Here’s the thing, and it’s a big thing, an obvious thing but a big one: I’m human.
So when I find out that instead of losing ten pounds, I’ve GAINED ten pounds, I have to remind myself that I am human. I fall off the wagon even though I just started and that I’m doing this for Lent. It is okay to fail, it just means that I have the knowledge, will power, and attitude adjustment to do better for the next time around.
The next time around starts when I’m not so stressed about moving/saying goodbye to my favourite restaurants in Vancouver. The next time starts when I will have all day to think about the food I’m putting in my mouth. The next time starts when I am not PMSing and the Salt Monster comes around.
OR, the next time can be when I pull myself up by my bootstraps, remind myself that I am the kind of person who loses more in inches than in pounds, and that I am beautiful no matter what shape and size I am. As a person who hates endings, I find it rather easy to say Goodbye to being a pansy weakling with no willpower.
The most important word in my vocabulary now will be: “No.”
That sounds negative, but it worked for me before. I simply say “No” to food pushers (mainly me.) and to bad foods for me and to being miserable and using my body as a cage to hide myself in.
I’m coming for you life and I’m not sticking around in this prison anymore.
That’s all nice to say, but goddamn Thai food has got me in its grips. And I’ve reintroduced alcohol into my life. And I have a horrible stomach ache because of it. I freely admit that I am the kind of person who needs a support system in this. I need a person I can go to every week who tells me that I can and will do better. That I have it in me to take care of myself! That tells me “Hey. Take bacon poutine and peanut butter milkshakes off your docket kid.” (Those happened at the same time and were so delicious and I felt disgusting afterwards.)
How unfortunate that that person isn’t always myself.
Tomorrow may not be the seventeen thousandth restart, but I will be conscious of my food decisions even if I add alcohol to the mix. (Which I will, we are having a party tomorrow to say Goodbye.)
I do not hate my body. I am disappointed in myself for letting me down today, but I will always, ALWAYS, rise again. Notice how I didn’t say letting myself down this week, month, or year. Just one day. Every day is a new start and I will only let myself feel bad about this for as short of a time as I can. I will not wallow and take myself out of the running completely.
No fat shaming here. My body is my body. I have fat, I am not fat. I do love my body, even the “weird” nooks and crannies. Honestly, cellulite kind of makes me laugh. Jiggling my thighs is endless enjoyment, papa loves her tree trunks. I DO look at my back fat as my enemy, but that’s because I KNOW that under that is a beautiful majestic back that use to wear backless shirts and bathing suits. Oh you beautiful girl.
My stretch marks are my army stripes. I don’t want to be thin: I want to be a warrior. I want to be a woman. I want to be able to kick through doors and run a mile, and be a divine wind.
This is simultaneously a love letter to myself and update on how I am doing.
God isn’t perfect either, but Papa G will help me get through this. Probably by making me throw up tomorrow night since that’s our new M.O. when drinking. Haw haw. Thanks for that downer/embarrassing new trick.
Sorry this isn’t about books, but my body needed the attention today.