…the more I realize I *don’t* know.

Today was the first day that I *officially* started counting, recording and posting my calories again at the food confessional. As I said in that post, I nearly chickened out as a result of all the garbage that I put into my body today, but thanks (at least in part) to Sylvia’s comment on my last post in which she encouraged me to focus simply on getting back in the routine of managing my daily calories, (rather than doing that *and* focusing too strongly on getting them between 1300 and 1500 *and* working in exercise, etc.), I decided to take that first baby step. And, I must admit, I’ve learned a few things in the process:

First of all, I have to say thank you to Paola for editing her already fabulous table generating food diary tool such that it now includes the optional capability of calculating things like your daily intake of fiber, carbs, fat, sodium, etc. I’ve been wanting to, if nothing else, be more conscious of how the food I eat stacks up nutritionally for quite some time (rather than concentrating simply on the calories it contains), but have found the prospect to be a little daunting. But thanks to Paola now I have a really cool and easy to use tool to help me. So… thank you again, Paola, you are truly amazing.

Secondly, in some ways, looking at all of that stuff has me even more confused than ever. Given that today was something of a caloric anomaly (hopefully) I’m not going to get too freaked out about the amount of fat and sodium that I consumed (for example) but what I realized is that I don’t really know how much of these things I *should* be eating each day. Sure, I know the basics like fiber = good and sodium = bad, but beyond that, I’m pretty lost. And although this is probably a topic for another post, I have to say that this lack of information has left me feeling more than a little bit pissed off at my doctor. I have a good relationship with my doctor and, for the most part, I trust and respect him. However, what I realize now is that while he *did* issue me a huge wake up call, one that has, literally, saved my life, he didn’t provide me with any of the tools I needed to change the path of self-destruction that I was on. He told me that I needed to cut back on the salt, but he never once indicated to me how much salt is too much. Everything I’ve learned about what works for me when it comes to losing weight, I’ve either a) stumbled upon through my own research or b) mooched off of all of you. That said, I guess it’s time to do a little research. (Or… if any of you know have some insight into these things, please, enlighten me).

And finally, keeping track of all of this shit is hard work. It took me FOREVER to figure out exactly how much fiber, protein and carbohydrates were in everything I ate today and I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that there were *several* times when I wanted to say “fuck this!” and eat (another) brownie. But instead, I trudged forward because I know that eventually it will get easier *and* even though it took more time than I thought it would, figuring out how much sodium is in two cups of fresh spinach was, well… illuminating. I *learned* something through the process and that always feels good.

So… perhaps tonight marks something other than just another attempt to get back in the saddle. Perhaps this is more like a new beginning — you know, a fresh start, as it were, rather than just a return to the old habits that have served me well in the past. Either way, I’m feeling really, really grateful tonight.

I’m grateful for…

• good friends who want me to succeed so badly that they are willing to *create* tools to help me get there.
• the knowledge that even though I still have a lot to learn that I’ve got a plethora of resources at my disposal to help me put the puzzle pieces together.
• the kick in the ass that got me to post my deplorable food intake today.
• the safe and accepting place that I have to share the gory details of my fucked up relationship with food.
• the fact that even though I didn’t want to, tonight I a) counted, recorded and posted my calories (etc) AND b) managed a vigorous 2 mile walk with my husband and 2 ridiculously cute dogs (I’m grateful for them and for my husband too, by the way!).
• And, I’m really, really, (really) grateful that tomorrow marks the beginning of a new school year for me. I’m so looking forward to getting back into the old routines that helped me lose weight to begin with. I’m longing for a regular schedule and a lack of the mental and physical exhaustion that has marked my summer. Apparently, I’m getting old and stuck in my ways, but I don’t care. I need those routines. They are precious to me. And tomorrow, I get them back. Yay! :)

And with that, I’m off to bed. I hope all of you have plenty to be grateful for too.

I guess it entirely depends on your perspective.

One of the few things I remember from the basic level psychology class that I took in high school, is an exercise in which we (the students) conducted interviews with people who had supposedly just been involved with a traumatic event (a traffic accident, I believe). At the beginning of the assignment, we were led to believe that each participant had experienced a *different* event and, as such, we treated each recounting of that event as being independent of all the other interviews. It wasn’t until after were finished, of course, that we were told that each person we interviewed had actually witnessed the *same* event. Then we were asked to account for all the variations in the stories and to consider how we might have *heard* their accounts differently if, in our own minds, we’d linked them all together.

Even though I’m sure it’s standard fare in most low level psychology courses, this activity sticks with me, even today, as being the harbinger of some important lessons: In some ways, perception is just as important as reality and, depending on the lenses through which something is viewed, individual perspectives on a certain event can be as varied as the people themselves. And what’s more, even the same person can look at one thing differently as factors in their own life begin to change. Time, maturity and life experience can alter our view on just about everything.

I bring this up because I’m feeling entirely stoked about my ability to control my food intake today. In comparison to recent days, I had a really, really good day food wise. Here’s the proof:

It’s important to note that “normally” — if I were posting this over at the Food Confessional (which I plan to start doing again beginning Sunday) — I’d be fairly embarrassed by the ginormous calorie total, (particularly in the decadent chocolate cake that hypnotized and had its way with me later in the evening). Normally, I would scold myself for going over my calories (I usually attempt to stay between 1200 & 1500) and, as punishment, would stay up late into the night devising a plan of attack for the following day, to combat my obvious dietary slip up.

