Take A Chance On Knees

Aug24

 

My dear sweet dog Bonnie, a miniature schnauzer, is seven years old. She’s one of the sweetest, most trainable, and smartest pets I’ve ever had — and I’ve had a lot of pets over the years.

When she was a puppy, I restricted her from certain parts of the house with portable window screens; they are perhaps fifteen inches tall and expand to either side, and meant to use in windows that don’t have screens. I simply propped them at the bottom of doors; she could see through them, but she wasn’t capable of moving or jumping over them.

Not very long ago, I put one of the screens across a doorway; she’s an active adult that can jump like a gazelle, but she still won’t disturb the screen. She won’t jump over it, and she could quite easily push through it if she wanted. I assume she doesn’t, not just because she’s the world’s greatest miniature schnauzer (of course she is!), but because she’s been trained. Her mind has learned that she isn’t to go past that point.

There are other wonderful things she just will not do; she will not, for instance, get into an open dog food container, even if it’s on the floor in easy reach. She won’t jump up on dining room chairs and end up in the middle of the table. She won’t grab food and run — these are all things my previous dog did on many occasions.

Say! What a fine knee!

Long before sweet Bonnie came into our world, I was told I would need total knee replacement surgery. For years, my body and my mind have been trained in working a much narrower range of freedoms than I had before my knees revolted. In just a few weeks, I’m heading in to discuss my options with my orthopedic surgeon; after seeing my husband go through knee replacement surgery, I’ve seen how many of my fears are unfounded. I know, without a doubt, that I can make it through surgery and the tough early weeks of recovery.

What I’m not sure about is the process of overcoming the years of training my mind and body have gone through in accepting restrictions and limitations. I have actually dreamed of being young and surprised that my knees worked exactly like how they used to work; I remember one dream in particular where I ran. And it was no big deal. Running for the sheer joy of feeling my body move? That hasn’t happened since I was a teenager.

I no longer remember what it feels like to live without restrictions. Unlike my dog, I know I’ve been missing out on decades of things I haven’t been willing or able to do. Even a decade ago, when I lost a great deal of weight and was physically fit, I lived with chronic pain in my knees. I just dealt with it and worked through the pain, but there are still plenty of things I have not physically been able to do for a very long time. Simple things, like riding a bike, kneeling, climbing a ladder to get into a boat. If your knees don’t bend, those things — and many more — drift out of reach.

I have to admit that I’m both excited and a bit scared about retraining not only my legs but my brain, to move in ways they haven’t moved in decades. I know it won’t come all at once, but I am very much looking forward to a future with dancing, bike rides, and boat rides in it.

I’ve made the appointment. It’s time for the next stage of my life. C’mon, Fake Knees, take a chance on me!

 

Standing In Front Of You

Aug17

 

In just a couple of weeks, I’ll celebrate my 4th anniversary of my journey back to health. Four years! I’ll have much to say when that day comes, I’m sure. This is absolutely the longest journey I’ve ever been on, health- and weight-wise.

It’s certainly long enough to see patterns develop, and one of them is that my weight loss tends to slow down or stop during the summer months. There’s quite a few reasons for this, and they all have to do with choices I make. Please note — that’s not blame; that’s accepting responsibility and knowledge of my own choices, and that’s a key mental difference from previous unsuccessful attempts to reclaim my health.

Not the best diet advice ever.

During the summer, my daily schedule completely changes. In part, this is because my husband (a teacher) is home, and my work schedule is historically lighter during those months. We do a fair amount of adventuring, whether it’s camping, day trips, or vacations. I’m human; I happen to like eating food. I like sharing good meals with friends and family. I like drinking alcohol, too. I will relax my normally strict eating during these times, with full knowledge of the consequences and a plan for recovery.

There’s something else at work, though, as well. While introversion gets thrown around a lot these days on the internet, and I’ve had friends laugh at me outright when I’ve said I’m an introvert, one of the toughest challenges I experience during the summer is a lack of time to recharge. I need a certain amount of time to myself, with no human interruptions, no obligations where I must interact.

Don’t get me wrong; I love people, I love being around them, learning about them, experiencing them. But it also drains my energy. If I go for too long without a break from people, I fray around the edges. I become short-tempered, frustrated, overwhelmed. And those are the times I’m honestly most likely to go off any diet I might be on. It’s this time of year that’s the toughest for me, although now that the school year has begun, I’m starting to recharge.

When I am overwhelmed, I am at my most vulnerable.

