My gluttony this week consisted of having to go "off piste" for the office "Holiday Brunch" on Saturday, having my scheduled "splurge" brunch with Hubby on Sunday, taking a rest day on Sunday AND the one that I'm pretty sure screwed the pooch, convincing myself that I could handle refined carbohydrates in the form of multi-grain English muffins.
My punishment is that the Evil Scale God at the gym says I'm up three pounds from last week.
Here is all the bullshit that my fucked up head is trying to feed me:
1. You've doing a lot of weights; it's all muscle.
2. It's the week before your period-water retention.
3. You had milk this AM to take the ibuprofen---1 cup skim milk in your system could easily add 3 pounds.
4. Some twat at the gym could have recalibrated the scale.
Any and all of these might have some validity, but if I'm going to stay honest, I have tell myself they are BULLSHIT! I ate too much, I exercised too little and a month of hard work is essentially down the drain.
I know it would be better if I didn't weigh myself. Unfortunately, that's part of how I got up to 191. I was buying size 16's and telling myself everything was hunky-dory. My particular brand of cray-cray needs to see the numbers, otherwise the denial mechanism will kick in. This is one of the places where the Blessed Geneen Roth and I part ways (and weighs.)
There's also that word "punishment" which I'm sure might have raised hackled and been a trigger for some people. Because we're supposed to love and accept ourselves no matter what we look like. Healthy At Any Size. Fat Acceptance. Etc. Hey, I've done the affirmations. I've looked at myself naked in the mirror and told myself I was beautiful. And if that works for you-amen and hallelujah.
I'm not here to shame anyone's fat but my own, and of that I am deeply ashamed. I can write a zillion words about my upbringing, nature, nurture, fucked up programming, society, cis-het female socialization or whatever SJW Buzzwords you'd like to invoke. They're all factors and none of them matters as much as the pain I'm feeling about that number right now.
This in spite of the fact that I look amazing. I'm wearing the skinny jeans I thought I'd never get into and a pink t-shirt and a rather fetching scarf. I will do a post about rewards and reclaiming our femininity. (My apologies to any males or non-binaries who may be reading, but that's my experience so that's what I'm blogging about.)
This in spite of the fact that it has happened before and the net loss is still at 42lbs since June and I know it will continue to go down.
Just as I will not BS you about exercise being "fun" I will not try to con you into believing that I'm always full of self-love and confidence or that I've overcome any of the crap that got me here in the first place. It's a slow, grueling, and sometimes painful process. Like now, when I know I look fabulous and still want to burst into tears over that 3lbs and use it as an excuse to binge my brains out. Because that's what I do. That's what I've always done.
At that brunch, I saw a bunch of people who hadn't seen me in a year and they were gob-smacked. After telling me I looked great, they all asked something along the lines of "How did you do it," in a tone that clearly indicated they wanted an easy way out. Rather than giving them the whole spiel down to how many push-ups I'm doing, I summarized it as follows: "What are you willing to give up? What are you willing to do?"
That shut most of them up like clams. So what am I willing to give up? Clearly the multi-grain English muffins have already hit the bin. What am I willing to do? I'm not sure I can push the exercise much further, but I will aim for three hours on the bike this Saturday BEFORE hubby and I go to brunch.
What are you willing to give up? What are you willing to do?