When I look at blog posts from years ago, I can’t help but notice the stark difference in my writing style. My older posts are much more open, candid. I wrote about anything and everything, and I didn’t hold back expressing how I felt about anything.
I don’t like that I slowly started to censor myself. Any form of silencing myself is very unappealing to me.
One topic I have been avoiding was deliberate, though.
Before my mom was taken to the hospital last fall, I was sooooo close to my goal weight. Tantalizingly close. So close I could already taste victory. I loved how I felt and how I looked, and the frequent compliments were certainly nice, too.
Worry, stress, endless phone calls with doctors and nurses, crack-of-dawn flights, and weekends at a hospital over 900 miles away were a dangerous recipe for inevitable exhaustion, both physical and mental. In the few moments I would have even been able to work out, it was by far the last thing on my mind.
Then, when she passed away, I gave up completely. I didn’t care what I ate. I didn’t give a damn about working out. I felt my clothes getting tighter, but I just shrugged, got bigger pants, and kept on. I didn’t like it, not even a little bit, but I also was nowhere near ready to face it or do anything about it yet.
I have been embarrassed by my weight gain. I have pondered using my blog to restart my get-healthy efforts, then repeatedly shied away from it. In reality, how damn silly is that? A 50+ pound weight gain is pretty obvious! People notice whether I talk about it or not.
So…let’s talk about it.
I found myself finally getting angry recently, but not about gaining the weight. I was getting pissed about putting myself down for it. My mother died, and I gained weight. Jeez, aren’t there worse things I could have done? All the horrible things people do to each other every day, without remorse, and here I am, kicking myself all over the place for a number on a scale. It’s time to put this where it belongs: something I need to address, for my own health and happiness, but certainly not something to continue to punish and berate myself about endlessly, which has done nothing but delay my willingness or motivation to start working on it.
A few comments on some of my posts reminded me that I am not the only one facing this struggle, and likely not the only one who could use a few blogging buddies in the same corner. Sharing my journey (yeah, I know “journey” is an overused word, but it feels right for this) might help more than me. Who knows, maybe I can inspire and motivate someone else to take better care of themselves, too. Maybe sharing my battles will help others see they are not alone in theirs.
Avoiding the topic has also let me avoid taking action, but doing nothing is just no longer acceptable. It’s not who I am. Giving up is not what I do.
I’ve had a nice, long break, but now it’s time to focus on my health and well-being and happiness. And it’s definitely time to stop punishing myself for grieving my mother and temporarily losing my way. Time to stop doubting myself. Time to stop feeling embarrassed for simply being human. Time to remember just who I am and what I can do when I am finally ready.
Sweat & Sparkle 