It’s a treacherous time, because I know myself well enough to admit that when I become too overwhelmed, I lose control, and the more control I lose over my schedule and surroundings, the more unhappy I become, and I freeze. I find myself unable to make the effort to accomplish much at all. And that includes taking command of my journey. So you see, just the mere fact that I’ve managed to stay on this journey, sometimes wavering and other times strongly pushing ahead, is a victory.

I’ve found that even when my life is chaos, being able to control at least one small element of my life makes it easier to fight against that chaos. No matter what else is going on, I can control what I put in my mouth. I can control how many steps I take during the day. I can control how much water I drink. While I might choose to relax these things somewhat during the summer, reclaiming my control over these things has become a fall tradition, and is very much where I am right now.

While I am more lenient with my health demands over the summer, I never completely let go. I still know where I stand at any given time. I never surprised at a gain on the scale or if my clothes fit more snug than I’d prefer. I know exactly what I did to get there, and I know exactly what to do to solve it. That sense of power keeps me on an even keel with other factors in my life, even when I feel like my mental and emotional batteries are drained.

So here I stand, knowing that these next few weeks will be a time of regaining command and pushing forward yet again. In control — it’s a good place to be.

 

The Warrior

Aug11

 

I belong to a unique club.

Half the time, I don’t really ever want to admit that I belonged to the club that came before it, and I want to push that identity away, as if it never existed. The rest of the time, I struggle with understanding that I can’t simply divorce a big chunk of my life. I am the sum of my experiences, and I shouldn’t ignore the things that have changed me — both for bad and good.

I mention these “clubs”, because my current club is unique enough that not everyone can join; in fact, most can’t. There’s no secret handshake, no admission process, no fees to pay. The neat thing about this club, though, is that others in the club seek me out, and I do the same. We share an experience that’s not only unusual, but hard fought for — and quite often, we don’t share it with those who aren’t in the club.

Triple digits, baaaayyyybbbbeeee!

I’m talking about the Century Club — my own (not-so-original) moniker for the folks who have lost more than one hundred pounds. We are kindred spirits, no matter how we lost the weight. We are winning a war, no matter if we have more to lose. We live lives with chronic pain and other challenges either caused or complicated by our years spent in that other club; the one we fought to escape. That one has shaped us as much, or more than, membership in the Century Club.

Someone contacted me just last night; someone I casually know through a group on Facebook. The group has nothing to do with weight loss, but someone else in the group asked for photos of those who post, and I posted my profile pic. I keep a number in the corner of my pic; it’s my current loss. I do this for my own transparency, as a reminder to be mindful of my progress and journey. I explained the number, because many are curious.

That someone and I chatted privately; our total losses are only a pound apart, and we have similar amounts left to lose. We’re facing similar issues, especially pending knee replacement. We talked about the special things relevant to losing that much weight, as well as the joys; the things that those outside of the Century Club may find intriguing, but can never fully understand without experiencing them. It was common ground, and enthusiasm for the challenges to come.

Great weight loss isn’t just about seeing a lower number on the scale and fitting into smaller clothes. It’s about transformation, dedication, trial and error, mending old wounds — both physical and mental. We are warriors, and the victories are the bodies we are learning to live with and improve.

For my sisters in the Century Club (and brothers, too, although I mostly know the sisters!), this blog’s for you — congratulations for a job well done, and may your victories continue. You just never know when you’ll find another member.

 

Try

Aug4

 

I spend a lot of time assessing my body in its current form. Even though my physical changes are slow, I still remember the hindrances I dealt with not so long ago. I’ve become sensitive to its changes over time and evolution from that much larger girl I used to be.

I’ve also evolved on how I treat myself. For a long time, I made myself the promise to treat myself right, including keeping my hair and makeup looking nice, wearing clothes that fit and flatter, making sure that I felt good about myself when I walked out the door, regardless of the reason for heading out. I did that mostly because I know that many folks still cling to the idea that obese women are lazy, don’t care about themselves, and choose to (selfishly!) remain fat. While I know (and probably you know) that nothing could be further from the truth, I still did my best to avoid being tagged in such a way.

Sometimes physical evolution is a shock.

While I’m far from being a normal weight, I’ve become more confident — and perhaps a trifle headstrong — about perceptions of me. These days, it’s more important for me to like the reflection in the mirror than to worry much about someone else’s perception. I’ve become more relaxed with the world around me. If someone judges me because I’m not wearing mascara, will the world truly end? If someone thinks I’m flippant because I’ve put a red streak in my hair, will the economy collapse?