But tonight is different. Tonight, I’m thrilled by my 1800 calorie fest. I’m buoyed by what feels like yet another step towards being “officially” back in the saddle. In fact, I feel so good about how I did today that I decided to write about it here (and ad nauseum). In fact, here’s all the reasons why tonight this food diary entry feels like a huge success:

• I woke up craving veggies this morning, so I cut up some celery and fixed myself some lunch before heading for work, something I haven’t done, well… pretty much all summer.
• I chose the SUGAR FREE and NONFAT latte options instead of the full fat white chocolate mochas of day’s past. Further, I went with a smaller size. Go me!
• I resisted the temptation to eat the *entire* chocolate bar and only nibbled on 1/3 of the total. (I think I should consider going into training to become a ninja because, clearly, I have a will of steel!)
• My husband made some “Rice-a-Roni” (the San Francisco Treat) for dinner tonight, but as you can see, I again resisted.
• Yes, I ate a big giant piece of cake later on (am currently rethinking the whole ninja thing) but had I *not* eaten it, I’d have totally been under my ideal caloric intake for the day. That’s right, remove one thing and I would have been under. I definitely couldn’t have said that yesterday. Or the day before. Or the day before that. <repeat>
• None of this food was consumed in bed, under cover of darkness, or in the far stretches of a nearly empty parking lot.
• Um… hello! I counted my calories today! I counted my calories *and* I posted them. I’m like my own hero!

It’s funny, but when you’ve spent the last few days (weeks) recovering from a fall that felt like slipping off the ledge of a very tall building, tripping over one tiny chocolate cake shaped crack in the pavement just doesn’t seem like that big of a deal.

Seriously, isn’t it amazing how a little shift in perspective can change your entire outlook on things. Believe me, there have been plenty of days in the past, and there will likely be a few more in the future, in which I would have been full of apologies and excuses when reflecting on a day like today. But tonight I celebrate it as the success it is.

So… what’s next?

Well, for starters, tomorrow I’ll do a little bit better than I did today.  I probably won’t be perfect, but I’ll be better.  In fact, I’ve already got my lunch packed. It would appear I’m on a roll. :)

Oh! And speaking of things to be proud of, I have to say that I got all choked up earlier when I saw that BikiniMe had nominated me for this “blog award.” Sadly, I don’t have a prepared acceptance speech, but that won’t stop me from thanking the academy (of one). Muchas Gracias, Chica! I think I’m supposed to nominate some more people at this point, but I’ve never been very good at following the rules, so instead I’ll just say that if any of you feel like you’d like to make someone’s day by sending them a little virtual gold medal, go right ahead. Consider yourself nominated.

As for me, well… I’ve got a lot to celebrate tonight and I think I’ll do so by getting a good night’s sleep. :)

I think perhaps I’ve stumbled upon something important.

Over the last week or so I’ve spiraled pretty far out of control. In a series of events that would make Mr. Freud waggle his finger at me and say (in German of course) “I told you so,” the emotional trauma of the last few days has triggered a pretty significant regression on my part. Though I’m no psychotherapist, even I recognize that I’ve exhibited some fairly infantile behavior and, despite all my tough talk about personal accountability, in this instance I’m pretty dead set on blaming everything that’s wrong with me entirely on my mother. :)

That said, however, despite having lost at least one battle in the war this week, I’m feeling more and more tonight as though it hasn’t all been for naught. Let me explain. Normally, in these situations, my major weight loss stumbles tend to come in sets of two. First, I fall off the wagon as a result of the obstacle du jour — that is to say, the actual real or perceived wound that I feel the need to treat with a box of Krispy Kremes. Then, as if the first trip down mega calorie lane wasn’t enough, I then beat myself up for having strayed from the skinny path in the first place only to, ironically, seek out solace in food, yet again.

I know. I know.
Not too bright.

But this time has been a little different.

First off, I’m the first to admit that the wound was a bit deeper this time, and thus the fall was a bit longer, but… and here’s the important bit… I only fell once. There was none of the usual post-postmortem kicking of my own ass to contend with. Rather, I seem to have recognized something important this time:

Just as weight loss, in general, is a process, so too is recovering from the personal calamities that seem to so easily deflate even the most successful weight loss endeavors. It’s not as simple as falling off the horse and just getting back on. Rather, it’s about reaching the bottom of whatever hole you’ve fallen into (recognizing that some holes are much deeper than others, of course) and then climbing your way back up… one agonizing step at a time. Not only is it not fair to expect a one step recovery of yourself, but it’s totally unrealistic too. Sure, we’ve all heard the cliches about getting right back in the saddle after having fallen off, but anyone who’s ever been thrown from a horse knows that the reality of such a thing is much different. Recovery of any kind is a process… and this is no exception.

So here I am, climbing my way back.

I’m not “back” yet, but that’s ok. The important thing is that I’ve fallen as far as I intend to and now I’ve begun the climb out of this particular hole.

Baby steps, right?

All of that said, I’m happy to report that over the last few days I’ve managed to spend more time out of bed than I have in. With each day, I’ve gotten better at saying no to food that I don’t need to be eating. And tonight, I even went for a walk. Not a super calorie burning power walk of days past… but a walk nonetheless.

After dinner my husband and I took the dogs for a walk around our neighborhood. It was warm, but not hot. There was a light breeze and the dogs, for whom summer walks are just a little too close to cruel and unusual punishment, seemed so happy to be out in the world. We managed to get in about a mile and a half at a pace that was leisurely enough to allow conversation, but brisk enough to put a little sweat on my brow.

Afterwards, despite my normal aversion to everything exercise related, I felt, if not great, than at least very, very good. I felt a bit stronger, a bit more empowered and a bit further out of the hole.

Who knows what tomorrow will bring. :)

Oh. And one more thing…

In the 8 months since I started it, this blog has turned into something different than what I first imagined it would be.

At that time, I thought of it only as a place for me to chronicle my weight loss journey. And it has been that. But it’s been something more too.

When I first started, I never imagined sharing the kind of personal details about myself that I have. The notion that I’d one day write about my life and my family here just never occurred to me. Similarly, I truly never expected anyone to read what I wrote, especially not with any regularity. And I certainly never imagined that those who did would end up meaning so much to me.

In short, I never dreamt that I’d paint these walls with the kind of broad brush strokes that I have.

Needless to say, it’s been a pleasant surprise. But more than that, it’s been an absolutely necessary one. I can’t imagine what I would have done this summer without this spot and without all the people who choose to spend a little time sitting here with me. Whatever failures I’ve racked up in the last few months, I know they’d be so much worse without the support and guidance afforded to me by this blog and the little community that I’ve managed to become a part of.

