Time to work through the weight pain

I currently weigh 172.2 pounds. It’s hard for me to write that, let alone put it online where everyone can read it. 172 is an ugly number to me. One that I am not proud of. I see that and all I think is "I'm fat. I can't possibly be that weight. What the hell?!!?"

I don’t look like I weigh that much. I carry myself well, dress for my shape and position myself correctly when I take picture. But I weigh 172 pounds. That's the hard truth and and there’s no reason to hide behind it any more. There is such a stigma to the numbers on the scale and we are raised to never ask a woman’s weight or her age. I want to beat down that notion and learn to be at peace with my weight.

However, being at peace is not the same as being complacent, which is what I have been. Today I weigh the same as I did three years ago when I lost my father. I ate everything with him and then when he died I kept eating, didn’t care about calories or fat or the repercussions. I felt life was too short to say “no” any more and I wanted to enjoy life. And I have. I love my life and the people I share it with. And I know they all love me no matter what the scale says. There is great comfort and support in that.

I have tried diets and working out, Jenny Craig, low-carb and low-calories, personal trainers and endurance event training. Nothing has helped shed these extra 20lbs. I’m certain age is also a factor since I haven’t been able to lose since turning 30. It’s frustrating. I get fired up about losing the weight, read about every diet possible and then a week into it find a reason to stop. Usually it’s because I’m tired of feeling deprived. I won’t lie- more than once I have justified my poor eating with “I don’t have a father, might as well eat.” Or, “I’m going to die in 20 years any way. Why deny myself?” Or, “It’s not worth worrying about; weight doesn’t matter because my dad is gone.” It’s not a pretty picture to paint for myself, but there it is. I have been hiding behind my grief and allowing my weaker self to take over, and it has wreaked havoc on my body. I’m done.

The time has come to work through all the pain and self-esteem issues I am carrying. These extra pounds are all just bad choices. It’s sleeping instead of going to the gym. It’s justifying the drive-thru instead of being honest with myself and saying I don’t really need it. It’s looking for instant gratification with the joy of food instead of learning patience and calm and respect for myself.

It’s time to love myself, and that means putting my food choices and health before the fear that I’m going to miss something. I eat because there is a part of me that truly feels I could die tomorrow so why not enjoy life today. Living in fear is no way to live. I have no interest in dying at 52. I plan to live to be over 100. I have no interest in hiding in flowing skirts and sweatpants because nothing fits. I want to enjoy fashion and my body. I am very comfortable in my skin right now. I have no trouble getting naked in front of people because I accept that this is where my body is now and worrying about it, or hiding “seductively” under a sheet isn’t going to change anything. Part of getting older is accepting where we are in life and who we are, and then working hard to be better. Part of living is seeing there is a way out of any tunnel you’ve dug for yourself. The digging starts now.

I am 172.2 pounds. It’s too heavy for my size. It’s too heavy for my comfort. It’s not who I am. But I'm posting this number so I have a starting place and a jumping off point. This number is going to go down. It's going to change. I want proof that my hard work paid off.

I am not going to quit on myself this time. I'm too important to live half a life.