The weight and the watching.
I’ve been actively attending WW meetings for most of 2018 while enduring the slowest weight loss ever. If you hear me complain about this, allow me to encourage you not to tell me that slow weight loss is the best weight loss, because doing it slowly means I’m less likely to gain it back. Roughly 4,000 people before you have also shared this wisdom.
I haven’t attended a meeting in three weeks. During a fit of frustration several months ago, we threw out our scale, as I was obsessively stepping onto it multiple times daily. While I know it was the right thing to do, I’m super uncomfortable right now, knowing I have to go in tomorrow with no clue as to what I’m going to see on the scale. My assumption is that I’ve gained back at least a third of the weight I’ve lost since January. Obviously.
Coincidentally, I started watching Dietland earlier this week (although, admittedly, it was promptly set on the back burner with the release of season six of OINTB). It upends the diet industry, and what it means to be a fat person. You should watch it. It’s messed up.
There should not be this much anxiety hanging over my head over the thought of going into a meeting and stepping on a scale. The preemptive shame is gross. Knowing I’ll likely get a pep talk about how we always have a chance to start over is causing me to roll my eyes already.
To make changes, you have to take action. If you don’t take action, you only have yourself to blame. But what’s the purpose of blame, especially when it’s self-directed? Negative self-talk, to date, has not gotten me anywhere in life.
I like healthy food. I love hiking. I just don’t prioritize the preparation of healthy food, or moving around. This week, in the latest fit of avoidance, I abandoned my fitbit. I KNOW. SCANDALOUS.
Guilt and shame weigh infinitely more than a weak moment at Sonic that might have involved tater tots covered in cheese and chili.
I don’t really have a way (or should I say WEIGH, amiright?!) to wrap up this blog entry. There’s no happy ending, or sad ending, really. It is what it is. Sometimes, I simply write in hopes that someone will stumble across it and relate, recognizing they’re not alone. I know I’m not the only one that goes through this stuff. Figuring out how to disconnect self-worth from weight loss is hard. And yes, I could replace all the verbiage related to dieting with less threatening phrases like “healthier living” and the like, but it’s late and I honestly prefer to call it out for what it is.
I still have 40–50 pounds to lose to get to my goal. I think. If anyone has tips on how to get on the food prep bus, please share. I love the food, but can’t seem to handle the prep. See also: I love a clean house, but (enter any number of excuses here as to why I feel like we live in squalor most days).
Despite the shitty tone of this blog, I’m in an outstanding mood, assuming you are able to side step the anxiety. I should write about that sometime. When a person’s normal life involves a big pile of anxiety and/or depression, what qualifies as a super day is vastly different than those who don’t live with brain conditions, I’m guessing.
Writing late at night appears not to be in my best interest. LOL — time to close the computer and sleep, then wake up, throw on as little clothing as possible, and haul myself to WW. And then, I’ll come home and reassess if perhaps it’s time to quit participating in a weight loss program that routinely leaves me feeling like I’m just not trying hard enough.