Friday, December 28, 2012

Does this blog make me look fat?

Usually I am right on board with the rest of the delusional idiots who vow to work out more and eat better in the new year. I am normally right there with the rest of “them”, hogging treadmills and grunting while I use the free weights. I endure the nasty glares from the regular gym junkies for the whole two weeks that I stick to my new years resolutions. This year, I am not going to vow those things. I am going to vow to continue to live my life just the way it is - with a healthy balance of family, friends, fitness and happiness. And in doing so, this is the only “resolution” I am making this year:

I am resolving to allow myself to be more than a number, whether it be the number on the scale, on the tag of my jeans or the label inside my shirt because, I deserve to stop beating the hell out of my ego and self esteem. For three years I have been my harshest critic. I have never stood back and just allowed myself to really see how far I have come. I have been lost in my own head, and most of the time, my head has been trapped up my own ass.

Whether I am an 8 or a 10 or a 12, I am still better than I was when I was stuffing my Ben and Jerry’s eating ass into a size 28. I have to stop with the self deprecating jokes about my “fat ass”. I have to stop hating the person I see in the mirror. I have to learn to be more gracious when I receive compliments. I have to love myself more and stop believing that I am in competition with everyone else. When I look in the mirror and feel even the slightest bit of pride in what I have accomplished, I have to stop thinking that I don’t deserve to feel that way.

I want to try to see myself the way others see me. I want to borrow the eyes of the people who love me most, and see myself the way they see me. It doesn’t mean I don’t still want to be a flab free size 6, but I need to work with what I got, ya know?

I need to do these things for several reasons:

• I want to give my children a healthy perspective on their bodies. My son battles with his weight on and off, and I feel like sometimes my insecurities and my issues have affected his self image. My daughter is naturally thin and strong, but struggles with the fear of getting fat when she gets older. I want them to work hard, and enjoy their childhood in a healthy, nondestructive way.  I want them to love their bodies in a way that I have never been able to.

• I will never have a healthy relationship if I don’t stop being a whining, sniveling control freak who doesn’t want to get undressed with the lights on, or who spends every second wondering if I look “fat”. If he is with me, says he loves me, and brags about me to his friends then I need to believe in what he says. If he tells me I’m hot, I don’t have to believe it, but I have to believe that he believes it.

• I don’t want to be burned at the stake like Joan of Ark by my family and loved ones for going on for one more second about my flabby skin, my gut, my ass or my deflated arms. No one cares. Except me. And I shouldn’t.

• And mainly, because I need to preserve my sanity. I have two teenage children who like to test my patience and their boundaries, and I need to have my wits sharp and undeterred. Rather than worrying about how to remove the excess skin with a rusty scalpel and some Tylenol, I need to have laser focus on things like teenage boys who want to touch my teenage daughter, or my teenage son who has already *gasp* kissed a girl. Probably with tongue. And how to prevent my babies from making babies, smoking pot, snorting Smarties (yes, this is a real thing), or sneaking out late at night. And while I am keenly aware that most of these things will eventually happen anyway, I at least want to be fast enough and alert enough to chase after them once I have caught them doing it. And while “happy pills” do indeed make you less psychotic, I would rather have a little rage that will instill some fear into their tiny teenage hearts.

So in short, in 2013 I will make a steadfast attempt to be less of an asshole. I can’t make any guarantees, but I will try. Now, I am going to get my fat ass off of this computer and get to the gym! Hey, it’s still 2012.

Thursday, December 20, 2012

Haters Gonna Hate, Ya'll

I am pigeonholed into a conundrum that doesn't allow people to quite understand my daily dilemma.  No, I am not as stick skinny as you would expect me to be considering you always see me with a banana, or yogurt or veggies being shoveled into my pie slot.  I am not a size 4.  I do not have exposed ribs or pelvic bones.  I have an ass.  I have a womans rack (and a nice one, if I do say so myself!), rather than the flat chest of a 12 year old girl.  I have curves and wrinkles of skin and flabby knees.  And yet, I workout 5-6 days a week.  I run, I kettlebell like a mother fucker, I yoga like a true yogi, I elliptical and treadmill and circuit train with the best of them.  So, clearly I am a conundrum and people don't know how to interpret me.  I am not what you expect me to be, and that is ok. 

And to those people I say:

I'm sorry I am no longer your fat friend.  I'm sorry that I can't make you feel better about drowning your sorrows in an entire peanut butter pie by joining you.  I'm sorry that I would rather go to the gym than hang out on your couch eating Doritos and drinking vodka/tea's.  I'm sorry that you don't understand why I won't have "just one cookie" or why I choose to take the bread off of my sandwich and just eat the protein filled turkey and cheese that is actually good for me.  I'm sorry that I made a vow to change my life and I tricked you all by sticking to it.  I'm sorry that when you look at me waiting for me to gain my weight back, instead I work harder and build more muscle.  I'm sorry that we can't share clothes anymore.  I'm sorry that you couldn't be a real friend who was truly happy for me.  I'm sorry that I stopped feeling sorry for myself, and started valuing my life and all that it had to offer. 

I'm sorry you don't take the time to see inside my soul.  I'm sorry that you are missing out on someone who is worth more now because she isn't ashamed to leave the house, or try to buckle herself into your car, or eat in a restaurant without thinking she is being criticized.  I'm sorry that you are missing out on someone who is stronger, happier and healthier.  I'm sorry that you are to small minded to see past my outsides, and realize I am the same funny, loud, loving, big hearted person that I was when I was just...well, a big person.  I'm sorry that you don't take the time to recognize that I work hard to be a  better person for the people that truly support me.  My mother, my father, my sisters, my true family, my husband, my children.  The people who really matter.  I'm sorry you will miss out on all of that.  I'm sorry that you neglect to remember all the years I hated myself.  How quickly you forget all the times I cried on your shoulder, telling you I would rather be dead than fat.  How easy it was for you to erase the memories of me being too embarassed to enter a store that wasn't "fat people friendly" for fear of being judged.  I guess it was easier to love me when there was, literally, more of me to love.  Shame on you for such conditional acceptance.

But on the flip side, thank you.  Thank you for not believing in me.  Thank you for doubting me.  Thank you for showing me your true colors.  Thank you for being jealous and envious and bitter and mean.  Because you are the reason I put down the cookies and pick up the free weights every, single day.  You are the reason I may not be a size 4, but I will never be a size 24 again.  You are the reason I make myself go to the gym or roll out the yoga mat when I would rather sit on the couch, watching reruns of Full House.  You are the reason I now know the people I can really trust.  Thank you for being the reason I wake up everyday sure of knowing who I can turn to, who really supports me, and who loves me just the way I am.  Thank you for allowing me to look myself in the mirror and love me in spite of my flaws.

To all the people who don't know where I belong, it's probably because I don't belong in your life.  But, thank you for being part of my journey, because all of the stumbles and falls of yesterday have led me to walk stronger and taller today.  And maybe, just maybe, tomorrow I will run.  But you won't be there to see it, and that is ok, because you don't deserve to be a part of my joy, anymore than I deserve to be a part of your self hatred.