I made a decision today. A very scary, mind numbing, ridiculous decision, and I'm not sure how I feel about it yet. I had to sleep on it, think about it, eat some ice cream cake while I pondered it, and drink a glass (or three) of wine in order to come to terms with it.
I am throwing out my scale.
I think I just threw up in my mouth a little. Thankfully, it still tasted like ice cream cake and Muscato.
I have spent the last year OBSESSING over the number on the scale. I could literally put on an outfit, look in the mirror and think I looked good, then stepped on the scale, saw the number, took off my clothes and put on a nice stretchy pair of yoga pants. And why? Because although my mirrored perception labeled me as anything BUT fat, the scale said otherwise. The scale....the stupid, black, plastic, LYING bitch of a scale told me to stop eating ice cream cake and drinking wine and thinking I can wear skinny jeans or leggings. The scale judges me, taunts me and calls me names like Heifer, Fatty and Lard Ass. The scale tells me that all of my decisions are bad one. That all the hours I log running, gym-ing and yoga-ing aren't enough. That I'M not enough. And these judgements are not the things I want to teach my blossoming, easily influenced teenage daughter.
I have to allow myself to love who I am. No matter the weight or the size. I have to accept my curves, my "love handles", my thighs and my big butt. I have to accept that I have given birth, grown a little older, survived cancer, and sometimes eaten a few too many chocolate, macadamia cookies. I have to step off the scale, grab a sledge hammer and beat that bitch down, the same way that she has beaten me down for the last year.
I'm ok. No really, I am. A little rounder. A little less guilty over that ice cream cake and wine. A little more accepting of my short comings. A little bit stronger. A little less afraid to chase my dreams (and the occasional ice cream truck). I. Am. Ok.
Or at least I will be once I smash that damn scale to pieces. And then I will toast to it with a nice glass of Muscato as I wear my skinny jeans while sitting in front of a full size mirror. Suck on that you judgemental, digital bitch.
Monday, March 25, 2013
Wednesday, March 13, 2013
Not lean, Just mean
Most days, I am very grateful for the opportunity that was given to me when I received the gastric bypass surgery, and in return when I received my life back. But some days I’m all WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH MY BODY AND WHY WON’T IT GIVE ME A MOMENTS PEACE???
Lately, I can’t seem to find a system that works for me. Not eating regular meals with small snacks in between. Not eating 6-8 meals throughout the day. Not eating every two hours. Not Weight Watchers. Not fruits and veggies and lean protein. Not overpriced colon health pills or bottles of Philips. Nothing. Nada. Zilch. And it’s really starting to piss me off.
I have been trying to shed the 10-ish pounds I gained for what seems like all of eternity. That’s really tough to do when the only thing that my body doesn’t rebel against are protein shakes. It hates veggies and fruits, breads or carbs of any kind and basically anything warm and delicious. A woman (especially this one) can not live on protein shakes alone without losing her mind and stabbing someone in the face with a 5” stiletto.
ALL fruits and veggies make me bloated and uncomfortable and create a complete aversion to anything with a button and zipper closure. Carbs load me down and cause me pain. There is no amount of Beano, Philips Colon Health, Miralax or Tums that sooth me.
Which leaves me two options:
Eat the fruits, veggies and carbs and suffer through the pressure and pain
OR
Eat nothing but soup and protein shakes until the day I die. This would be, like Friday because that just isn’t how I function.
I don’t mind eating healthy, but I could never be one of these girls that survives on cigarettes and the tears of small children. I need food and sustenance, people. The more time that passes by, the more my body starts rejecting food that was previously just fine. So far the list of “no-no’s” is as follows:
Whole grain bread
Salad
Salad dressing
Marinara sauce
Bagels
Cucumbers
Strawberries
Cantaloupe
Red Meat
Yogurt
Granola Bars
Oatmeal
Tomatoes
Carrots
Apples
Pasta
The list is longer, but gets depressing and just makes me hungry.
I find myself asking more and more lately, if I could go back, knowing what I know now, would I still make the decision to have the surgery. I used to be 80/20 in favor of having it done. The more time that goes by, the more that number changes in favor of not having it done.
I knew that over time I would have to make adjustments. I have repeatedly had to fight the demons that drive me towards eating out of emotion and boredom and my unending love of all things food (does all that fighting count as a workout??). I research and learn ways to become better, to eat better, to make better choices, to deal with my vices and insecurities. But how can I make better choices if I have none?
Everyday of my life lately is like being 5 years old, having the best birthday party ever, complete with bounce houses, baby horses, balloon animals and purple unicorns that take you for rides over the rainbow, and being told the only thing I am allowed to do that day is to mow the lawn. Only instead of bounce houses, balloon animals and imaginary animals that take you for rides over rainbows, my life is a 5,000 sq ft warehouse packed with brownies and cakes and candies, and those amazing Brach’s conversation heart candies that need to be available to me more than just at Valentine’s Day, and being told the only thing I can eat is the cardboard boxes they were all delivered in.
It’s like, wait….so, I did all of this work to learn to live healthier and eat better and now I don’t get to do any of that. Seriously? Like, for real? Somewhere, Ashton Kutcher is hiding behind a bush with a camera crew and they are all going to jump out and tell me I have been punk’d. And they will laugh and laugh and laugh, until I junk punch them all with a pointy toed shoe, take all of their money and go buy myself a fucking ice cream cone.
