Diet angst
I had a frustrating weigh-in this morning, and I need to vent about something that I just realized has been bugging me all day.
To preface, I've been working closely with my yoga instructor on sticking to a meal plan that she changes up for me every few weeks since August. After trying and trying and TRYING to lose weight by myself for years, as of last month I had lost 30 pounds in 3 months, which was obviously very happy-making. Sure, I worked my ass off and was really strict with myself and never got to go anywhere or socialize with anyone because the only effing thing Americans know how to do when they 'hang out' is eat, but whatever, I was winning. I was feeling better, and that was all I wanted from the start. I've never been an insecure person. I've never really hated the way I look or thought badly about myself. I chose to lose weight because I want to be healthy. Because I'm tired of my joint issues dictating what I can and can't do with my life. Because I'm over being in pain all the time.
Well, last month I got sick. And I mean I spent 3 weeks on the couch fighting off a sinus and double ear infection with nearly 3 rounds of antibiotics, sick. So I basically took a month off - I wasn't eating, I wasn't working out, I just didn't have it in me. So I've been back in it a good solid week, and I've been working out as much as I can, but I'm out of town every single weekend this month, and I can't afford groceries every weekend whenever I go to another state, and I don't have time to eat every 3 hours when I'm out with my grandparents or standing in my cousin's wedding or flying on a plane or .. *headdesk*
Anyway, I hadn't weighed in since before I got sick, and this morning it turns out I've put back on 9 pounds. And all day I thought I was irritated because of the unfairness of how all of this insanely hard work can be undone just because life happened, and what takes 3 months to accomplish can nearly be erased in 3 miserable weeks of just trying to rest and recover, but you know what? That's not why I'm irritated at all. I figured it out about an hour ago, and now I'm beyond irritated. I'm downright mad at myself.
Here's what I realized: Ever since I started tracking how much I weigh, that's how I've been thinking of myself. As a number. Like if the number is going down, it means I'm fulfilling the requirements and I should just stay on autopilot and keep doing whatever my trainer says no matter what, even if it means turning down my husband for a nice dinner out because it's not on my list, and that makes me a success. Yay. And if the number starts going back up, that makes me a failure. And being a failure means I might as well have just enjoyed dinner with my husband, consequences be damned, because all it takes to derail this train is a cold and a few family travel obligations, anyway.
I'm not sure when this turned into one giant game of me vs me with each of us trying to mindf*#& each other until one of us dies, but it isn't cool. I am not an insecure person. I'd like it very much if I could somehow stay on target AND keep my sanity.
Is that too much to ask?
To preface, I've been working closely with my yoga instructor on sticking to a meal plan that she changes up for me every few weeks since August. After trying and trying and TRYING to lose weight by myself for years, as of last month I had lost 30 pounds in 3 months, which was obviously very happy-making. Sure, I worked my ass off and was really strict with myself and never got to go anywhere or socialize with anyone because the only effing thing Americans know how to do when they 'hang out' is eat, but whatever, I was winning. I was feeling better, and that was all I wanted from the start. I've never been an insecure person. I've never really hated the way I look or thought badly about myself. I chose to lose weight because I want to be healthy. Because I'm tired of my joint issues dictating what I can and can't do with my life. Because I'm over being in pain all the time.
Well, last month I got sick. And I mean I spent 3 weeks on the couch fighting off a sinus and double ear infection with nearly 3 rounds of antibiotics, sick. So I basically took a month off - I wasn't eating, I wasn't working out, I just didn't have it in me. So I've been back in it a good solid week, and I've been working out as much as I can, but I'm out of town every single weekend this month, and I can't afford groceries every weekend whenever I go to another state, and I don't have time to eat every 3 hours when I'm out with my grandparents or standing in my cousin's wedding or flying on a plane or .. *headdesk*
Anyway, I hadn't weighed in since before I got sick, and this morning it turns out I've put back on 9 pounds. And all day I thought I was irritated because of the unfairness of how all of this insanely hard work can be undone just because life happened, and what takes 3 months to accomplish can nearly be erased in 3 miserable weeks of just trying to rest and recover, but you know what? That's not why I'm irritated at all. I figured it out about an hour ago, and now I'm beyond irritated. I'm downright mad at myself.
Here's what I realized: Ever since I started tracking how much I weigh, that's how I've been thinking of myself. As a number. Like if the number is going down, it means I'm fulfilling the requirements and I should just stay on autopilot and keep doing whatever my trainer says no matter what, even if it means turning down my husband for a nice dinner out because it's not on my list, and that makes me a success. Yay. And if the number starts going back up, that makes me a failure. And being a failure means I might as well have just enjoyed dinner with my husband, consequences be damned, because all it takes to derail this train is a cold and a few family travel obligations, anyway.
I'm not sure when this turned into one giant game of me vs me with each of us trying to mindf*#& each other until one of us dies, but it isn't cool. I am not an insecure person. I'd like it very much if I could somehow stay on target AND keep my sanity.
Is that too much to ask?