There's a lot of shit going on these days, in my house, in my head. I'm getting things wrong a lot, which is sometimes an indication that I'm being me more... except for when it's an indication that I'm trying too hard, or scared, or taking too many liberties. A little self-doubt is healthy, I think. A lot can be crippling, or sometimes comical.
I don't have a funny story today. I have work to do, which I will choose to do in public because what the hell, nobody reads this blog, right? It's 4:35 AM and I'm trying to figure myself out a little, looking for some clarity on my priorities, and maybe, oh yeah, I'm trying to stop crying. I cry sometimes. Get over it.
I have some work to do. Being alive hurts a lot these days - like, physically hurts. It's because I'm enormously fat. I have always been one of those people who was pretty active, pretty sexy, pretty stylish in defiance against the shit everybody says about how being fat is bad and will kill me when they really just mean that my failure to conform makes them nervous.
So here I am looking at figuring out how to lose some weight, without being pushed around by the weight loss industry or any of the horrible people who think they have something to say about whether I conform to whatever the hell they want me to conform to. (And oh yeah, I'm figuring out what to do with that anger, and also how to stop crying.)
Why tonight? Because my husband got as close to asking me to lose weight as he ever will. And it felt TERRIBLE. Like, nauseous, vomity, shamey, broken... I watch most of those medical dramas and it felt like I always thought it must feel when you get a head injury that's so bad you vomit. That's what it felt like. And I know him - it felt almost as bad to him. This is not a man who cares about weight - you should see the variety of awesome women he has loved. This is not a controlling man. This is not a man who needs me to be anything but the best me I can be. And he's asking me today to stop being the crappy me whose back and knees hurt. Well, he's implying it. He would never EVER say it out loud. (This is why you should love him. Also, this is why I'm still crying and it's 4:48am.)
So I have to figure some shit out. I should, for instance, cop to some uncomfortable truths. (Welcome to my fatness accelerated 12-step program.) I should cop to the fact that I'm really not in touch with what healthy eating feels like anymore. I have a fair idea of what healthy eating is - well, a 15-year-old idea... I'm not up on the latest studies. I know the math and the nutritional basics, but I don't know what healthy serving sizes look and feel like. Yeah, and I can't exercise. At all. Way too out of shape for that bullshit. Exercise hurts.
And furthermore, the deeper stuff: the theory is that the fat must serve a purpose in my life for me to have kept it around for so long... and for me to have amassed (ha - a pun) so much in the last 15 years since the last time I was at what (to me) felt like a healthy weight.* The fat must serve a purpose. So what is is it? What am I hiding from within this flesh? What am I protecting myself from? What am I holding myself apart from? Who am I trying to please with all this fat? (And specifically, which DEAD or DEAD TO ME person am I staying loyal to by staying fat? Ohdear - writing that made me cry a little harder. Note to self.)
Yeah, I got a lot of work to do. And in the meantime, I have to figure out how to take some first steps without freaking the fuck out or giving a shitload of money to people who don't give a happy shit about me being successful in this quest. Because let's be clear - the weight loss industry only wants a few of their customers to succeed. The rest of us are there as human fear batteries pumping dollars into their Jabba the Hutt bank accounts so they can keep hiring thin models to shame us more. So yeah, I want to do this without giving a lot of money to the weight loss industry... but while getting some actual help figuring out what I'm supposed to be eating and doing right now.
I can't solve this tonight. Hell, I won't even sleep tonight. But I'll figure it out soon. I'll keep you posted. There will undoubtedly be glorious grossness as I uncover... whatever the hell all this fat is hiding. And I bet it isn't just emotional stuff I'll uncover. Somewhere in here, there's a long lost conjoined twin or something. I just know it.
* Let me be clear about a what I mean by a healthy weight. I was 5'10" and weighed about 260 lbs. I felt tall and strong, I could dance all night, I could sprint for a block and walk for miles and climb steep hills in deep desert without falling over dead. At a weight that would horrify anyone in medicine, fitness, or, y'know, my family, I was tougher than anybody I knew who didn't run marathons or triathlons. Just to be, y'know, perfectly fucking clear.
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