Learning to just breathe

Hi, my name is Dawn, and I am a perfectionist. Sometimes, this is a trait that I fully embrace. It means that I strive to do my absolute best and hold myself to a high set of standards. It means that if I don't know something, I will jump in and learn everything I can so that I do it right. 

When it comes to eating healthier, it can lead to massive disappointment. One little slip and I am beating myself up. It means I weigh everything to.the.exact.gram. It means that going out to eat includes 15 minutes of trying to track food correctly by comparing entries and picking an average. 

And it's tiring, all of that precision. It's time consuming. It leads to a lot of anxiety, and worry, and doubt, and second-guessing, and then the inner bully starts lurking around. 

So, I am learning to just breathe, and relax. At least when it comes to food logging. Cake decorating? No promises!

Learning from my past

First off, it is crazy to me that my first attempt to lose weight and live healthier was just over three years ago. How does time move that quickly?

I've spent the last two years in the deep hole of self-hate I previously mentioned. Instead of that hole getting filled in, I dug tunnels. Tunnels to shame, embarrassment, regret, denial, failure: so many ugly, ugly places.

Looking back, all I can think about is how I let that stupid metal and glass square with LED lights ruin my self-worth.

Well, dear scale, with your pretty, glowing blue eyes and your sleek black and smooth complexion, we need to have a chat. I cannot let you bully me anymore. I will not allow the bully in my head to take your words at face value and belittle everything I have done.  

I know what my weight was this morning. I have a starting point. A reference. Nothing more. But I want to be one of those people that steps on the scale and is pleasantly surprised. "I just weighed myself for the first time in 9 months and I lost X pounds! I wasn't even trying - just eating better!" Yeah, I want to feel what that is like. 

So, sorry dear scale, but I think I need some space.  

Learning to move on

I've been in a deep hole of self-hatred, friends. A very deep hole. Hating my body. Hating that I gained back every.single.ounce I had lost. Hating my job and my lack of fair compensation. Hating that the job I learned to love was closed down. Hating that I had stopped exercising and due to shame, can't even step back in the gym. Hating that I can no longer walk as fast, or as far. Hating that I get winded easily. Hating that going up a flight of stairs is no longer easy. Hating that my picture is now something I shy away from looking at compared to the pictures when I was 180 pounds and couldn't stop staring at the photo. Hating everything and everyone to the point that I barely recognize myself most days.

And then this post came along. Actually this pair of posts (Losing and Gaining and Accepting Myself at Every Weight & What I Learned Losing Weight the Second Time). It said so many things that I've thought, yet not acted upon. Why deal with the anger and hatred? Why try and fix things? And for that, I've paid...deeply.

It's time, friends. It.is.time.

My journey to "better" continues

I've upped my water intake considerably, I bought a Fitbit so I can monitor steps again, and I've been working on making better choices. 

My mindset going into this was that I wasn't going to weigh myself near as much, maybe once a month or so. I've not stuck to that part...yet. I blame that on the cool app I found that learns to predict your actual weight when it suddenly changes due to any number of factors. 

Walking has gotten a bit easier, but I still find that I have to watch my speed. Anything above 2.8 mph causes my legs to scream. KT tape seems to help a bit, but I still have to remind myself to be careful or suffer the consequences.  

Focusing on "Better"

I often lose sight of things and fall into the black-and-white trap of things either going "good" or "bad." It's a hard shift but I'm trying to focus on just being "better." Being better than I was yesterday about drinking more water, decreasing portion sizes, exercising.

Right now, I think I am fighting both Achilles tendonitis and peroneal tendonitis, which makes it hard to walk as fast and as far as I would like. Some nights are much too painful to go for more than 30 minutes, and that's pushing through pain for 20 and hoping I'm not causing more damage. I've bought some proper walking shoes for underpronation (walking on the outer side of the feet) and I've enlisted the help of KT tape. So far, I can't tell if my legs have been pain-free because of the tape, or from going slower, but either way I'm happy!

Bruised and sore, but back on the wagon

I fell off. Wait...that's not true. I jumped off, thought I could run alongside, fell back a few paces, and just sat down hoping another wagon would come along.

As much as I have been in denial about it, I have regained every last pound I had lost. Every.single.pound. I'm as out of shape as I was when I first started. It doesn't feel like I've been off track as long as I have been. I keep thinking I can jump right back into walking long distances and jogging in small spurts because it feels like it has only been a few months. How has it been, I don't even know how long, because most of that time I was denying I was a quitter.

I had an interesting conversation last month with my dietitian. (Yes, I've still been seeing her monthly, even though I've not been heeding her advice.) I finally admitted, out loud, that I gave up. I've been angry (not past tense - ugh), and I had given up on myself. I ate with the mindset of "who cares? the scale is going up anyway, so eff it!" I watched the numbers on that scale continually go up, and all the while said "well, at least you aren't back to your starting weight." And now I am. It's like I was trying to prove something. A self-fulfilling prophecy.

I begged for that switch to flip again, and while I don't think it's fully switched into place, it's 75% there. The weather is nice, we have a treadmill (no excuses!), I'm not craving carb-heavy, wintery foods. Sure, it's sad to have to sit and wait while my coworkers go on a lunchtime walk, to have to walk slowly at home to avoid the side of my leg hurting (tendonitis? anterior shin splints?), to see my walking app say I avoided pain only by going 2.3 mph vs. the 3.3 mph I was used to walking. But where else does one start but back at the beginning when they've fallen back to that point, right? There's more shame in giving in than starting over. So, here I am, starting over. I've got this!