Some might consider it selfish, but I’ve come to a point in my life where I know who my friends and loved ones are, and we chose each other for the value we bring to each others’ lives, not for hairstyles, fashion sense, or so help me, that number on the scale. I’m not losing weight to please anyone other than myself; if it does please others, I hope it’s for the right reasons.

It’s also a big sign that my brain has caught up with my weight loss and that I have a more accurate mental idea of who I am in this moment, both physically and visually. Although I’m just a month away from marking four years on my journey and many would consider that an unbearably long time to focus on improving health through weight loss, I spent the majority of my adult life well over 300 pounds. It’s no surprise that my brain has taken this long to finally catch up — and perhaps it’s been for the best that the process has been a slow one. It’s no race, after all.

Being comfortable in my own skin and satisfied with my own physical lot in life is one of the biggest gifts I have ever given myself. While I’m not crossing the finish line yet, and may not for some time, my life isn’t on hold until that undefined point in the future. Not when there’s life to be lived right now.

 

The Water Is Wide

Jul28

 

Just a couple of weeks ago, we went camping with friends. And our dog.

She takes on an alternate persona when we camp and becomes Captain Camp Dog, and she finally earned the Captain part of that moniker. Several of us were out in the lake, not really swimming but floating in fairly shallow water and just enjoying the day. One friend brought kayaks, and with the assistance of my husband, she gently rowed out from the shore with none other than the Captain nestled in front of her.

My Bonnie lies over the ocean… er… *lake*.

I have to admit that spooked me just a bit. She has a dog flotation vest with nifty handles on the back, and since she’s just not that big, it’s an easy matter to just pick her up like carry-on luggage. She would have been safe in the water, but that’s not what surprised me.

Going backward a year or so, my husband decked her out in that nifty new flotation vest and a float mat meant for dogs. He tried pretty valiantly to coax her into the water, but schnauzers aren’t exactly known for being water dogs, and she wasn’t having any of it. We did blow up the float mat and just let her sleep on it in camp on occasion, but was that enough for her to finally decide to actually go out in a boat? I don’t know, but the Captain finally sailed.

After that, we put her on the float and gently took her out into the water — several times over. She didn’t exactly bound out there like a labrador, but she did seem happier to be out with us than on shore alone. So much so that one of our friends snapped a photo of hubby and I, floating her back to the shore between us. Yep, that’s my sweet camper dog in the photo.

Sure, plenty of clichés apply: you can’t teach a dog new tricks, but at 7, she did just fine. They say that the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result, but that’s not what happened, here. The method and the circumstances were different than when we attempted to get her interested last year, so she reacted differently, and it worked. After all, there’s more than one way to skin a cat.

Solutions to difficult problems often require lots of trial and error — and different methods. That’s the reason Captain Camp Dog is no longer a landlubber; it took patience, distraction, a different approach. If at first, you don’t succeed…

Clichés aside, trying different methods until something works can be both nerve-wracking and rewarding. I can’t tell you how many attempts I’ve made to lose weight in the past; I honestly don’t remember them all. Just because I wasn’t successful, before, doesn’t mean the goal isn’t possible; it took the willingness to try yet again, vary my methods, change my mindset, being flexible with what I was willing to accept as success.

When I changed my mindset and my approach, my perspective about things that had previously derailed me or set me back also changed. Life happens; I must adapt. Currently, that means accepting that I’ve put a few pounds back during recent challenges and am in the process of taking them back off. Sure, it bothers me, but the solution is never simply to give up.

Not when I’ve learned that try, try again really does work.

 

Rule The World

Jul21

 

On Monday, my husband got himself a new knee. In a few more months, the other will also be replaced.

Originally, the plan had been for me to have both of my knees replaced, but a car accident changed those plans.

I admit it’s been really tough for me to go through this, since I’ve been working toward knee replacement for a number of years. I was told in 2005 that I’d likely need at least one knee replaced, and by 2008 or so, having both replaced became a certainty. My weight and health prevented that, and quite frankly, I wasn’t mentally and emotionally ready to take that step, so I went through a litany of treatments to prolong the inevitable.

Beer?

In 2013, I finally started down the path I currently am on; the most successful of my weight loss efforts, and the most relief I’ve had for my knees, to date. A year ago, I would have told you that 2017 was my year to finally commit to surgery and replace my knees, but as fate would have it, a negligent driver pulled in front of my husband on a local highway and put those plans on the back burner.

The pendulum has swung in the opposite direction and we have switched places. Where I was once dependent on him, he is now dependent on me. I find this a bit of a shock, as I’m sure he does, as well — although I have no doubts he will see marked improvement from one day to the next. Yet, he’s struggled, knowing he can’t help me do the tasks that must be done.

