Sugar detox… riiiiight.
A few weeks back, I was writing about the sugar monkey.
And I decided to bring it up with my therapist last week, who said to me: “You don’t even really know what kind of woman you want to be in the first place.”
No need to feel sorry for me. I need an ass kicking on a weekly basis from her because I’m a very slippery little monkey myself. I will actively seek out ways to sabotage my efforts because it’s so much easier to be a mess than to be responsible. It sounds weird, but if I eat like shit then I can feel sorry for myself that I’m chubby, and in turn, it actually gives me a lift somehow, a sense of having power. Woe is me! This is so hard!
Victimhood is power. That is something I have learned, then I forget, then I re-learn.
I’m not talking about true victims of horrific things. I’m talking about neurotic victimhood. Stuff that you actually can influence and change.
But for me, it starts with an attitude of wanting to understand what is going on, and then an attitude of wanting to learn how to change it.
I can get stuck on either prong.
Right after I wrote the post, I ditched the sugar for a full week. Nothing with obvious sugar (candy, soda, pastries, etc.) and nothing with added sugar or stuff that breaks down into sugar (breads, processed foods, wine, etc.). I felt like crap for one day and then fine for the rest of the week. I ate veggies, fruits and proteins. In other words, I ate real, delicious food. Everything was peachy keen.
Then I hit Super America for a ginormous Blue Raspberry ICEE on Day 8. Say hello to the brand new sugar craving cycle.
Honestly, if that wasn’t an emotionally driven purchase, I don’t know what is. Something was going on under the hood of my brain that caused me to give the old what the hell shrug and load up on the blue slush.
I didn’t need it. I just wanted it. Instant gratification colored my vision raspberry blue.
Now here’s the good news. I haven’t gained a pound this year. Not a one. But I also haven’t really budged, save for the occasional five-pound dip, from the 178 I clocked in at on New Year’s Day.
Here’s some other news: I’m officially in The Change. The Big M. The Hasta la Vista Menses phase of life (until it decides to unexpectedly return in a blaze of glory.) And what I’ve divined from this? Losing weight in this phase is a bitch.
Whoop de doo, right? What does it all mean?
I was in the dressing room the other day, at Target, and things weren’t going so well. It was one of those moments where I felt like I actually saw what I looked like. Not what I think I look like. Not what I hope to look like. But what I looked like.
I only saw a middle aged mama with a widening middle and back. And I was all, “Cath, what the hell?”
What the hell is right. What the hell do I want for my life, or rather, who the hell do I want to be?
I’ll tell you what I don’t want: I don’t to be a woman who thinks that being thinner is the key to making everything better. And if I’m being honest, that IS who I have been and who I wrestle with.
Back in 2010 I lost 40 pounds from running and eating 22 points a day. From a physical standpoint, I looked amazing.
But my marriage was a freaking mess.
I want to be a woman who knows what is needed and who nurtures and loves both herself and her family and her friends. Where my body falls into that equation is going to be something I want to learn to accept as well.
I have the attitude right there. I just need to do the work to integrate it experientially.
That’s my story about sugar for today.
It’s not just about white, tasty granules afterall.
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