Demons

I wanted to share these thoughts, because I think they're intimately linked with my disordered eating (mostly overeating).  I want to transmit these words in a published way so that they feel more real to me and so that I can't try to escape them.  I've said some of this stuff before, but maybe I'll come to a different conclusion this time.  Here I go.

When I was little, I found out that the root of my name was the Latin word for "love" and most baby name books gave my name the meaning "loveable" or "worthy of love."  I thought that was a cruel joke.  I rarely felt loved for as long as I could remember.  You should keep in mind that I was a sensitive kid.  I think I was just born that way.  I think I needed more love and affection than your average kid.  My mother's language of love was to provide for as many of my essential needs as possible, but my mother also struggled with anger issues and there I was, a convenient, helpless target.  The result was that the balance of love and affection seemed skewed when I was growing up.

I don't remember feeling loved in any consistent way that was relevant to my understanding.  There were certainly moments that I can recall being hugged, playing with my mom who was in a goofy mood, and most important of all in my relationship with God, who I was told and believed loved me no matter what.  That last thing is probably what saved me from a much more difficult life.

Anyway, back to my mom's love language.  In the realm of meeting my essential needs, my mother was especially good at feeding me.  We were not wealthy by any stretch of the imagination, but there was always food.  Sometimes the cheap, junky, illogical creations of my childhood still provide me comfort when I'm sick or not feeling like myself.  So, she didn't always tell me she loved me, and she didn't always know how to show it in a way I could understand, but she would always feed me.

One of my favorite memories of my childhood was in the aftermath of a hurricane.  I don't remember what it was called, but I remember that it was bad.  Several trees had been torn from the ground.  The neighborhood was slammed by lashing rains and high winds.  The power was out for a while, and by the time the worst of it had passed, it was dinner time.  Without the use of the stove, dinner that night was Entenmanns' frosted chocolate donuts and Yoohoo.  I remember thinking it was the best dinner ever.

There were people in our lives when I was growing up who helped our little family as best as they could, and frequently this help was in the form of food.  We always walked away from Sunday church meals with leftovers for the week.  Family friends would never let us leave their homes without bags and bags of food.  I was never hungry growing up.

So, here I am, never lacking in one essential area (food) but severely lacking in another (love).  Since food was never a scarcity, it was easy to overindulge in the effort to make up for what I was missing.  I sometimes say that I don't know how I didn't develop another type of eating disorder, like bulimia or anorexia, because I remember one of the first times my mother ever called me fat.  I was eight years old and outgrowing my clothes.  I don't remember being particularly fat back then, but it stuck with me.  Now I think that didn't develop the way I think it should have because it was attention, and I was okay with that sort of attention, or at least I was used to it.

I say all of this not to blame anyone for the way that I turned out, but to name a demon.  In fiction and mythology a demon is often immortal or impossible to fight if you don't know it's name.  Only when you name it can you defeat it, and I think that this is true as a therapeutic principle, too.  The fact of the matter is that I grew up and I became loved in very clear, very fulfilling ways.  I've spent more than three years in the most loving relationship of my life, and in the coming years we will be married and start a family of our own.  Still, old habits die hard.

What I'm trying to say is that what started out as trying to make up for a lack of love remained as a force of habit.  I overeat.  I'm an overeater.  Hello, my name is Amanda and I'm an overeater.  I am addicted to food.  I know my demon.  I name it.  I know how to fight it.  It's going to be a daily struggle, but I'm up for the challenge, because I'm not a helpless, unloved kid any more.  I'm a kick-ass adult overflowing with love.

12 Days In

Twelve days into February and here's where I stand:

119,246 steps walked ~ roughly 33% of last month (after some editing - whoopsie math!)
53.92 miles walked ~ roughly 51% of last month
716 kneeling push-ups ~ roughly 64% of last month
1054 squats ~ roughly 66% of last month
10 days 10,000 steps goal met ~ roughly 91% of last month
7 days 5 mile goal met ~ roughly116% of last month!
Starting weight: 231.3 lbs.
Current weight: 229.3 lbs.
Weight change: -2 lbs.

Feeling: wavering between exhausted and exhilarated.  Also, accomplished.  Sixteen days to go!

Exhausted

Straight up.  Wiped out.  Exhausted.

Here's what I'm doing wrong:

• Pushing myself because I want to do better.
• Not sleeping like I should.
• Not eating exactly like I should.
• Not taking care of myself in general.

Here's what I'm doing right:

• Gettin' stuff done.
• Working on my fitness.
• Eating better.
• Taking the day off when I feel less-than-healthy.

So... now what?  I'll figure it out, I guess.

Go to hell, motivational poster.

Strength

So, the weightloss is kind of slow.  It gets me down, honestly, but I'm trying to change my thinking around this.  The weightloss is happening, and is happening at a healthy pace.