I have to say, “thank you” just doesn’t seem like enough. But it’s all I’ve got.

I haven’t seen my mother in over 12 years.

I’ll be honest. Even if I wanted to outline all of the reasons for this here, I don’t think there’s enough space on my screen or characters on my keyboard to capture it all. Like all relationships, the one I share with my mother is complicated and messy. And, certainly, the fact that she lives nearly 3,000 miles away has played a role in our long separation. But the hard truth is that if we wanted to see each other, we would, and most of the reasons why we haven’t made that effort are personal, emotional and too painful for me to share publicly.

I will say this, however…

I left home when I was 16 years old. I left Washington State for my husband, college and North Carolina when I was 19 and I’ve been here for a little over 18 years now. In all of that time, she’s never been here to see me. She wasn’t there when I graduated from college. She wasn’t there when I got married. She wasn’t there when I earned my master’s degree. You name the event. She wasn’t there. For the first few years after moving here, I went home every year. I headed back during the summer and at Christmas… but then, over time, I stopped making the trek out there too. And before I knew it 12 years had past.

And then… about a month ago, she called and said that she’d bought a ticket and that she was coming to see me. In typical fashion, she didn’t ask if it was ok. She didn’t ask if it was a good time. She just said she’d bought a ticket and was coming.

So… for the last month I’ve been both looking forward to and dreading this “reunion.” Of course, there’s a part of me that has desperately wanted to see her, to show her my life, what I’ve built for myself and that I’m ok. But then there’s the other part that’s been equally afraid of all that could go wrong… and believe me, a lot could. So, for a month I’ve tried not to dwell on it. I’ve tried not to think about it at all.  I’ve tried not to worry. And, most of all, I’ve tried not to get my hopes up.

Anyway, she was supposed to arrive on Sunday evening, but the long and the short of it is that she never showed up. I’d gotten a call the night before about how excited she was, but then her arrival time came and went and she wasn’t on the plane.

One consequence of 911 is that now airlines will provide you with absolutely no information about their passenger lists, so I was left helplessly not knowing what had happened to my mother and no one at the airport was able/willing to tell me whether or not she’d ever even boarded a plane that day. It wasn’t until around 3am, and a million phone calls later that, I learned that she had decided not to come. She claimed that she’d attempted to but that flight delays and poor service on the part of the airlines made it seem like “too much trouble.” I guess it was “too much trouble” to call and let me know too.

So… that was Sunday night.  And since then, I’ve done little besides eat and cry. I’ve spent the last two days almost entirely in bed, getting up just to forage for food. I can’t recall everything I’ve eaten, but there was a point when I literally felt so full, I thought about purging — something I’ve never done before. In short, it’s been a miserable couple of days.

I guess the thing that bothers me the most about it all, is that this is the kind of thing she has pulled my entire life. In fact, since she called with the news that she was coming to visit, both my husband and I joked that she probably wouldn’t even show. And yet, when she didn’t, I was completely broadsided. And as a result, I’ve spiraled, again, into a dangerous pattern of overeating to feel better.

I’ve been eating and eating and eating, but I *don’t* feel better.
Rather, I feel worse.

And yet, I’ve got to be honest, I don’t know if I’ll be able to stop yet. Even now, as I type all of this out, I’m fighting the urge to scrap it and just head into the kitchen. I’m not hungry… but there’s a hole in me that needs filling.

And here’s the thing…

I don’t want to be the kind of person who fills those holes with food.
I don’t want to spend the rest of my life letting other people control me.
I don’t want to feel like it’s ok to blame her, or anyone else, for undoing what little I’ve been able to accomplish so far.

As I said in a recent post, I feel like I’m in a strange and unfamiliar place. I’ve attempted to lose weight before, but I’ve never lost as much as I have *this* time. I feel like I’m nowhere near the end of my “journey,” so if there is light at the end of this tunnel, I can’t see it yet. But, on the other hand, for the first time ever, I also feel like I’ve gone too far to turn back.

I don’t want to give up.

Tonight, my husband pulled me out of the bed and made me shower and put on some clean clothes. Then he took me for a drive to the beach with the top down. It was a nearly perfect night… much cooler than most summer nights here and to top it off, after a week filled with thunderstorms, tonight there was a cloudless, star filled sky. As we sat on the cool sand, watching the dark ocean come in, I commented on how beautiful the night was and how my mother was really missing out on something special. As if on cue, David said I was right, but that *I* was the thing she missing out on.

I want so much to believe him.
And I know I have to if I’m going to ever get back on track.

I think a lot of times, people who are overweight struggle with feeling as though they don’t deserve to be thin or healthy or even happy. Self-loathing so often goes along with the obesity package and, as a result, it’s sometimes hard to put ourselves first or to put what *we* need at the top of any list.  Even if doing so means changing or even saving our lives.  We simply don’t believe that we’re worth it.

But we are.  We so are.

And that’s the thing I’m trying to cling to tonight.  I’m trying to remind myself that I am worth treating well.  I am worth all the hard work that goes into losing weight.  My body deserves to be treated with respect.  I deserve to be thin.  I deserve to be healthy.   I deserve to be happy.

Even if my own mother doesn’t think so.

Lately, I’ve been trying to pay attention to the patterns in my eating, or more specifically, my overeating. It seems like my ability to stay on track, to eat sensibly and to stick to my exercise routine is easily undermined by certain conditions. For lack of a better way to put it, I guess I’ve been looking for the things that “trigger” my tendency to overeat, in the hopes that recognizing these triggers will help me avoid them. I find that being aware of my behavior can sometimes help me curb the negative aspects of it.

Anyway, although I’m sure there are others, this is the list I’ve come up with so far.

It’s funny, but when I look at this list, all laid out before me, it does feel a little overwhelming — as though there’s an awful lot of forces out there, conspiring against me. I mean, with traps like these lying in wait around every corner, it’s no wonder that I fuck up from time to time. However, as with all things, I’m learning that identifying, accepting and facing the problem are essential first steps in conquering them. I’ll never learn to *not* overeat in the face of these triggers, if I refuse to acknowledge their existence and the power that they have over me.