In truth, had I stayed at my former weight, I’d be useless to him right now. I would have been unable to even walk far enough to visit him in the hospital, let alone the things I’ve needed to do, both for him and for our household, since then. He was my caregiver, then, pushing me in a wheelchair when I could not stand the pain of walking. I am his caregiver, now, as he regains what was lost.

The morning I knew he would be discharged from the hospital, I had a bit of an anxiety attack. Sometimes, the things I’ve accomplished don’t seem entirely real, and I have to admit I was terrified of him coming home and not being up to the task of caring for him. It’s one thing to be able to boast that I’m up to walking 6,000 steps a day; it’s entirely different to realize you are fully responsible for taking care of someone else, temporary or not.

One was a choice. The other was a requirement. I was way out of my comfort zone, and I still am. I’ve been the gimp around here for years; switching places with my husband had never been in the plans. I have not necessarily handled the stress well and met it head-on, brimming with confidence. No, it’s been more like — quite honestly — being scared shitless to be the one who must carry the burden.

Then again, this is life. It’s the life I’ve been training for since the day I decided to try to lose weight again. Sure, it matters that I can walk a lot better than I used to, but it matters more that I’m up to the task of caring for a loved one, physically able to drive, to walk, to carry, to support, to constantly move, to be strong when necessary.

Because that’s the way I break the walls down and live.

 

Evolution

Jul13

 

Raccoons are evolved opportunists.

As many years as I’ve been an avid camper, I thought I had learned all their tricks; apparently not! I am writing this week’s blog from the shores of a lake at a state park, where I’ve been for the past week, enjoying my food (and brain) vacation. Really, the most stressful thing I’ve dealt with all week has been the raccoons and other opportunists.

This particular campground is overrun with them, and midweek, when the campers tend to thin out, the raccoons are… well… exploring all available possibilities. We had already been here for several days when a raccoon the size of Jabba the Hut dumped the trash over not three minutes after I’d gone inside the camper. Hubby usually takes the trash before he heads to bed, so it was before our regular time. Captain Camp Dog was just inside the camper, and I suspect Jabba saw the opportunity and seized it.

Not me. I like pizza with EVERYTHING.

Jabba or his brethren had already been inside a friend’s cooler, robbing it of grapes but leaving lettuce and carrots. (And firmly closing the lid when done.) The trash invader returned about midnight, when my husband found him on top of our outdoor camping refrigerator (standard apartment fridge), trying to open it from the top. He didn’t get in, but he also didn’t seem to care about the sack of potatoes that had been left in easy reach for the last few days.

The next night, sitting fireside with Captain Camp Dog at the ready, a younger Jabba warrior kept approaching the campfire just after dusk. I shined my cell phone’s flashlight at him and he scooted up a tree, yellow eyes glowing in the dark watchfully. Five minutes later, he was about 25 feet away from me and creeping up. He did this several times, despite the Captain’s stern orders to stay away from the perimeter or risk The Plank (Schnauzer-speak for “I Will Bark Until I Lose My Voice”), finally snagging a lone piece of bread that had been pulled out of the fire ring by previously marauding crows.

In addition to this, a squirrel bit through the end of a loaf of bread left on the table while we swam, giving up tail hairs on a nearby fly strip for his efforts. The remaining bread was thrown into the fire ring as a result, the crows pulled out bits of bread while we were out of camp, and the raccoon got the remainder. Something else decided the dry corn kernels inside the bags of our Baggo set were tasty.

Squirrels and ducks have been as close as 5 feet away, hoping for a handout all week. We don’t believe in feeding wildlife human food, at least on *purpose*, but the little opportunists certainly got more than their fair share out of us on this trip. We’ve been putting up everything within sight, only to realize what was forgotten when they show up to invade, again.

I find it odd, though, that other than the dried corn, the things these animals all wanted were things they would never get in their natural world (except for the grapes). Bread, meat, dinner leftovers in the trash? Oh heck YEAH! Potatoes, lettuce, carrots? No, we don’t want healthy veggies, thanks!

One internet search on raccoon dietary preferences reveals what I already know: they will eat pretty much anything, including catfish bait my husband accidentally left out on our last camping trip.

In fact, they seem to be a lot like humans.

