to remind the people who hate us that, whatever else they might be, at least they’re not fat. It must be a comforting thought.I believe that my obesity is complex in nature—and that for every logical and simple factor that contributes to it there is something that defies easy explanation at play as well. I also believe that, for the time being, they world at large doesn’t believe that…yet. So I won’t let those people be the only voices that break the silence surrounding obesity. Will you?
Last year, in a fit of self-help pique, I gave my email address to a company that specializes in workplace professional development literature publications. On purpose. In exchange for this information, they agreed to send me a daily email (and they were seriously about the “daily” part, like EVERY freakin’ day. No holiday, weekend, or international tragedy is going to keep them from depositing a little electronic sunshine in my inbox, lemme tell ya.) that begins with an inspirational quotation which, miraculously, always segues perfectly into a sales pitch about their featured pamphlet du jour that’s just a click away from being mine-all-mine. I don’t look forward to this daily bit of wisdom with the same leap of joy that fills my heart when my favorite weekly excel newsletter pops up in my unread items, but I’ve come expect a little nugget of wisdom waiting for me every morning.
Interestingly, this is not quite as lame as it sounds. Sure, there have been (many) days when the quote seems a little trite, or peculiar, and once even totally inscrutable (it was in what I assume to be Mandarin, with no translation beneath it. I shit you not.), but every once in a while I find myself nodding after reading it, and maybe even right-click copy/pasting it into a file I keep on my desktop for just such material. So when the familiar address appeared in my inbox this morning, I double clicked and read this:
“Consider keeping a Victory Journal. Just like a photo album, your Victory Journal can become a great collection of snapshots of positive experiences and a living reminder of your power to achieve. And with such a clear record of all your daily wins, successes, triumphs, and achievements, you’ll slowly build a strong sense of self-worth and a foundation for expecting success.” --Pat Croce
Naturally, my first thought was: LAME. Like I’m going to sit down and write all about my goals and what I’m doing to achieve them, or reflect on what’s gone well in my life, on the little “victories” that I’ve claimed, or what I’ve learned from my failures, or how I can apply those lessons to what comes next. Seriously, who comes up with this stuff? What are we supposed to do then, huh? Type it all up, post it on the internet, and let everyone we know (and everyone we DON’T know for that matter) read it and tell us what they think of it so we can go and read their war stories and…umm…wait a second…
Well color me lame.
I’m not saying that this blog is exactly a “victory journal” (mostly because I don’t know if that phrase is copyrighted and I don’t have the bank at present to fend off an infringement lawsuit, and partly because I think “victory” might be overstating the nature and quaility of the content most of the time) but I suppose it is a record of the wins I’ve earned in my battle with the fat. It’s also a record of the losses, and even of the draws. And writing about my journey has been an overwhelmingly positive experience, a way to break the deafening silence that surrounds obesity. Even when it isn’t pretty, writing it all down seems like a victory all it’s own.
So just for today, I’m letting my lame flag fly and declaring that for January 25, 2010, this blog is officially my Victory Journal, and I claim the following victories in that spirit:
Today, I didn’t lick out the inside of my yogurt cup to make sure I got every damn calorie I accounted for out of that container.
Today, I admitted that what I’d been telling myself was a teaspoon of powdered coffee creamer was more like 3 of them. Or 5, even. I logged the extra calories and got on with my life.
Today, I stopped being a wuss and didn’t reach for the slacks that are getting embarrassingly too large just so I wouldn’t have to find out for sure if the smaller slacks fit me yet (FYI, they do!).
Today, I remembered that celebrating even the smallest of victories leaves a better taste in my mouth than wallowing in my defeats ever has. Yum.
So how about it, folks? What victories are yours to claim for today?