If there’s one thing I’ve learned from this whole blogging thing it’s that while all of us share a few things in common… we all struggle, we all hate what being fat has done to us and we all want to do better… for every way that we’re similar, there’s at least one other way in which our stories are varied. We’re all different people, with different personality ticks, different backgrounds, different relationships with foods and, I’d be willing to guess, different things that trigger our unhealthy behaviors. Just as each of us have to learn to recognize our own individual recipes for disaster, so too do we have to identify our own unique plan for success.

That said, this blogging thing really does help, doesn’t it?

Each time I stay away for awhile, I’m reminded of all the reasons why I need this. I need the support, the tokens of kindness and the wisdom that each of you so generously shares with me. But most of all, I need the camaraderie. It’s so helpful to know that I’m not alone.

As you might imagine, since my last post, I’ve been in a pretty bad place.

I’ve spiraled into a fairly deep funk, and frankly, up until now, I just haven’t been motivated enough to claw my way out of it. I’ve felt like one of those characters from the old Saturday morning cartoons who’s being followed/shadowed by a single, lone storm cloud, while the rest of the world lives in complete and perfect sunshine.

Ok. Perhaps that’s a bit melodramatic.

But I do know this: caring about yourself is hard when it feels like all your efforts have been for naught… and that is exactly how I’ve felt. It’s been one year since I decided to turn my life around, and while I have lost 70lbs in that time, recently it’s felt as though my health has, in many ways, declined. And that’s been a particularly hard pill to swallow because finding my way to a healthier, (rather than simply skinnier, cuter or more socially acceptable), place has always been my *primary* goal in all of this. I realize, of course, that thinking that all my obesity related health problems would simply disappear if I lost weight was, well… simplistic and naive. However, I guess I didn’t really expect them to get worse either. And that’s kind of the kicker. Over the last few weeks, I’ve felt cheated, scammed, tricked, bamboozled, etc… as though I’d invested all my money into something that turned out not to exist. It’s been like The Emperor’s New Clothes, only I’m the stark naked fool.

Of course, I’m not really naked, am I? Or perhaps the better analogy is to say that I’ve been naked for a long, long time. I just haven’t faced it until now.

Like many overweight people, I’ve spent a long time denying that I had a problem. Sure, I looked in the mirror each morning, but I found ways to focus on things other than my weight. Facing the fact that I was killing myself and thereby admitting that I needed to actually *do something* about it was just too daunting, so… for the most part, I flat refused to think about it all. And as a result I completely ignored my body and all of its various cries for help. I did this for years and years. But what’s more, even after I “faced the fat,” as it were, I only really faced the health issues that were an immediate problem. I focused on the high blood pressure and elevated cholesterol, because my doctor made it impossible not to. The other things? Well… I continued to ignore them.

I guess what they say about old habits dying hard is really true.

And, really, when I think about it, that’s probably a big part of why I’ve been so scarce these last few weeks. Something unexpected happened to me when I wrote my last post. When I allowed myself to purge all of the things that were plaguing me, I did more than just “get them off my chest.” I also put them in a place where I couldn’t ignore them anymore. It’s the old, “you can’t unring a bell” thing again. Once they were out there, I had to face them, and that has been hard. Each time I signed into wordpress or tried to read all of the gentle and wise comments that so many of you left me, I found myself panicking. It was like looking in the mirror and seeing all the damage I’ve done to myself, over and over again. Even now, I’m struggling with reading over that post or all of the love that people left for me in the comments. (Seriously, Fat Bridesmaid said she would shave her head for me. If that ain’t love, I don’t know what is).

In the meantime, I haven’t spent the last few weeks with my head completely buried in the sand.

First, I decided to go ahead and take the hormones that were prescribed by the doctor. She indicated to me that I might not have a period the first month that I took them, but I did… and she said that was a good sign. Two more months to go, then we’ll see what happens.

Secondly, I made an appointment with a dermatologist. This was really for my own peace of mind more than anything else, and in the end, I was glad I went. Apparently tricholosists, like the one Jenny saw when she had a similar problem, are few and far between in this country, (the nearest one to me being over 1,000 miles away), so I did some research online and settled for the dermatologist. The bottom line of what he told me was this: a) my hair is thinning and it is not my imagination. This acknowledgment of the problem was important to me. Though I hadn’t told anyone (who could actually see my hair) but my husband about the problem, and his steadfast assertion that he didn’t notice any difference made me feel, at various junctures, like I was going crazy. As strange as it may sound, knowing that I hadn’t completely lost my mind made me feel a bit better. Then he told me b) that my hair follicles were *not* dead or damaged in any way and that they were entirely capable of growing new hair. *whew* He also said c) that there’s a difference between thinning hair and going bald. Going bald means that your hair falls out and doesn’t grow back. Hair thinning, on the other hand, is when your hair falls out more quickly than it grows back. The latter is what is happening to me.

Then we went over my medical history. I showed him all of the previous blood work I’d had, including the recent hormone panel and thyroid check. We talked about the history of alopecia in my family (there is none) and about my recent weight loss. And in the end, he said that he treats a lot of people who lose their hair during periods of extreme weight loss or gain. He said that when your body gains or loses a great deal of its mass that sometimes it shuts down or slows what it considers to be less than “essential” functions in order to focus on other, more pressing, issues. He said that hair production is frequently one of these functions and that he felt strongly that this is what was happening to me. Needless to say, this made me feel a lot better. He also prescribed something for me… a topical solution, (similar to rogaine, I guess) that he said he’d experienced a great deal of success with, (but that doesn’t require endless use and that doesn’t cause you to lose all the hair you grow once you stop using it). I haven’t filled the prescription yet and, to be honest, I’m not sure I will. Just having it, though, is comforting.

So… that’s where I am right now.

