I'm just going to put this out there: I'm having a fat day.
Picture the garden of Maven: It's lush and colourful and balanced. Sustainability is coupled with bursts of flare, and everything important grows where it needs to. Normally entire crops of Awesomeness take over if I'm not careful. It's a bit of a problem, really, but as someone once told me, you can never have enough awesomeness in your garden.
Alright, so nobody told me that. Does it really matter? Stop fixating on fictional life gurus and let's get back to the metaphoric garden.
Anyway, little seeds of insecurity get planted around the Maven garden from time to time. Normally the Awesomeness plants grow so tall that they suffocate Nititus Insecuritas, but under the right growing conditions, these pesky little suckers take root and hold on tight for a day or so.
This is one of those days.
The seed was planted on Tuesday night when I went out with a couple of the girls. Skinny girls. They would say they aren't skinny, but their waists are literally half of mine, so that makes them skinny in my books. They can shop in normal stores for clothes that look cute. I shop in plus-size stores looking for something to cover me up and tuck me in. The clothes might be nice, but they're twice the price and the selection is limited, and in the end I'm still fat. Where's the justice?
But no matter. That in itself wasn't a horrible evening. While I did notice my glumness when sitting in the corner of a store with jeans that probably wouldn't even do up around my neck, I picked up at dinner and had a great time. I have made it a priority to chose close friends who are supportive and non-judgmental. It's how I roll. And I can do that, being ever so popular and all.
The next morning was phone time. Obviously I needed a new phone to compliment my red hair. I am female, after all. I picked out this one, which also has one of those slide out keyboards that makes for rapid texting. One new celly and the addition of unlimited texts later, and I have officially become one of those people. And I like it. I like it a lot. Ka-chow!
What did the last paragraph have to do me feeling fat? Absolutely nothing. I just wanted to brag a little bit. Onward.
With my new cell in hand, I joined a couple of friends for iced coffee. Spawnling played near traffic until we bribed him with a giant cookie, which I believe will encourage him to go near the road more often now. (He gets his smarts from yours truly.) The friends I was with are gym goers who work out, eat well and basically take care of themselves.
I do not do two of those things. You can decide which ones.
In the end, I sat there feeling rather frumpy and dumpy and slumpy (bad posture, you know. Comes with not working out).
The seed that was planted now had some fertilizer. Fan-freaking-tastic. My Awesomeness crop started shifting over to make room for what was about to shoot up from the ground.
Today I went to a birthday party. It was a lot of fun, and, as birthday parties usually go, there were many pictures taken. And, as pictures usually go, there were some of me that made my skin crawl. Specifically, the ones from the shoulders down, where my stomach protruded in a massive mushroom cloud above my nice new capris as I sat stuffed into a lawn chair.
Control panties are a huge rip-off, and I want my money back.
There's nothing particularly wrong with these pictures. They portray me as I actually look. And that, I suppose, is the problem. See, when I take pictures of myself I usually stand in front of a mirror in good lighting and snap 25 photos that all look pretty much the same. Then I pick my favourite, throw a filter or two over it, alter the colouring, crop it a little and voila! A very natural picture of yours truly.
I do have a rather large spare tire. I know I do because I can see it when I look down. So I cover it up the best I can and try to only look at myself when I'm standing. I try to only take pictures of myself when standing. I try to step out of the way and/or hide behind other people and/or be the one taking the picture at any event, lest my spare tire be photographed and viewed for all eternity.
It's not like people don't know I'm overweight. It's not like they don't see it, or I don't see it. I guess I just don't like to see what other people see when I'm sitting around with my hands on my muffin top.
(I said muffin top. Top. Pervert. You're thinking of some other blog with a warning on it. That is not this blog. I only write somewhat inappropriate stories here, okay?)
I don't know what my issue is. Maybe I'm straddling the denial line and I occasionally get thrust over it, winding up in a place where I can clearly see that I'm not as healthy or pretty as I'd like to be. Maybe, like my husband claims, I see myself as larger than other people do, which would make sense seeing that I battled eating disorders in my teens and early twenties. Trading one addiction for another? Who ever heard of such a thing?