Oh yeah, ice cream is on the “Do Not Eat” list too. I’m like a fucking polar bear behind the glass watching some sticky handed little shit stand there licking his triple scoop, double fudge ice cream cone while some asshole zoo employee tosses smelly fish at me.
The inability to eat and still not lose weight only frustrates me more everyday. If I were eating ice cream and candy and Doritos dipped in chip dip (YUM!), then fine – I’m a fat ass by choice. But the fact remains, that while I may not be everyone else’s definition of a “fat ass”, I am not comfortable with where I am or how I look. So, I am trying to make the conscious and healthy decision to do something about it, but life keeps knuckle punching me in the gastric pouch and adding cellulite to my ever expanding ass. Way to be a team player, Life.
All this talk of food and unicorns has me starving so I guess the only rational thing to do is to go make yet another protein shake, close my eyes, pretend it’s a Red Robin’s A-1 Peppercorn burger and get out of my head for awhile. The silver lining is, I am still alive.
Lately, I can’t seem to find a system that works for me. Not eating regular meals with small snacks in between. Not eating 6-8 meals throughout the day. Not eating every two hours. Not Weight Watchers. Not fruits and veggies and lean protein. Not overpriced colon health pills or bottles of Philips. Nothing. Nada. Zilch. And it’s really starting to piss me off.
I have been trying to shed the 10-ish pounds I gained for what seems like all of eternity. That’s really tough to do when the only thing that my body doesn’t rebel against are protein shakes. It hates veggies and fruits, breads or carbs of any kind and basically anything warm and delicious. A woman (especially this one) can not live on protein shakes alone without losing her mind and stabbing someone in the face with a 5” stiletto.
ALL fruits and veggies make me bloated and uncomfortable and create a complete aversion to anything with a button and zipper closure. Carbs load me down and cause me pain. There is no amount of Beano, Philips Colon Health, Miralax or Tums that sooth me.
Which leaves me two options:
Eat the fruits, veggies and carbs and suffer through the pressure and pain
OR
Eat nothing but soup and protein shakes until the day I die. This would be, like Friday because that just isn’t how I function.
I don’t mind eating healthy, but I could never be one of these girls that survives on cigarettes and the tears of small children. I need food and sustenance, people. The more time that passes by, the more my body starts rejecting food that was previously just fine. So far the list of “no-no’s” is as follows:
Whole grain bread
Salad
Salad dressing
Marinara sauce
Bagels
Cucumbers
Strawberries
Cantaloupe
Red Meat
Yogurt
Granola Bars
Oatmeal
Tomatoes
Carrots
Apples
Pasta
The list is longer, but gets depressing and just makes me hungry.
I find myself asking more and more lately, if I could go back, knowing what I know now, would I still make the decision to have the surgery. I used to be 80/20 in favor of having it done. The more time that goes by, the more that number changes in favor of not having it done.
I knew that over time I would have to make adjustments. I have repeatedly had to fight the demons that drive me towards eating out of emotion and boredom and my unending love of all things food (does all that fighting count as a workout??). I research and learn ways to become better, to eat better, to make better choices, to deal with my vices and insecurities. But how can I make better choices if I have none?
Everyday of my life lately is like being 5 years old, having the best birthday party ever, complete with bounce houses, baby horses, balloon animals and purple unicorns that take you for rides over the rainbow, and being told the only thing I am allowed to do that day is to mow the lawn. Only instead of bounce houses, balloon animals and imaginary animals that take you for rides over rainbows, my life is a 5,000 sq ft warehouse packed with brownies and cakes and candies, and those amazing Brach’s conversation heart candies that need to be available to me more than just at Valentine’s Day, and being told the only thing I can eat is the cardboard boxes they were all delivered in.
It’s like, wait….so, I did all of this work to learn to live healthier and eat better and now I don’t get to do any of that. Seriously? Like, for real? Somewhere, Ashton Kutcher is hiding behind a bush with a camera crew and they are all going to jump out and tell me I have been punk’d. And they will laugh and laugh and laugh, until I junk punch them all with a pointy toed shoe, take all of their money and go buy myself a fucking ice cream cone.
Oh yeah, ice cream is on the “Do Not Eat” list too. I’m like a fucking polar bear behind the glass watching some sticky handed little shit stand there licking his triple scoop, double fudge ice cream cone while some asshole zoo employee tosses smelly fish at me.
The inability to eat and still not lose weight only frustrates me more everyday. If I were eating ice cream and candy and Doritos dipped in chip dip (YUM!), then fine – I’m a fat ass by choice. But the fact remains, that while I may not be everyone else’s definition of a “fat ass”, I am not comfortable with where I am or how I look. So, I am trying to make the conscious and healthy decision to do something about it, but life keeps knuckle punching me in the gastric pouch and adding cellulite to my ever expanding ass. Way to be a team player, Life.
All this talk of food and unicorns has me starving so I guess the only rational thing to do is to go make yet another protein shake, close my eyes, pretend it’s a Red Robin’s A-1 Peppercorn burger and get out of my head for awhile. The silver lining is, I am still alive.
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