I have a confession to make. It’s not really a confession, per se, because it’s probably really fucking obvious, but… I’ve gained back almost all of the weight that I lost last year.
At my peak, I was down 32 pounds, in the stretch between February and October when I’d been really good at following the Weight Watchers plan – Thirty two pounds without even much of a concentrated exercise effort. It came from mostly a modified diet and eating habits alone, and I was feeling pretty good about myself. I still had another ten to twenty pounds to go to get where I really wanted to be, but I was content to maintain at that thirty-pound mark for a while. My clothes fit, and that was enough for me.
Then I started baking more. Then it was the holidays. Between pumpkin-flavored everything (a lot of it birthed into creation by my own hands and my own oven) and incessant eating with the family, I kind of threw in the towel and went, “fuck it.”
After the blitzkrieg of holiday binge-eating, I apprehensively stepped back on the scale. I’d slowly been adding on little partial pounds here and there, but I breathed a huge sigh of relief when my total net gain was under ten pounds. Sure, it sucked, but it was manageable, and I hadn’t unraveled too badly. I went back to my TKD classes a few times and convinced myself that I was going to get back on track.
I bet you can guess how well that went.
While we had a mild winter and I didn’t get smacked over the head with a debilitating round of Seasonal Affective Disorder this year, I was still sluggish and unmotivated and, goddammit, I like food. I started eating out a lot more and caring less what I put in my face. Dessert? Don’t mind if I do.
So I’m back up twenty pounds.
Each day, a little more self-loathing crept its way in with each glance in the mirror. There were more outfit changes in the morning than usual, as I put something on that suddenly didn’t quite look so good. I’d feel guilty about eating ANYTHING, which led to more emotional eating or stress eating, and I can’t seem to quite get past that mindset of “I’m broke, therefore, when there is free food to be had at the office, I MUST EAT IT.”
Cupcakes do not help one’s waistline.
This all culminated last night when I finally had a bit of a meltdown while curled up on the BF’s couch. I’m really not sure where it came from, other than that I’d been stressed out to my breaking point anyway (see also: Kelly’s inability to say no to anyone and thus overloaded calendar) and I’d seen my reflection just one too many times, and the visible muffin top with a fleece jacket that was supposed to HIDE that muffin top was just too much.
It was ridiculous. There are worse things to be upset about other than, well, being fat. I’m not even fat, really. Just overweight for my frame size. But that’s not what it feels like. It feels like failure, that I can’t manage to be thin and pretty like I’m “supposed” to be. That I managed to unravel all of my hard work from last summer. That I’m STILL not going to be able to wear a bathing suit in Vegas because I hate myself just as much as – if not more than – I did at this point last year.
The boyfriend, to his credit, should probably be nominated for sainthood. He didn’t look at me like I was crazy; rather, he sat there quietly and handed me tissues. He shushed my constant apologizing and gently prodded at me to tell him what was going on my head, keeping me in a constant supply of hugs and cuddles. He’s said repeatedly that he doesn’t care what I look like, but I want to be pretty for him, you know? But also for myself. So I don’t cringe when I look in the mirror. So I don’t hate myself when I eat a cookie or two. So I can wear those cute things that are sitting in my closet waiting for me to fit back into. So I can find some of that confidence I was slowly starting to get back last year.
All of that to say, I’m back on the point-counting bandwagon and thanks to their 2012 system revamp, I get three less points than I did last time around, and it’s 5:30 and I’m already out of points for the day. Which means that I’m starving and I’m probably going to be cranky all week, but I did it before, so I know I can do it again. It’s going to be tedious and annoying and I’m going to hate every second of it, but if I start looking at it in terms of “one day at a time” rather than “OMG I CAN NEVER HAVE A CHEESEBURGER AGAIN EVER” then I think I might be better off. It’s the prospect of having to calculate every single thing I eat for the rest of time that makes it daunting and makes me want to give up before I even start.
Also, I signed up for a 5K in June, so I need to get my ass in shape anyway. I’ve started going on long walks again, so I’m getting “warmed up” but I need to start running soon because lord knows it’s going to probably take me UNTIL June to be able to run the full distance. On the bright side, if I start running AND watching what I eat, I might be able to pull myself back into my mid-2011 weight in no time. I did buy a bathing suit top (need to find a bottom piece that shows as little of my ass as possible) at Target a few months ago that isn’t horrendous, but… I make no promises that this will be the year that it sees daylight. Someday, maybe.
Anyway, I need to head out, time to go coach some kidlets on how to play softball. I wonder how many points it would be if I chewed off my arm right now…