When I started this over a year ago -- I truly thought I'd have reached my weight loss goal by now --
If anything, I've lost ground rather than made progess -- at least if I pay attention to what the scale says.
I gave up the scale for Lent -- and only during my weak moments get back on -- they end being mere moments, but they take weeks to get over.
Why is it that women in our society are taught to judge themselves by numbers -- the 3 numbers on a scale or the size of a pair of pants? We are all so much more -- well most of us --
the women that really are only what the numbers are worth have depleated themselves into being nothing but digits really.
Feeling pain, rather than numbing it with food is rather overwhelming -- I've spent so many years of my life just trying to survive and now, when faced with the task of actually living instead of merely surviving -- well, wow -- it's so very hard.
That's the other thing -- our parents, intentional or not, teach us that our feelings are bad -- that we can't just feel things -- the pain, joy and truth of our existence.
How many of us were jumping for joy and told to "settle down" -- or sobbing over a loss and told to "get over it" -- my gawd -- how many times have I done this to my own children?
In the process of sorting out my life I seem to be having more sad days than good sometimes -- but now that I'm am allowing myself to feel the pain (or whatever) I'm aware of how much good there really is -- how many angels God has sent my way -- just when I think I can't be any more stupid or my situation can't get worse - there is an angel or a messenger or something -- someone to remind me that adversity is often an opportunity --some things happen for a reason --- you can't change other people --
So I had a revelation the other day -- I forced myself to go to the gym to meet with my trainer -- a bear of a man who has a take no prisoners approach -- I certainly have a love hate relationship with him.
He made me do these chest press things - at 50 pounds, which is a lot for me -- I made it through one set of 18 and hoped he'd let me stop. I told him I as having a bad day, afterall -- (aka "please, pity poor me) but he pushed for another set.
One-third of the way through my arms were on fire -- another third and I wanted to cry and give up -- but then a voice inside me said "Don't let them beat you, not at this, not at anything" -- I finshed that stupid set -- and I hurt, but I did it -- My trainer, Jeff, just looked at me and said "wow".
That thought has kept me going quite a bit the last day or two. I still can't seem to get control of what I'm putting in my mouth -- mostly because I get tired and frustrated.
But it occurs to me as I write this -- that not controlling what I eat, puts someone else in control of my life. Being fat just allows him to feel controlling an superior to me.
Ha -- he doesn't deserve that.
My arms -- and my heart -- for that matter -- hurt like hell -- but it's nothing I can't handle now.