Thursday, March 30, 2006

my return

When I started this nearly a year ago, I truly believed I would find myself 100 pounds thinner on this date. I remember feeling so empowered, so motivated, so ... on fire.
But, as the saying goes, that was then, this is now.
I've not lost an ounce -- and in fact, have gain about 10 pounds. You know what? -- I'm ok.
I have finally started getting a grip of the fact that my worth shouldn't be judged by 3 numbers on a scale. I'm more than that. Yes, I need to get healthy. But no, I'm not a complete failure because I don't fit into society's norm.
Eating is only a way to avoid what's really bothering me. It is a way to fill a void. But I'm slowly, but surely, finding other ways to fill the darkness. I struggle every second of every day, but I move forward most of the time.
I have been reading an incredible book, "Eating by the Light of the Moon" -- and so far its communicating all of the thoughts that have been running through my head the last few months.
That the fat has served it's purpose, but I'm done with it now. I have to lose the weight equal to another person. At first I was overwhelmed at the prospect, but you know, I'm ready to let her go. She's been wonderful for me. I have hid behind her and tried to find a way to combat the rollercoaster of emotion I've been on for the last 10 years. She's allowed me to survive. Slowly, ounce by ounce I'm ready to let her go. Thank you so much dear friend -- serve another woman in need.
I've also been thinking a lot of about water -- the symbolism of a river. For years I have been just floating with a current -- just trying to survive. It's time now to stake my claim to land that is mine. I can choose where I want to go and when -- and those choices are good and intelligent and only mine. In the book, the author describes a metaphor in which the addiction is like a log you hang on to keep from drowning. In reality all you have to do is swim to shore, but you've become so reliant on the log it's hard to let go. When you get scared you grab onto the log again. Each time, you get closer to the shore -- appreciating the log for its purpose, struggling to focus on the journey. But it's all there in front of you.
I'm going to be ok - better perhaps, than I've ever been.