A couple of months ago I did something very brave: I stopped dieting. I stopped calorie counting. I stopped working out in the name of body hatred. I stopped beating myself up for my weight. I got smart and I began to let go. I told myself I could eat whatever I wanted whenever I wanted without guilt, while at the same time taking an honest look at why I was eating it. If it was because I was having a bad day - a stay-at-home-mom to three boys having a bad day? Nonsense! - I would try to be aware of that without judgment, and make a conscious choice to continue eating emotionally or put the chip bag down.
I gained about ten pounds.
I figured that might happen and is part of the healing process, but it's not exactly conducive to feeling good about myself, is it? When I first read the numbers on the (stupidstupidshittyawful) scale, I just about fashioned a noose out of rainbow licorice and did myself in on the spot.
Instead, I took a deep breath and promised I would trust the process.
Trust the process.
Trust the damn process.
Lately, for the first time in my life, I'm finding that I don't really want to eat junk very much. This is a massive change and something that I hoped would happen if I just let go. I'm relieved to know I was right.
I did something to reward myself: I added up all the money I used to spend on junk food which is, believe it or not, about $150 every month - still no clue how I got so chubby. Then I bought my new phone for just under one month of junk food expenditure. I then upped my monthly mobile bill from $22 to $42. That's $20 more than I normally spend, but still a whopping $130 less than I would spend on junk.
In the end, I come out $130 ahead, minus maybe the odd snack when the mood really strikes. And to be honest, it doesn't strike often now that I don't find chocolate naughty anymore. The naughty factor made it all the more appealing, like that badass guy who rides a bike. If he starts driving a Volvo he gets laid a lot less. Just sayin'.
I think I'm on the road to becoming a frequently texting, less mouth stuffing, healthier me. The crop of Awesomeness will hopefully shun the nasty Nititus Insecuritas plant, making it run away crying to the nearest chip truck. Meanwhile, I'll just keep working on loving me for me and accepting the numerous compliments from the crazies who think I'm, well, kind of wonderful.
And sometimes I believe them. Not today, but sometimes.
Well, usually. Almost always, actually.
I must get 6.5 hours of interrupted beauty sleep now. Thanks for letting me prune the garden a little. I do feel better.
Picture the garden of Maven: It's lush and colourful and balanced. Sustainability is coupled with bursts of flare, and everything important grows where it needs to. Normally entire crops of Awesomeness take over if I'm not careful. It's a bit of a problem, really, but as someone once told me, you can never have enough awesomeness in your garden.
Alright, so nobody told me that. Does it really matter? Stop fixating on fictional life gurus and let's get back to the metaphoric garden.
Anyway, little seeds of insecurity get planted around the Maven garden from time to time. Normally the Awesomeness plants grow so tall that they suffocate Nititus Insecuritas, but under the right growing conditions, these pesky little suckers take root and hold on tight for a day or so.
This is one of those days.
The seed was planted on Tuesday night when I went out with a couple of the girls. Skinny girls. They would say they aren't skinny, but their waists are literally half of mine, so that makes them skinny in my books. They can shop in normal stores for clothes that look cute. I shop in plus-size stores looking for something to cover me up and tuck me in. The clothes might be nice, but they're twice the price and the selection is limited, and in the end I'm still fat. Where's the justice?
But no matter. That in itself wasn't a horrible evening. While I did notice my glumness when sitting in the corner of a store with jeans that probably wouldn't even do up around my neck, I picked up at dinner and had a great time. I have made it a priority to chose close friends who are supportive and non-judgmental. It's how I roll. And I can do that, being ever so popular and all.
The next morning was phone time. Obviously I needed a new phone to compliment my red hair. I am female, after all. I picked out this one, which also has one of those slide out keyboards that makes for rapid texting. One new celly and the addition of unlimited texts later, and I have officially become one of those people. And I like it. I like it a lot. Ka-chow!
What did the last paragraph have to do me feeling fat? Absolutely nothing. I just wanted to brag a little bit. Onward.
With my new cell in hand, I joined a couple of friends for iced coffee. Spawnling played near traffic until we bribed him with a giant cookie, which I believe will encourage him to go near the road more often now. (He gets his smarts from yours truly.) The friends I was with are gym goers who work out, eat well and basically take care of themselves.
