The Week 21 Weigh In

I went to numerals instead of writing out the whole word in my weigh in titles. I guess it's good that I'm over 20 weeks now of keeping track.

Unfortunately, this is not a good week. This morning I am 211. A gain. But I expected that. And I made it worse by eating poorly yesterday. We had lunch at a local diner and I threw all caution to the wind and had their fried shrimp special. Yeah, deep fried shrimp. And onion rings. And coleslaw. I didn't clean my plate, though, which I guess is one small consolation.

Then I went home and ate way too many cookies in the afternoon. I sure as heck didn't need them, but I wanted them, and I ate them. But I didn't finish the box -- thank God -- and I got myself back in gear and did lots of housework. I didn't go overboard at supper, ate normal portions, and in the evening I ate four cookies and three chocolate kisses. I could have eaten a lot more, but I told myself I had done enough damage for one day.

I suppose this is the time I should sit down and analyze why I overate and made bad choices. This is the hardest part of the "recovery" process for me, because while I have no problem dissecting my thoughts, the actual feelings are harder to pinpoint. Probably because I've spent so much of my life suppressing them.

I guess I was a angry and frustrated. Partly with myself, and some with my family because tomorrow's this party and I don't feel ready for it. I procrastinated with the cleaning, and I didn't make a game plan early in the week. I also didn't sit my family down and tell them what they needed to do. I expect people to read my mind and anticipate what I need from them, and people just don't work that way. And when it comes to Hubby and Mabel, they both need specific instructions. You can't just tell them to "clean their rooms" -- that statement just doesn't compute in their heads. It has to be "Honey, put those socks in your sock drawer." or "Sweetie, can you do me a favor and make sure the clothes on the cedar chest are hung in the closet?" Broad statements like "clean up" leave them scratching their heads wondering where to begin.

I've already discussed in earlier posts my current depressed/unenthused state. It's hard right now to find the motivation to do well when I feel sluggish and apathetic. So add this to some simmering frustration and anger, throw in a dash of self-pity, and I'm turning to food.

I wish I had some light bulb moment here, some "aha" revelation that would rock my world and propel me into a new sense of purpose and accomplishment. The truth of the matter is, I wanted to eat fried foods and cookies, so I ate them. I could have made better choices, I could have used the strategies I've built up over the years to resist the urges. But I didn't, and today I pay the price for that.

Which doesn't mean I need to beat myself up for it. I recognize it and own it, but that doesn't equal bashing and berating. I'm not a failure, or any number of mean names I could hurl at myself. I'm human, I make errors, and it's not the end of the world. It certainly isn't the end of my journey. Just a little bump.

It's still hard to own up to a weight gain, however slight. I still feel like a f*ck-up, no matter how much I try not to do that to myself. It's an old habit, wanting so hard to do everything right. Because if you screw up, it reveals your weaknesses, and us fat girls already wear one of our weaknesses like a uniform every day, so who wants to admit we have more?

I keep telling myself that this winter is soon over. My moods will improve and I'll soon be re-energized and ready to get back on track. I want to start training for a (walking) race in June -- not sure if I want to try the 5K again or leap up to the 10K. And my family and I are going to D!sney W0rld in the middle of June, and I really, really want to be in the Onederfuls when we go.

So I've got the aspirations, the things I want to achieve. I know I have no intentions of giving up. It may just take a little longer than I'd like.