I’m not sure I’m completely ready to “get back on the horse again,” but I’m no longer slumped over in a pool of my own tears anymore either. I could say that I’m somewhere in between, but I think, really, I’m a lot closer to feeling “whole” again.

I think one of the mistakes that most people, myself included, who are trying to lose weight make is to constantly try to quantify our success. Sure, we celebrate the occasional None Scale Victory, but for the most part, we hinge everything on numbers. Whether it’s the scale, the tape measure, the never ending calorie ticker or the size on the backs of our jeans, numbers become the sword upon which we live and die. And that’s unhealthy, for a lot of reasons.

Yes. Losing weight is a numbers game. There is math(s) involved and you can’t take the pounds off without occasionally breaking out the calculator, believe me, I know that. But what I also know is that it’s not the analytical part of my brain that enabled me to put this weight on. It wasn’t bad accounting that landed me at 300+ pounds. Like it or not, there’s something in my personality that makes me susceptible to this problem. You can call it emotional eating or whatever, but what I’m coming to realize is that being fat is really just a symptom, and as with any disease, treating *just* the symptoms is a recipe for disaster.

So… now, I find myself in a strange place: somewhere along what seems to be a never ending path… not close enough to the end to see it yet, but too far from the beginning to turn back. It’s been a year since I headed down this road and in that time, I’ve lost some weight. But I still have a long, long way to go. The difference, this time, however, is that for the first time ever, I recognize that, that “long way” encompasses so much more than just the pounds that I have yet to shed. And since they don’t make a ticker to help me measure that kind of progress I can only go by how I feel inside. To that end, I’d be lying if I said I felt good about my progress over the last month. I don’t feel good about all the steps backward I’ve taken while reeling from this. But I do feel pretty good about the steps forward I’ve managed to tick off, and at I know that least one of those steps is a pretty big one.

That said, I’m back. Or, perhaps I should say, I’m on the way back. Thank you so much to everyone who took the time to leave a bit of themselves here for me to find. I can’t tell you how much of a lifeline all of your comments have been to me. I’m so very grateful. Thank you.

I’m a pretty private person – a fact that may seem a little contradictory to the personal nature of this blog. However, despite the inherently public aspect of keeping an online journal, the truth is, I’m not usually one to bear my soul to the world. Let’s face it, even though I’m lucky enough to have several people who read these ramblings regularly and who then, in turn, leave bits of themselves here for me to ponder, all of this is still fairly anonymous. I get to choose how much I share and when or even *if* I share it at all. Yes, this is a public forum, but the amount I expose is entirely up to me, which makes the sharing pretty safe, and therefor something that I’ve been able to reconcile with my own very real need for privacy.

I guess that’s why the last few weeks have been tough for me. Physically and emotionally there’s been a lot going on with me… stuff that’s harder for me to talk about than what I ate yesterday, how many miles I walked (or didn’t walk) tonight or how tightly my jeans are fitting this week. I’ve been telling myself that I need to share this stuff. That keeping it all bottled inside isn’t healthy and that I can only benefit from the wisdom of those people who stumble across my words, but it’s been hard for me to turn that knowledge into action.

As much as I hate to admit it, part of my hesitation has to do with the personal nature of what’s wrong with me. Seriously, it pains me to think that I am *that* much of a prude, but really, it’s hard for me to reveal all the intimate details of my recent gynecological failings to the world. Not only does talking about that stuff make *me* uncomfortable, but I can only imagine how *you* must feel. I keep having visions of people squirming in their chairs and not being able to move onto the next blog in their readers fast enough.

*sigh*

But, you know, the truth is that all of this is embarrassing for another reason. The fact is that the things that are happening to me now are my own fault. I’m not the victim of a bad gene pool (at least not in this case, anyway) and I’m not a statistical anomaly. All the health problems that are plaguing me now are the result of years of neglect on my part. I’ve spent a very long time not listening to my body, and now I am paying the price.

About 15 or 16 years ago I stopped having regular periods. I’ve never been one to keep super good records when it comes to those things, and I wasn’t on birth control at the time, so it was several months before I thought, “hmmm… shouldn’t I be having one of those?” I was in college at the time and didn’t have health insurance, so I just went to the a nearby free clinic. I don’t remember the doctor who saw me, but I remember her pushing me through with little patience. After a quick exam, she basically said that I was obese and that as a result of my own slovenliness, (my words not hers), my periods had stopped. She suggested that I take some pills which would induce my period and that I then start taking birth control to regulate it. She gave me no additional information, and this was long before the days of readily available access to medical information via the internet, so I complied and my periods started again.

I stayed on the pill for a couple of years after that, but then, over time I stopped taking them and eventually my periods became less and less frequent until I averaged only 1 or 2 a year. This went on for years and, like so many other things related to my health, I ignored it.

At this point I wish I could say that it was a fundamental shift in my pattern of behavior that caused me to finally wise up and seek medical attention for this, but the truth is that the only reason I eventually decided that I might need to see a doctor is because, in addition to not having regular periods for, oh… a decade, over the last 2 years or so I’ve also noticed a steady thinning of my hair. Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m not bald or anything, and in fact my husband assures me that he has noticed no difference in the thickness of my hair at all, (it’s always been pretty thin), but despite his claims to the contrary, I know that it is definitely thinning. I still have the same thin, straight hair that I’ve always had, it’s just that now I have significantly less of it. And even though my husband might not see a difference, I definitely do. And I’m not imagining it.

And so, in short, vanity led me to see a doctor about a problem that I should have addressed long ago. And here’s the thing, as I’ve said here before, I’m not an idiot. I have two degrees, I can finish the New York Times crossword puzzle, I can feed myself and tie my shoes and, in most situations, function in society without the need of assistive technologies… and yet, when it comes to my own health and to taking care of myself properly, apparently, I am a complete moron.

