I feel like a broken record coming here AGAIN with my tail between my legs because I am uncomfortable within my skin. Why should any of my variables be the exception for grace? (Grace to myself, Grace from others ~ and I know, I know – The opinion of others doesn’t matter.) I have a MILLION excuses as to why I am no longer the 6-pack-ab wearing hottie I once was. Maybe for you, you never were. OR maybe you are exactly the same since high school? (I have compassion for WHATEVER your story is)
I haven’t seen that body since I was 33. (12 years ago)
It went something like this:
- I am 5’9 and in 2010 I was 160 pounds. Perfect BMI range.
- Then I moved from Arizona to Michigan. Less physical activity in the cold and more drinking and eating brought me to 185-ish.
- In 2013 I had my 3rd child. Then I was 215 – Slowly it would rise and fall to 210-230.
- Finally, menopause stuff starts up, and all of a sudden I am 240! 80 pounds in 10 years!
- I go on weight watchers and lose 30 pounds! woo hoo~
- Then I miss periods and start hormone therapy to help balance out depression stuff and boom! I see 250 pounds for the first time in my life.
I find myself discouraged. All my hard work is gone. I have no energy for anything more than my responsibilities. I have wished time and time again that reading, writing, painting, or anything having to do with one’s mind… somehow burned the same amount of calories as a cardio session.
I am now at a point in my life where I have so many factors swirling around me, that I don’t have the control of my weight as I may have had at one point. So “Way to go, Tiffany! You blew your shot while you were in your youth”. My family is a plethora of beautiful creatures. For real, they could be their own modeling company. They are also intelligent and successful. I have had this conversation with my Mom hundreds of times. “Their path is not my path. None of them have been dealt my hand or I theirs. Who knows how they would be now if they were parents of disabled children & single & broke.” – Oh look, more excuses. The evil voice in my head assures me, they would still be beautiful and a CEO of a major company.
The next thoughts this provokes in me are ~ I just left a job of 7 years and in hindsight wished I would have done it years earlier. I felt like I wasted so much time staying put instead of living my best life. So maybe I am here UNsilently suffering when I should be getting off my butt and doing something. I have so many friends who have tried bypass surgery, who work at health clubs, and who find how to be active and not feel miserable. I just cannot find anything that feels right. I walked on my treadmill yesterday and the whole thing was just stupid.
I should probably mention I am afraid. My hips and joints are now hurting, undoubtedly because of the extra weight. I am afraid I will die before I can get my older two set up for when I am gone. I am afraid that my organs are being smushed and I am slowly killing myself. You’d think with all this fear I could muster up the gumption to just stop eating as much & just start walking/running/swimming – ANYTHING.
But I’m sad. Maybe just feeling sorry for myself and feeling the “Failure” within. I have NO excuse. I am just tired. I am trying to hold it all together to do what needs to be done.
I share this with you because I know I’m not alone in this.
- I see you too, exhausted from giving your all day after day.
- I see you having an extra 30 minutes to do anything and you choose to sit.
- I see you teaching, cooking, driving, working, paying bills, cleaning, and just trying to fit it all in.
- I see you supporting all of those people around you and slowly sinking at the end of the day with not enough energy for yourself.
I see you.
I feel all of that.
You are not alone.
Hopefully as a little more time passes since leaving that job, the accumulated effects of chronic stress will start to ease up and you’ll have more energy left over to do things for yourself. And who knows, maybe decreased inflammation from decreased stress will make the weight easier to manage.