Last week, I watched the two hour episode of Biggest Loser, in which the contestants went home for 30 days, and completed a marathon at the end of that time. Biggest Loser has been a favorite show of mine since way back when it first got started. Although I know that the results these contestants show are definitely not typical and that the average person can't keep up with that type of lifestyle in everyday life, I still find it inspiring. These are people who never thought that they could lose a large amount of weight triumphing over all of the obstacles and finally succeeding in the one thing they've always wanted so desperately to do.
However, this episode of the Biggest Loser hit me especially hard. I cried for the entire two hours the show was on. I didn't just cry, I sobbed. Uncontrollably. So hard that I woke my husband up, and he was two rooms away from me with the door shut.
The first thing that really hit me was when Jillian visited Tara and she was talking about all of the chaos in her life. I realized while watching it that she might as well be talking to me. My life is one big ball of chaos, and has been for a long time. My emotions strangle me, and I hurt so deeply that for years I self-medicated. In college, I did it with drinking and drugs, but for years and years, I did it with food. It really doesn't make a lot of sense to stuff myself full of food in an effort to feel better, and I really wish that I could explain the logic behind it. The truth is that even I don't know why. It made me feel better in the short term, but I still can't seem to wrap my mind around how stuffing myself to the point of pain made me somehow feel better about my out of control life. Maybe it was that I was actually controlling how much of something I put in my mouth, and that made me feel slightly triumphant. Maybe it was the fact that when I binged to the point of pain I felt like I was punishing myself for bad things that I had done. I honestly can't explain it, but I definitely identify with Tara and Jillian's concerns for that chaos still following her around.
However, the part that hit me the hardest, and has made me tear up all season long was the issues with Mike and Ron. Mike is a super kid, and I hope he takes it all. He is not just a fierce competitor, but he is so loving and giving and caring. But his relationship with his dad and brother has really hit home for me. I grew up in a family that was full of love, but we weren't always the most financially stable family in my earlier years. There were times that had it not been for our garden and other family members, we would have gone hungry. I believe that a lot of my eating habits come from the deep seeded fear that took root in my very early years that I better eat as much as I can when it's in front of me, because there may come a meal when I have nothing to eat. However, I can't blame that for my weight problems now, because I've been out of that situation for quite a while now.
The worst thing that bothered me about the whole dynamic between Ron, Mike, and Max is the fear that I might pass my terrible eating habits along to my children. I look at my boys, and see these two gorgeous kids who have no self-esteem problems and whose future stretches out in front of them with more possibility than I can imagine. And I can literally feel my heart break when I think that my eating habits and my obesity could possibly lead these two wonderful kids down the same painful road I've been traveling. I would rather walk through fire on broken glass than to think for one second that I'm condemning them to the fat life I've led. I honestly didn't really think much about all that until I saw Mike in tears, asking Ron why he didn't try to do something about his weight and eating habits for him and his brother. I felt like someone had sucker punched me in the gut. I can't do that to my children. I just can't. I would hate myself forever if I knew that I could be the cause of such immense pain for them.
So the tears poured down my face for two solid hours. I was still crying after the show ended. I'm just so sick of being the fat girl. I'm so tired of hiding behind other people in pictures, and of being so self conscious that I scrutinize every little article of clothing for the right amount of coverage and perform smoke and mirror acts with my clothing that would make David Copperfield jealous. I don't want to be defined by my weight anymore. I don't want to fear people looking at my plate in a restaurant and thinking, "Well, that explains why she's so fat." I want to move past all that. I want to feel attractive again. I want to be proud of the way I look, and not ashamed. I want to be able to see pictures of myself and not be disgusted.
Now, I know that I'm definitely on my way. I mean, I've lost three pant sizes, and that's no small feat. But I'm still scared. I'm scared of hitting a wall and gaining back everything I've lost. I'm scared of failing. I don't want everyone who knows me to think, "Well, she was doing such a great job, then something happened, and she just put all that weight back on and then some." I'm so terrified that this weight loss is only temporary, and that I'm not going to continue to have progress. I'm scared to death of plateauing and giving up. I don't want to fail, and I'm determined to keep pushing forward. But I'm so scared that I'm not strong enough to do it.
