Change is scary. I’m talking about real, life-altering change. For most of my life I talked about what I would do “one day” and dreamed about who I could be “if only…” but they were abstract thoughts. There is always an excuse NOT to do something; often that excuse is even valid. At what point do you stop making excuses for yourself and actually start doing something to make meaningful changes in your life? When is it the right time to do what needs doing?
The time is now. It is always now; mostly because the great life-improving, motivational-speakeresque self-dialogue is an ongoing process, not a one-time event. When I had my weight-loss surgery six months ago I certainly changed “overnight” in some ways. I woke up with about a quarter of my stomach left. Because I have such a tiny stomach I have been losing weight consistently and my quality of life has improved. But! What about all of the changes 600 pound me made before the surgery? 600 pound me decided to take charge of her life. She went on a crazy liver-shrinking diet for several weeks and soldiered through it ALL with (minimal) complaints. She started walking and exercising to improve her chances of surviving the surgery. She made the difficult decision to have the surgery at all AND she endured a six month cycle of continuous dieting, weighing in, getting blood drawn, and having humiliating visits to her doctor. She did all of this because at some point she (I) decided that it’s time to kick it into high-gear and get.shit.done.
Let’s also not forget post-surgical me. Not to self-congratulate too much, but I have worked my ass off (quite literally). I didn’t share too much about it in this blog, but in all honesty I was sick – very sick – for a few months after surgery. Every time I ate I felt like throwing up; and indeed I often did. I felt bad all of the time. Sometimes I wondered if I was dying; sometimes I wished that I was. It got better; it got so much better. Am I at 100% now? No; not even at six months out. I still get sick, though not as much. I struggle daily to eat the way that I should. I rarely get in the liquids I need and I cry sometimes when I brush my hair because so much of it falls out. I am vitamin deficient and sometimes my legs and arms go numb. Some days I am unlovable; some days I stare at a big bottle of pills and I wonder if it would be better if I just gave up. Some days I cry. But, I am getting better. Is it a fairy tale? Hell no. But I am proud of how far I have come.
Often, when I think of where I am in life; how far behind I am when compared to my peers, I wish for a do-over. I am in my thirties – most people my age have kids, jobs, a home. They are settled-in to life and here I am, just getting started. In the past this has been a major source of turmoil and depression for me. Self-deprecation comes so easily to me. But thanks to my fucking rockstar of a therapist, I am gaining insight in this and devising a plan to overcome it.
I started out in life pretty rough. I was molested on a very regular basis by someone very close to me at a very young age. From the ages of about five to eight I endured things that no child should have to endure. I won’t go into detail here, but it is sufficient to say that it was horrible. This kind of thing leaves a mark on a person; this kind of thing changes a person – especially during her most impressionable years. It created a loop; another cycle. This time the cycle was full of shame, guilt, self-loathing, and despair. I sabotaged myself over and over again during my life because I honestly did not believe that I deserved happiness. I still struggle with the idea. I still look in the mirror, even after losing so much of my “armor”, and see an ugly, desperate little girl who will never be good enough. I still practice self-loathing. But it’s getting better. I’m getting better.
I don’t need to compare myself to anyone else; how can I? No one else has lived my life; no one else has endured the specific set of circumstances that I had on the journey that has led me here, to this point. Are there people who have it much worse than I do? Of course. And make no mistake about it, I own the mistakes that I have made in my life. My abusers did not force me to become obese; these were decisions that I made coupled with a set of very unfortunate circumstances.
I’ve been a victim most of my life; it is a role that I understand and that I am comfortable in. But comfort does not equal healthy; what’s normal for me is not what is good for me. I grasp now that I have the power to change who I am. I’ve let me abusers and my past write my story for me; but I have my own story to write now. I am ready to change; and thus I am changing.
How does all of this relate to my weight loss, you may be wondering? It relates because I define who I am now. And I want to define myself as happy, healthy, active, and beautiful. I want to participate in that color run; I want to be confident in myself when I glance in the mirror; and most of all, I want to dance starry-eyed with reckless abandon. And I will; because I’m getting better.
**************************************************************************
I have my six month check-up in a couple of weeks, but I was able to weigh in at my pcp’s office last week. I was quite disappointed that I had not lost more, especially since I have been exercising nearly every day. Ah well, I am still losing and that is what is important. I’ll give an update after my next appointment. Thanks, as always, for reading!
No comments:
Post a Comment