At first, as you know, my doctor thought it was PCOS. So… she strapped me to the table and did an internal ultrasound and discovered precisely nothing: No cysts, no thickened lining of the uterin wall. No anything that might be deemed “remarkable.” So… next she drew some blood and checked all my hormone levels and discovered, again, precisely nothing. Apparently, all my hormone levels are normal. Turns out I’ve got all the right girlie ones and all the right not so girlie ones. And, here’s the kicker, I have the exact right amounts of each.

Woo Hoo! I mean, this is cause for celebration right? Great! No problems! I’m perfectly fine! Yay!

Except… oh yeah. I don’t have periods and I’m losing my hair.
So… what’s next?

Apparently, what’s next is 2 more pills a night in the form of 400mg of prometrium. Even though, as I mentioned above, my hormone levels are all normal.

Don’t worry. I don’t understand it either.

According to my doctor, estrogen is stored in fat. And because I have so much fat, my body thinks that it doesn’t need to make anymore…. and because my body has shut down its little pink estrogen factory, I’m not having periods. All of which sounds good except that none of that really explains why my estrogen levels are *normal* or why I’m losing my hair or what will happen to me if, given the fact that my estrogen levels *are* normal, I start taking what seems to be a pretty large dose of *more* estrogen.

I asked my doctor all of these questions and even though she tried to be reassuring, the truth is that, in my opinion anyway, she really didn’t have very good answers. She said that the bottom line was that I needed to start having periods again and that not having them presented more risks than a few months worth of extra estrogen did. She said that the idea was that by taking the prometrium, we were essentially “jump starting” my own natural systems and that with this little nudge *hopefully* my body would get back into the estrogen making business and that *hopefully* once these cycles were back to normal I’d see the positive changes (regular periods and hair growth) that I was hoping for.

*hopefully*

*sigh*

None of this sounds very promising.

And you know, it pains me to say this, because I’m truly mortified by how shallow I’m being when it comes to all of this, but the fact of the matter is, I’ve been short and fat and dumpy my whole life… and, you know, I just don’t think I can take adding bald to that list. And I can’t tell you how much I wish the prospect of losing my hair didn’t bother me. But it does… it really, really does. And, I’m being totally honest when I say that, I am just not sure I can take it.

I mean, c’mon… really.

Those of you who have been fat your whole lives know what I’m talking about. I’ve endured the slings and arrows of others who think being fat makes you a deserving target of cruelty. I’ve spent my entire life being judged on the basis of my weight. I’ve never been pretty or attractive or anyone’s first choice for anything. I’ve always been fat. It’s utterly defined me. And let me just say, for the record, (and as though it needed to be said at all) that all of that sucks. It sucks. And at this point, when I think about the prospect of adding, to the endless list of ways that I’ve been humiliated or degraded in my life, the idea of being bald too… well, I just have to wonder how much more I’m going to have to endure.

And you know what the worst part is? The worst part is that all of this… all of it… is my own fucking fault. Sure… I could blame it on the fact that I grew up so poor that we literally lived in homeless shelters and under overpasses for part of my childhood and that even when we had a roof over our heads that food was always very scarce. Or maybe I could blame it on the times when, as a child, I was sent into stores wearing oversized clothing and told not to come home until I’d filled the pockets with shoplifted food. I’m sure there are countless other food related childhood traumas that I could point the finger at, and that no one would dispute as being perfectly reasonable explanations for why I’m fat and fucked up today.

But the fact is, I’m an adult. And, what’s more, I’ve been an adult for a long, long time now.