I'm also terrified of how my weight will affect my kids. I'm scared of them falling into the habit of stuffing obscene amounts of food into their bodies, and I'm scared that they will follow in my fat footsteps. I'm scared that one day they'll look at me with tears in their eyes and ask me why I didn't try harder for them. I'm afraid that my obesity will cause health complications for me that rip me from their young lives and force them to grow up with only the shadow of a memory of their mother. I'm scared that they will grow to hate me for not changing myself now, while I can. I'm absolutely terrified of failing my children, because they are the only two people in this world that I owe everything I have to. And I owe them a life built on healthy choices, not built on self-medication and pain.
Even as I sit here now, I'm crying. This weight loss journey has brought lots of triumphs my way, along with a lot of laughter. From nearly knocking people over to get to the Fiber One bars to being able to walk into Old Navy and walk out with a pair of jeans that fit, I've definitely had happy moments along the way. But I would be lying through my teeth if I sat here right now and said that I have it all figured out and that it's only getting better from here. I'm terrified. I have moments when I slip and eat things I know I shouldn't, and in the back of my head, there's this little niggling thought saying, "You're gonna fail, and you're gonna gain it all back."
Today, I went out with some girls from nursing school to celebrate the end of our first year. I made a good choice for my entree, then everyone started ordering dessert. I gave in and ordered one too. I ate to the point that I literally hurt, and all I could do was sit there and hate myself for doing it. I don't know why I did it, and I certainly didn't feel better after doing it. I was miserable, in pain, and simply loathing myself for the sabotage. Is it that I'm scared to succeed? Is it that my identity is so tightly woven around being a fat chick that I don't know how to be anything else? Why did I sit there and stuff myself to the point of exploding? It makes no sense to me, and I'm still left trying to figure it out.
So, to put it all out there on the table, here are my thoughts. I'm scared of failing. I'm terrified that if I start gaining this weight back, I'll never get it off. I'm afraid of passing this addiction on to my children. I'm terrified that they will grow up fat and unhealthy because their mother is fat and unhealthy and they never learned any better. I'm scared of my health being sacrificed due to my weight, and I'm afraid of having precious years with my children taken away because of my inability to lose the weight that I know I have to get off. I'm scared of letting down everyone who has cheered me every step of this journey. I'm terrified that I'll never be able to look in the mirror and be happy with what I see. I'm trying to stop tying my emotions to food, but at the same time, I'm scared because I don't know how else to deal with the powerful emotions.
In many ways, I feel like an alcoholic or a drug addict. My poison of choice is food. I can't approach food like a normal person can. While you might see a box of doughnuts and think about eating one, I approach a box of doughnuts and think about eating them all. I can't have red light foods in my house, because if I do, I'll eat them until I puke or run out, whichever comes first. I used to eat in secret, much like Mike confessed to doing on the Biggest Loser. I would go through the drive thru and eat something before I came home. I once sat in the parking lot of Wal-mart and ate an entire mega box of Little Debbie Fudge Rounds before going home a cooking dinner. Twelve of those cakes I ate, then ate an entire meal with my family. I never sat in the same place twice at gatherings centered around food, because I didn't want anyone realizing how many trips I made back to fill my plate up. I was ashamed of myself for eating that way, yet I didn't stop. The rush I got from a big slab of cake was similar to the rush one gets when taking drugs. And the crash is just as harsh.
So here and now, I'm making a vow to myself and to my children. I will not go back to the way things were. I will move forward, learning every day how to eat better. I will move more, and involve myself in physical activity until it becomes second nature for me. I will teach my children to push their plate away when they are satisfied, and that they need not eat any more than that. I will show them healthy ways to snack, and that it's fun to get out and move. There may be times when I slip, but I will not allow myself to use them as an excuse to engage in more bad behavior. I will put that one incident behind me, and move forward from there. I will never again allow myself to weigh 270 pounds. I will not teach my children that all their wounds can be soothed with the right combination of sugar and fat. I will become a healthy role model to them, and perhaps just as important, I will work to inspire myself. To be able to face the image in the mirror and say, "That's right. Look at what you're accomplishing!" I will no longer hate myself for being weak, but I will celebrate myself for being strong. And I will look forward to the day, much like the contestants on the Biggest Loser, that I can stand up and say, "This is what I've accomplished, and I'm a strong person for being able to do it."
And, from here on out, when I lie down to sleep, I will ask myself and answer back one simple question..."What have you done today to make you feel proud?"
Followers
0 comments:
Post a Comment