In the meantime, I've gained a lot more strength than I can ever remember having.  My quads and hamstrings as well as my chest, shoulders, back, and arms are all strengthening as a result of the kneeling push-ups and the squats.  I walk with more purpose and feel more capable now.  The walking and running provide me with good bloodflow and more strength in the legs, cardiovascular, and core.

The scale doesn't tell the whole story.  How I feel says more than the numbers I see.

... now if I could just believe this when I step on the scale and it refuses to move anywhere quickly.

Banishing the Yo-Yo

Yo-yo dieting.  It happens to the best of us.  I don't know what the answer is to banishing this (and, as always, I am not interested in the millions of little "helpful" pieces of advice that ya'll might have on the tips of your fingers).  I'm guessing that I need to stop being so hard on myself.

Here's some of what didn't work last time: Overeaters Anonymous.  They got weird on me after a couple of meetings, calling me up to stress that I shouldn't be offering my services as a therapist when all I was doing was reaching out to offer help, like all 12-steppers are supposed to do.  I was kind of hurt and disillusioned by that experience, so I never went back.  Trust me, guys, I am absolutely, 100% not interested in flexing my therapist mucles outside of work.  I get enough hours of that throughout the week.  Promise.

Also, I think that I need to track down my actual thoughts and journal more.  The "fuck-its" seem to be what leads me toward the downward spiral of the yo-yo.  With my new job in addictions, I hear this come up a lot.  You're working so hard, you're energized and like the change and then... stuff.  And then... slow progress.  And then... frustration.  And then... FUCK IT!

And then there's my health.  I don't know what started it, though it was probably the birth control I was on (me + hormones = mortal enemies).  I've been breaking out in itchy hives seemingly without provocation since the summer.  Eliminating the birth control has not helped.  Creams don't really help.  Benadryl makes me more sleepy than anything.  My doctor thinks it's an autoimmune disease at this point, and though I'm no doctor, I'm sure my weight doesn't help matters.

So, here I go, trying again.  As cliché as this is going to sound, I started on January 1st.  I weighed myself and I started trying again.  It's been hit-and-miss with the weigh-ins because I didn't want to get discouraged, but here's the numbers, starting with the effort and ending with the month's weightloss.

24/31 days working out
242,025 steps (approximately, as measured by my Fitbit One)
105.35 miles (approximately, as measured by my Fitbit One)
11 days meeting 10,000 daily steps goal
6 days meeting 5.0 daily miles goal
1586 squats (following program at twohundredsquats.com)
1105 kneeling push-ups (following program at hundredpushups.com)

And... drum roll please!

Starting weight: 236 lbs.
Ending weight: 231.3 lbs.

So, not fabulous loss there, but the goal next month is simply DO BETTER.  NO YO-YO.  Let's see what happens.

Back in the Saddle

So, I was really slacking for a couple of months.  My boyfriend noticed that I was really unhappy at my previous job, but I was in deep, deep denial about it.  The truth of the matter is that I was coming home with less and less motivation, feeling less and less happy, wanting to do less and less.

Then I lost my job.

God, that was awful.  I was sure it was a dream for a few minutes.  A nightmare, really.  I cried.  A lot.  Everyone involved was kind of robotic about the whole situation.  It's the first time I had "failed" in a clear and distinct way in adulthood, and I didn't take it well.

Then I got another job.

Well, that didn't last nearly as long as I thought it would.  I'm very happy to say that I got a much better job with a better salary.  So, the excuses are off of the table.  It's time to get back in the saddle.  In the last week alone I've dropped a good chunk of weight (after pigging out the previous week).

Proof of progress!

So here I go, trying to get out of the 200s.  9 pounds to go!

Don't Wanna

God, therapy was hard today.  The last couple of weeks have been hard.  I can't pinpoint one particular thing that is getting in my way or making it hard, but my therapist pointed out that weight that is put on by emotional eating usually prompts one to have to face what got them into that position.

Ugh.  Don't wanna.  Hard work is hard.  Can I nap now?  I'll do it later.  Go away.

Now that I've lost more than thirty pounds, I find it hard to remember what it was like less than five months ago to be that much heavier.  I still feel like this is the same exact skin I was walking in back in November, but now there's thirty plus pounds of backlogged emotional process I forgot to work through.  It's like paperwork.  It's so not what you got into your field for and you so have to do it anyway.

Don't wanna.

Eating the junky stuff used to numb me out to what I was feeling, primarily loneliness and sadness.  You can definitely be surrounded by people and feel alone.  You can definitely be the first to laugh, and the loudest laugh in the bunch, then go home and cry for some reason.  Those feelings are uncomfortable.  If I focus on eating ALL OF THE THINGS then I don't have to focus on feeling.  I can't do that any more.  Time to put my big girl pants on.

Don't wanna.

And face what I'm really feeling.

Don't wanna.

And hit the treadmill instead of numbing out.

Don't wanna don't wanna don't wanna.

sigh  You hear that?  That's my inner four-year-old who only wants to play and never wants to do anything responsible.  I'm gonna go put her down for a nap so I can get some work done.