Lately I feel like I have been going through life in someone else’s body.
My blogging friend, Miranda, described what I feel perfectly here.
When I think of myself, I see pretty.
When I catch a glimpse of myself in a mirror or window or photo? I have to do a double take; I just don’t recognize that large girl that is moving the same way I am. I see fat.
When I picture myself getting ready for work or for a night out, I see myself looking great.
In the mirror as I get ready? I fight back tears.
Poor Cortney has watched me have complete meltdowns over dresses and pants that I thought fit that in reality stretch and bunch and pudge all over the place.
He has listened to me sob about how this is not me.
And it’s not.
So why am I still sitting here drinking a diet coke and eating cheese-its while I type type type away?
Why do I feel a little dead inside, but still eat peanut butter m&ms before bed?
Why, if I know it’s bad for me, do I crack another soda instead of filling up my water?
It’s not that I don’t know the solution to being fat. I think everyone does.
Eat better; move more.
I tested this and won before and during my pregnancy with Eddie. I was on the AWESOME track.
But life happened and medication happened and the weight is all back and my bad habits are in full force.
Fuller force actually. I weigh more now than I did when I went into the hospital to give birth to Eddie.
I am paranoid about my fat.
I tell everyone that I have gained a zillion pounds.
It’s not because I want someone to tell me I am not fat. It’s to let people know that I know.
I am aware that what I am putting in my mouth is crap.
I am aware that I don’t move my arse.
And even though you say you’re not? I feel judged.
Because I have judged.
Haven’t you? Haven’t you seen the girl from high school and thought, “woe. put on a few pounds!”
Yeah, well, I am that girl.
So I tell people so they know that I know.
And now my thoughts are more of relief, “oh phew. she gained weight too”
Still not nice.
But I will look at those women and wish I looked as good with the extra pounds.
And in my head I do.
Until I look in a mirror or see a photo of myself.
Then I see this…
Why oh why am I just writing about this and not DOING anything about it?
I have a theory.
I think being fat–at least for me–is an unhappy, unhealthy addiction. Much like smoking.
Cortney used to be a pretty heavy smoker, so I ran this theory by him and he nodded the whole time, so I feel that maybe I am not too far off.
Cort hated that he was a smoker. In fact, when his dad was diagnosed with lung cancer–from smoking–he wanted to quit so bad. He felt guilt every time he lit up. And everyone kept asking him if he was going to quit and get healthy and do it for his future family. He did not want to smoke.
Yet he kept smoking for two more years after his dad passed away.
It wasn’t for lack of trying to quit. He tried to quit before his dad was ever diagnosed, but he tried more frequently after that.
He just wasn’t ready.
Part of him needed that addiction. Something in his mind.
When he was ready to be done? He took the steps and quit.
He has been smoke-free for going on four years now.
I am fat. I know it’s unhealthy. I hate the way it makes me look and feel just like Cort hated the way smoking made him smell and feel.
I hate that playing with Eddie and doing laundry makes me wheeze just like running or doing a lot of up and down the stairs used to make Cort breath hard.
I hate feeling judged every time someone sees me put a piece of chocolate in my mouth just like Cort hated being judged every time he stepped outside to light up.
I KNOW I am unhealthy just like Cort knew he was.
But I can’t stop. Not just like that.
The only thing that kicked my butt before was the possibility of getting pregnant. My body had to be fit for someone to live there.
In 2007, I had had a miscarriage and we decided we DID want to be parents after all. That is when Cort got healthy. He did not want any of our kids to know him as a smoker.
In 2008, we tried to get pregnant again. That is when I got healthy.
I need to refocus my guilt and self-hate into a yearning to be healthy for my family.
I need to find a reason to get rid of this addiction.
It’s easy to say “I need to be healthy for my family.” Bloggers say this all. the. time.
But it’s not as easy to buy into.
It’s hard to quit and addiction…a learned sickness.
Being fat is a learned sickness for me.
And I have to relearn how to want to get better.
Also…I wonder if they make Chantix to help me quit eating my feelings. No? Darn.
Ok…back to small, baby steps.
What do you do to stay healthy? What motivates you to take care of yourself?
Will you also take the poll in my sidebar? I have been thinking of possibly trying my hand at more fiction, but I don’t know if this blog is the right place to do it, or if I should put it over at Exploded Moments.
I want to write what you want to read.
The poll is to the left. Thanks!
(I also posted one on facebook on my fan page if that is easier)