I do not do two of those things. You can decide which ones.
In the end, I sat there feeling rather frumpy and dumpy and slumpy (bad posture, you know. Comes with not working out).
The seed that was planted now had some fertilizer. Fan-freaking-tastic. My Awesomeness crop started shifting over to make room for what was about to shoot up from the ground.
Today I went to a birthday party. It was a lot of fun, and, as birthday parties usually go, there were many pictures taken. And, as pictures usually go, there were some of me that made my skin crawl. Specifically, the ones from the shoulders down, where my stomach protruded in a massive mushroom cloud above my nice new capris as I sat stuffed into a lawn chair.
Control panties are a huge rip-off, and I want my money back.
There's nothing particularly wrong with these pictures. They portray me as I actually look. And that, I suppose, is the problem. See, when I take pictures of myself I usually stand in front of a mirror in good lighting and snap 25 photos that all look pretty much the same. Then I pick my favourite, throw a filter or two over it, alter the colouring, crop it a little and voila! A very natural picture of yours truly.
I do have a rather large spare tire. I know I do because I can see it when I look down. So I cover it up the best I can and try to only look at myself when I'm standing. I try to only take pictures of myself when standing. I try to step out of the way and/or hide behind other people and/or be the one taking the picture at any event, lest my spare tire be photographed and viewed for all eternity.
It's not like people don't know I'm overweight. It's not like they don't see it, or I don't see it. I guess I just don't like to see what other people see when I'm sitting around with my hands on my muffin top.
(I said muffin top. Top. Pervert. You're thinking of some other blog with a warning on it. That is not this blog. I only write somewhat inappropriate stories here, okay?)
I don't know what my issue is. Maybe I'm straddling the denial line and I occasionally get thrust over it, winding up in a place where I can clearly see that I'm not as healthy or pretty as I'd like to be. Maybe, like my husband claims, I see myself as larger than other people do, which would make sense seeing that I battled eating disorders in my teens and early twenties. Trading one addiction for another? Who ever heard of such a thing?
A couple of months ago I did something very brave: I stopped dieting. I stopped calorie counting. I stopped working out in the name of body hatred. I stopped beating myself up for my weight. I got smart and I began to let go. I told myself I could eat whatever I wanted whenever I wanted without guilt, while at the same time taking an honest look at why I was eating it. If it was because I was having a bad day - a stay-at-home-mom to three boys having a bad day? Nonsense! - I would try to be aware of that without judgment, and make a conscious choice to continue eating emotionally or put the chip bag down.
I gained about ten pounds.
I figured that might happen and is part of the healing process, but it's not exactly conducive to feeling good about myself, is it? When I first read the numbers on the (stupidstupidshittyawful) scale, I just about fashioned a noose out of rainbow licorice and did myself in on the spot.
Instead, I took a deep breath and promised I would trust the process.
Trust the process.
Trust the damn process.
Lately, for the first time in my life, I'm finding that I don't really want to eat junk very much. This is a massive change and something that I hoped would happen if I just let go. I'm relieved to know I was right.
I did something to reward myself: I added up all the money I used to spend on junk food which is, believe it or not, about $150 every month - still no clue how I got so chubby. Then I bought my new phone for just under one month of junk food expenditure. I then upped my monthly mobile bill from $22 to $42. That's $20 more than I normally spend, but still a whopping $130 less than I would spend on junk.
In the end, I come out $130 ahead, minus maybe the odd snack when the mood really strikes. And to be honest, it doesn't strike often now that I don't find chocolate naughty anymore. The naughty factor made it all the more appealing, like that badass guy who rides a bike. If he starts driving a Volvo he gets laid a lot less. Just sayin'.
I think I'm on the road to becoming a frequently texting, less mouth stuffing, healthier me. The crop of Awesomeness will hopefully shun the nasty Nititus Insecuritas plant, making it run away crying to the nearest chip truck. Meanwhile, I'll just keep working on loving me for me and accepting the numerous compliments from the crazies who think I'm, well, kind of wonderful.
And sometimes I believe them. Not today, but sometimes.
Well, usually. Almost always, actually.
I must get 6.5 hours of interrupted beauty sleep now. Thanks for letting me prune the garden a little. I do feel better.