I was in the kitchen the other day making dinner and I realized—which happens to me every time I wear my black yoga pants and this particularly puffy oversized shirt from Old Navy—that I looked like a swashbuckling pirate.
I looked like the Dread Pirate Roberts, minus the mask and the tight little tushka.
Dan was sitting at the kitchen table and I brandished a shish-kebab skewer and did my best Mandy Patinkin. (I know, I know—Wesley was the dread pirate Roberts, but stay with me here.) He snapped photos accordingly, at my request.
Then I saw the pics on my phone and it hit me: my body has really changed.
And not exactly in the way I've been shooting for.
I do not a-think you look like you think you look.
Now if you aren't a fan of laments, stop reading now. Not that I am planning this to be one big whine fest, but who can say where it will go once I get warmed up.
I realized the other day that I have been struggling with my weight since I was 30. Math genius that I am, this comes to 17 years of up, down, thin, plump—you know the drill.
It has been an issue for a good chunk of my time here on ol' big blue.
As I have written here before, my "therapist" (she says what we do really isn't therapy) has told me I simply keep this a problem in my life because it allows me to act like a child and indulge every whim rather than do what is needed, which is to feed my body healthy, nutrient dense food in appropriate amounts and to exercise.
As shocking as it is that I, in fact, pay her to tell me these things, the truth of the matter is, I believe her.
Here's the deal: I don't have the be skinny anymore. I tell myself this all the time and it's very comforting. It's very "I'm okay, you're okay." It's very touchy-feely. It's very "I am enough as I am."
But there is a part of me that knows deep down I use it as an excuse to continue keeping this a problem. To continue saying, "Oh hell! Life is short. Let's make cookies!"
But I never just make cookies.
I make batches of them and wash it all down with delicious, sugar-filled sodas. And potato chips. And copious amounts of Reese's Peanut Butter minis.
That's the child in me. That's the addict in me. And that's not okay. It's not enough.
Not only that, the future health consequences could be deadly. That is a fact.
Here's another fact: I can do better. Not super-model thin better. Just a healthier better.
I know this experientially from the work I've done with my "therapist" since 2010. I've been making changes in so many areas of my life. It has been a laborious, painstaking process on so many levels. It has required me to look at my inadequacies, something that isn't fun and doesn't make me feel good.
I've spent a lifetime of trying to find ways to feel good. Eating crap is just one in a long list of things I've tried.
We make changes by facing facts and doing what is needed. That's where my head is at today, on this random day in April 2013. I'm shooting for competence. And adulthood.
Not feeling sorry for myself. Not putting judgments on anything.
Honestly, there's no other place I'd rather be that here, stumbling through and figuring it out as I go.
How's that for a Tale from the Scale?
This pirate-laden post has been brought to you by:
Move More, Eat Well isn't just about tough love. It's about connecting with what you need and doing the best you can to achieve your goals. It's a process that is neither easy nor automatic. Each month, I share more of this journey and scrapbook the story as I go. I've got a group of like minded women who are doing the same. You can join us any time during 2013. You never know what will inspire you to do what is neeed. For more information, click here.
p.s. I am not the Dread Pirate Roberts. My real name is Cathy.