I have to own the fact that *I* am the only person who chooses the food that I put into my body.
*I* am the only one who controls when/if I go to the doctor.
Only *I* can choose to listen to my own body and…
Only *I* can choose to take care of it.

~~~

Forgive me.

I know this isn’t the kind of post that you’re used to seeing here… but all of this is bubbling inside me and, frankly, I’ve got nowhere else to let it spill.

David, my husband, has heard it all before and has nothing intuitive or supportive to offer me. He definitely doesn’t support me taking the hormones that the doctor recommended, but he also doesn’t have any alternate solution. He says he’ll support me no matter what I decide, but the reality is that he can’t possibly understand what I’m going through. He’s never gone a day having to want for anything, much less food, in his entire life. He doesn’t understand my relationship with food and even though I know it’s not intentional, sometimes he totally enables my unhealthy behavior. The bottom line is that I love him, but I can’t turn to him right now.

So… here I am.

For much of this post, I’ve kept my eyes closed… just letting my fingers flail over the keyboard as I purge everything that I’ve been dealing with over the last few weeks. I don’t expect any of you to have any answers, but knowing that I can let it go… that I can spill it all out and pin it to these darks walls, without fear of judgment or condemnation, is very liberating.

I don’t know what will happen next and I hope, for all of our sakes, that I can get back to talking about how much I hate exercising and having to calculate the number of calories in a banana (100) each day. But until then, I feel a little better knowing that none of this has to be a secret that I bury somewhere deep inside me and that, even if I never say any of these words out loud, I don’t really have to bear the burden of them entirely alone. Even if I get zero comments to this post, or even if a few of you choose to stop reading my thoughts as a result of this lunacy, I know that spilling it all here was the right thing to do. Yes. As i said at the onset of this post, I am a private person. But even I have to admit that I feel so much better tonight for having lifted the lid so that I could let off a little steam.

Thank you so much for listening.

First off, thanks to everyone who, either here or via email, sent me encouraging words or information re: PCOS. I’ve had very little time online this week, but that limited amount has been spent clicking links. Again, thank you. It makes me wonder what people did prior to the internet. Now, don’t get me wrong, *I* spent much of my life doing plenty of things *before* the internet, but it’s amazing how much more empowered I feel regarding my own health when I can go to the doctor armed with information. Even my doctor admitted that having better informed patients makes her job much, much easier. It makes me feel lucky that I live during this time in history. I’m sure I’d be much more frightened were I merely fumbling through all of this in the dark.

Anyway, the good news (or bad news, depending on how you look at it) is that the results of my recent ultrasound revealed no ovarian cysts or, as my doctor had feared, a thickened uterine wall. Obviously, this is good. A lack of these problems is better for my overall health than the alternative of having them. However, it also means that PCOS might not be what ails me after all. Oddly, it turns out that one doesn’t necessarily have to have ovarian cysts in order to have poly cystic ovary syndrome. Go figure. So… that means pcos has not been ruled out altogether at this point and more tests are needed in order to find out what’s wrong. That said, the day after I learned that the results of my ultrasound were “unremarkable,” I went back to the doctor and had bunches of blood drawn. Currently, I’m just waiting for the results of this lab work, in the hopes that it will shed some light onto what’s happening with my body.

In the meantime… I’ve been working A LOT. And, sadly, I feel like I’ve been eating a lot too. It’s really strange because I’m not working more than 40 hours per week, but the lack of a regular (fixed) work schedule has thrown my eating patterns for a loop. Similarly, even though recent diet news has only confirmed what I already know to be true about keeping a food diary, I’ve literally found it impossible to keep up with my own efforts in this regard.

I’m reminded of what things were like for me *before* I made the commitment to myself to change my life. In those days, as I’ve mentioned here before, I worked two full-time jobs, (I did that for nearly 10 years), bought and remodeled several homes and was (for part of the time anyway) in grad school. Even back then, I wanted to lose weight, but it wasn’t a priority. I made my jobs/making money/and my education the priority and as a result my health suffered. Even now, one year and 70+ lbs later, I’m still paying the price. These days, I’m not working nearly as much as I used to and I’m not juggling the demands of multiple jobs + school, etc … and yet I can feel myself falling back into some of those old patterns: eating late at night, including caffeine in my daily diet and making food choices based on convenience rather than health. I want to blame this on simply being tired, but in the end, I know it’s all about choices. And I’m not talking about simply good choices vs. bad choices, I’m talking about choosing food over all the reasons why I’m doing this in the first place.

And maybe that’s part of the problem. It’s not that I’ve forgotten why I need to lose weight, but perhaps I need a little reminding of why I WANT to. Back in January, in response to this same question, I listed the following as reasons why I wanted to lose weight:

• I want to reduce or eliminate the need for blood pressure/cholesterol medicines in my life.
• As I near 40, I want having (or not having) children to be my choice rather than one made by my weight.
• I want to be in control of my decisions and actions, including what I put in my mouth.
• I want to qualify for reasonably priced life insurance
• I want to feel better about myself.
• I want to have more energy and to do more outdoor activities like hiking, biking, jogging etc.
• I want to learn to play tennis.
• I want to be able to shop in stores that don’t solely cater to giant people.
• If people are going to judge me, I’d like it to be for some reason other than the fact that I am fat.
• I want to travel and explore new areas on foot or by bike.
• I want to live like a normal person where food isn’t my enemy.
• I want to make my husband proud.
• I want to be cute for a fat girl.
• This is my Everest. I want, no I need, to be able to say that I conquered it.

I still want all of those things. And now I also have to add to the list…

• I want to, if possible, reverse (or at least lessen) the symptoms of PCOS (or whatever else is wrong with me). But just wanting all of this is not enough… which brings me back to choices.
• I want to go home (Seattle) to visit my family *and* go on a vacation with my husband. (I haven’t flown in many years because a) the seats have, for a long time, been too small for me and b) I’ve not been able to fit a standard airplane seatbelt).
• I want to be around to grow old and gray with my husband. Who will take care of him if I’m no longer around to do it?
• I want to know what it feels like to feel sexy. I’ve never looked in the mirror and thought I was hot… I’d love to know what that feels like.

Each time I choose to overeat… each time I choose not to count and record my calories… each time I choose not to exercise… I’m doing more than just making the proverbial “bad choice.” Rather, I am also choosing food over the things I’ve listed above. I’m choosing a cookie over the ability to live without blood pressure/cholesterol medication. I’m choosing a fried egg sandwich over making my husband proud. I’m choosing Starbucks over feeling good about myself. And you know, when I put that way, there’s absolutely nothing I can say to justify it.

As most of you know, I’m not very good at games of internet tag, so I won’t name anyone specific, but tonight I’m challenging each of you to do the following: Even if you don’t do it publicly (as in on your blog or here in the comments), WRITE DOWN all the reasons why you want to lose weight. Don’t just think about them… write them down. Even if they seem silly; Even if they are embarrassing or painfully obvious; Even if you’ve never, ever shared them with another living soul. Write them down. I’m telling you, there’s something about the creation of that list that’s very powerful. The strength of all those wishes and desires, when stacked together like that, is absolutely remarkable.

And then, (and of course this is the hard bit), in the days to come, when you’re faced with a choice and you find yourself reaching for something you shouldn’t eat, try to remember that you’re not just choosing chocolate over celery, you’re choosing chocolate over all the things on your list… and let me tell you, chocolate’s good, but it’s not *that* good.

