Hitting the Wall
It was only a matter of time, really, before it happened. I had been putting so many expectations on myself, I left no room for error. So when I woke up the other day to a blustery morning, I didn’t realize that my mood was just as much on edge. I had been busting my booty for weeks on end, exercising, eating good…and then came the ugly. The funny thing is looking back at it from a new days perspective..my ugly wasn’t really so bad. In the past if I had a day where I wanted to lounge in PJ’s and not work-out..it wasn’t even a big deal. Usually it was celebrated with a bowl of ice cream or by baking some calorie-filled carb-o-licious treat.
It all went south in the early evening. It was getting late and I hadn’t grocery shopped yet (after all it was payday-eve). The kiddos were hunger stricken, so we jumped into the car and found ourselves in the drive-thru of one of three places to eat in our tiny town. I ordered for them, caved, and ordered a chicken sandwich for myself. Plain, because you know those mayo calories are soooo much worse than the bread and patty inside the wrapper. LoL. We were on our way, and I took my 99cent heart attack and ate with my family. Hours later, little ones in bed, hours of on-line Army Wife training accomplished…I realized I was hungry. My sweet daughter had made muffins for the morning so we could get out of the house on-time. Not just any muffins, the taste-temping, amazing smelling blueberry variety. I indulged in one. (only after I had eaten a bowl of almond crunch cereal.) At this point, I felt like the world BIGGEST PIG. Sad, but true. My wall was hitting me in the face, and I didn’t care (yet). I went to bed feeling like a weight loss loser.
Fast forward to this morning, as the Mommy-schedule-Gods would have it, I was booked and would not be able to work out (again). I dreaded even looking at the direction of my scale. It taunted me with its smug little shiny screen, “stand on me…c’mon, you know you wanna find out!” And I did. I wanted to discover how much damage I had done. Of course, I was NEVER going to get on that thing FULLY CLOTHED, are you kidding me. I waited until it was my turn to shower..and gave into the scale-temptation. Not once, nope, not twice..how could that number actually be right…but THREE times. Can we say “obsessing” oh yes, we can. 264.3. Ummm….SERIOUSLY. I was relieved, sort of. I now had an extra 2 lbs to get rid of (yes, I was staring the 250’s in the face my friends), but I wasn’t going to have to visit jaba the tentmaker for my old clothes anytime soon.
I realized the moral of this tale was not about the scale…but all about me. I obsess. I over analyze. I stress. I want to see the number drop so badly, that I make myself neurotic. I realized after my “episode” that I needed to just step-away from the scale and focus on me. My best cure…oh yeah, SHOPPING!! LoL. My oldest got braces on, and we had some time before picking up the little kids..so the mall beckoned us. She had her eye on a dress for homecoming, and I had the checkbook. We were a package deal. As she lamented over which of the 7 dresses to try on and in what color..I made my way over to a long-lost friend. The denim section. I LOVE jeans. I just don’t love the way I have looked in them for the past two years. A very cute pair were calling my name, and the sales lady handed me a size I hadn’t seen in a LONG time, saying I may just be surprised. I took a size or two bigger as well and headed to the dressing room. I thought I might as well hit the disappointment first, so I tried on the smallest size first. One leg, two legs…a couple well executed jumps and OH MY HECK…I WAS IN THEM!!! They were tight, they weren’t cutting off my circulation, and I could pull them away from my thigh, so no vacuum sealing. I did a turn and oh my gosh..I had a butt. Not a caboose trailing me..a BUTT. I almost cried. All the torture of the last day or so, and I was in a dressing room in jeans MULTIPLE SIZES smaller than when my husband left. I decided to press my luck even further and tried on the clearance cardigan (in a size smaller than the jeans), and a top to go with…NOT FROM THE plus size section. I will not lie..it all came home with me. I felt good, no..I felt SEXY. I was, for one day (gasp) happy with my body, and I was not going to reward myself with this outfit (thank heavens for military discounts and great sales).
My friends, it is truly all about perspective. Mine sucks, on a general rule. I am constantly putting myself down and allowing the proverbial “walls” in life to smack me head on. This time around, I am playing it different. This blog, for one thing has given me my voice back. Allowing me to share how I am feeling, and the guts to let you all read it. I am also, a work in progress. I have my great days..and my blustery days, even some moments in between. Through it all, I work, and I try. That’s all I can do.. and gosh darn it, I am getting pretty good at it. The outfit hanging in my closet says so, so there! As my awesome pal, Walt Disney said, “Keep Moving Forward!”