Someone once said that “destiny is not a matter of chance, but a matter of choice.” This week, I’m going to try very hard to look at my list as my destiny and then to do everything in my power to choose it. I hope you will too.

Over the last month or so Andrew has done a series of posts on the lessons that losing over 100lbs and exponentially increasing his fitness level has taught him. If you subscribe to the idea that the struggle to be healthy and fit never really ends, then Andrew’s journey is nowhere near over, but he’s far closer to the “maintenance” aspect of weight loss than I am. That said, however, even though I haven’t lost 100lbs (yet) or even reached the halfway mark of my total weight loss goal, I feel like I’ve still learned a few things that are as true now as they will be when I do reach these milestones in my own journey. To that end, one lesson that I find myself having to learn over and over again has to do with how difficult all of this to do when I spread myself too thin (you’ll have to pardon the pun). Indeed, exhaustion is not part of the recipe for success when it comes to weight loss. And this week, I’m exhausted.

Part of what’s beating me down this week is the job I took to supplement my income over the summer. It’s laughable, really, because it’s literally just a part-time job at a local bookstore. I’m not digging ditches, installing roofs, building houses, rustling cattle or anything else that might be considered “manual labor” and yet this job is kicking my ass. Seriously, being on my feet all day is so much harder than I remembered it. Back (in the day) when I was in college I worked lots of on-my-feet-all-day kinds of jobs, and I don’t ever remember feeling the way I do when I come home from work now. I’m telling you, being old and fat is a bitch. :)

But what’s worse is the fact that being tired all the time has totally weakened my resolve. I’m doing so-so when it comes to eating right. I’m sure I’ve gone over, in the calorie department, at least once or twice over the last few days, but I don’t think it’s been by much. The real problem is that I’ve been too tired to record everything at the end of the day (which for me, at this point along my own person road to thin, is a crucial part of my success) and too exhausted to exercise. That said, even though I didn’t post about it (I was too tired) I did weigh in on Saturday and was up .2lbs which is about the equivalent of 2-3 large strawberries, so I’m not terribly worried about that. However, I didn’t really plan on spending the summer just maintaining my current weight loss. I’ve got a lot more pounds to lose and they’re not going to come off if I don’t put some effort into to taking them off. Of course, that’s easier said than done when you’re totally and utterly pooped.

The truth is, though, that I can’t really blame all of my exhaustion on my job (even though, I swear to you, it’s killing me). Part of the problem has to do with stress of another kind. Last week, I was tentatively diagnosed with Polycystic Ovary Syndrome. It won’t be official until the results of the ultrasound (that I’m having done tomorrow) come back, (which may be another week or so), but my gynecologist said she’d be shocked if the ultrasound doesn’t support her conclusion. I don’t know everything there is to know about PCOS, but basically, as I understand it, my body isn’t making enough estrogen and is instead making too much androgen, which has led to a number of symptoms/problems that are too unpleasant and, at this point anyway, too personal to discuss here. Anyway, I don’t anything for sure yet, but I know that it is on my mind constantly, making it difficult to sleep (even though I am physically wiped out).

I suppose, when I think about it, it’s not all bad news, though. Some things that I know I am doing right include:

• taking a multi-vitamin every day
• drinking plenty of water
• stretching before going into work (just like I would before going for a walk or doing any other kind of exercise).
• limiting the amount of refined sugar/white flour in my diet as I know these don’t translate into prolonged/sustainable energy.
• Not giving up or seeking comfort in food — as the old me would have done.

Some things I need to improve upon include:

• recording my calories.
• exercising — this really isn’t an option.
• letting go of the stress that’s related to things that I can’t control.
• remembering that even though I ignored my body for a long time that I am doing the right things now.

So… yes, I do work tonight, but I’m going to try to do at least one of the things on my list of “must do better” while also giving myself a gold star for trying to work through these issues rather than just throwing my hands in the air and jumping, headlong into a chocolate brownie torte with white chocolate mousse and caramelized bananas (not that I’ve given it any thought). :)

I think sometimes we all, (myself included), tend to spend a lot of time lamenting how long it takes us to come to what can seem like some pretty obvious conclusions about ourselves, our bodies, and what it takes to lose weight — when, in the end, what’s really important is that we learn these lessons at all.  Today that’s what I’m trying to focus on.

I *am* learning and it’s *not* too late.

<repeat>

You know… I woke up this morning feeling a bit down.

I was having one of those days where I was missing that feeling that I used to have when I chose not to worry about what I eat. I’m sure you’ve had those moments too; where you long for a few moments of just not caring… of not having to count the calories, worry about the carbs, worry about the fat, worry about the sodium, limit my portions and add it all up at the end of the day.

Sitting here this morning I thought… I miss living like a normal person. I miss just going to the fridge, grabbing what looks good and eating it, not because it fits into my daily calorie allotment, but because I want it. I miss being able to go out to lunch with friend(s) without spending the whole meal worrying about what I can eat and resenting myself and my friend(s) for all the things I can’t. I miss not spending every moment of every day worrying about how fat I am and how fat I will be if I eat this thing vs. that thing. I miss no longer being able to look at a banana and seeing just a banana. Now, instead, I see 100 calories… and then the questions begin. Can I eat that? Should I eat that? If I do eat that, what can’t I eat later?

It never ends.
And it’s exhausting.

On the other hand, there’s a lot of other things that I definitely *don’t* miss about the way I was before. I *don’t* miss having constant back pain. I *don’t* miss not being able to walk even a short distance without being out of breath. I *don’t* miss being tired all of the time. I *don’t* miss NOT being able to fit into a booth at a restaurant. I *don’t* miss trying on the biggest size at every clothing store I went into and NOT being able to fit into any of them. I *don’t* miss not being able to find shoes that fit because my feet were so swollen and puffy all the time. I *don’t* miss being gawked at on the street by strangers. I *don’t* miss refusing invitations because I was too embarrassed to meet new people. I *don’t* miss feeling like a failure all of the time. I *don’t* miss the look my husband would give me when he was trying not to show that my weight embarrassed him or made him sad. I *don’t* miss hating myself.

When you’re fat, these feelings too never end.
And that shit will kill you.

Sometimes, I just need reminding that even though this is hard, and even though I still have a long way to go, being the way I was before was a lot harder. And, yes, I might miss not having choosing not to care about my weight, but I would miss feeling better about myself even more.

But wait!  That’s not all!!

My day got even better a little later in the afternoon when a surprise package from Paola arrived at my door!

Just look at all the goodies I got!

!!!

A few weeks ago I asked Paola about the wholegrain Cracker Breads that she sometimes eats and posts

about over at the Food Confessional… little did I know that she would not only send me a whole box of these yummy (20 calorie!!) treats, but that she would also send me some Finn Crisps, some caramel rice cakes, some hot chocolate sachets, a lovely sweater (that no longer fits her because she’s getting so skinny!!) and another pair of beautiful, handmade earrings!!

Oh my stars!! Talk about generous and unexpected!! Of course, I had to open up each package and try each of the yummy treats she sent me from across the ocean… but luckily, because they’re so low in calories and good for me, I was able to indulge without going over my calorie allotment for the day.  Bonus!

So… all in all, I’d say it’s been a very good day.  :)