Good old Jabba the Hut Raccoon got that way because he’s a successful camp invader, and his portly self prefers human food (in the FRIDGE!) over readily available veggies. Not unlike us! Given a choice, he’ll eat garbage instead of what’s likely more correct for him. Raw potatoes? Not when there’s bacon and hamburger in the fridge! Meanwhile, the poor Captain has had to endure dog-healthy meals of things I know are safe for her. She’d rather be a raccoon, I suspect.

We are hardly the only creatures that will choose things that aren’t good for us, despite supposedly being more evolved. Carrots, or cake? Are we raccoons by nature, bound to shove our faces full of goodies if they’re available? Maybe so!

Monday, I return to proving I’m higher up the evolutionary ladder and choosing foods I know are good for me. I’ll be making the conscious effort to resume my weight loss efforts and push ever downward. But in the meantime…

 

Road Trip

Jul7

 

When you fail to plan, plan on failing.

Sometimes, you just gotta go with the flow.

All clichés aside, I’m currently attempting to juggle these two things. Sometimes, you can plan things until you’re blue in the face — and sometimes, maybe the best reaction to a situation is to understand that what happens over a short period doesn’t have to become the norm for a long period.

Good thing that’s not MY sign!

I’m about to go camping for what will be our longest trip this year (8 days), followed closely by seeing my husband through knee replacement surgery. Both have their challenges; thank goodness I’ve become more able and adept at handling camping tasks, because right now, hubby just can’t do everything he’s been able to do in the past, but I have faith that after he recovers, he’ll be able to regain what he’s lost.

This will be my vacation this year, and I plan on enjoying it, increased workload aside; that’s really more for setup and breakdown, so I’ll have plenty of time for doing restorative things, like editing a book I plan to publish, reading, maybe coloring, maybe knitting. Enjoying time with some great friends. Hanging out both in and on the lake. Cuddling with Captain Camp Dog, who’s still trying to recover from spazzing out over 4th of July fireworks.

That’ll include taking a few days to eat things that aren’t normally my way of eating; a food vacation, of sorts. I know I’ll pay for it afterward, and I already have a plan in place for when I return.

As I mentioned, shortly after we return, hubby will be in the hospital for the first of two knee replacement surgeries. Originally, the plans had been for me to have my knees replaced, but sometimes life throws you curve balls, and now I have chosen to use my extra time before my own surgeries to lose even more weight and strengthen myself as much as possible. Because the rest of my summer will be spent assisting him in recovery, it’s also the perfect time for a reset; I’ll be back to working toward my goals.

Essentially, I’m doing both planning and going with the flow. I know I will enjoy my vacation, and I know I will have work ahead of me.

Much like my journey, I’m still going in the same direction, but to extend the metaphor, I’m going to knowingly jump off the interstate for a bit and take a slower, more scenic side road, because I know there’s construction ahead and I know how to deal with it.

 

Simple Life

Jun30

 

I’ve just come back from another camping trip — this one full of perfect June days and relaxation, complete with gentle lakeside breezes and windows open to the sounds of nature at night.

This was a good trip for me, personally; I met my step goal every day but one, but I overdid other days in offset. I did that without trying, and when I first started setting step goals for myself earlier in the year, I simply could not understand how the recommendation of 10,000 steps a day could make any sense at all. But now that I have a step goal just shy of 6,000 steps a day, it makes a lot more sense. Those steps come a lot easier these days! And every week, I set that goal a little higher.

Inflatable Unicorns are REAL, y’all.

But that’s not really what I want to write about this week. No, it’s more about my camp neighbors. Especially one in particular.

I’ll call her Angie, although that’s not her name; I heard her name a few times over the few days she was next to us, but she’s a child, so I’ll give her a different one. She’s perhaps 10, maybe 12. She showed up with her (large) family in tow the third day of our five-day trip.

I noticed Angie because she appears to be mentally retarded; not profoundly so, but enough for her to live completely in the moment. I could tell at a distance by her childlike behavior, her mannerisms, the way she walks and talks. Once upon a time, in college, I worked with mentally retarded adults, so that experience came back in an unexpected way.

Sure, Angie got overtired and overstimulated a few times and had public meltdowns. There were things she wanted and in Angie’s no doubt usually carefully controlled world, they were out of reach and she couldn’t process not getting what she desired. But for the most part, Angie played with a big smile on her face. She squealed with glee. She jumped up and down and ran. She got right in the middle of games her older siblings and friends were playing, like badminton and Frisbee, and they always treated her with love. She rode her bike, complete with training wheels.

On the fourth day, a girl in the camp (perhaps late teens or early 20’s) was given her first bike; she appeared totally normal but had never had a bike, never knew how to ride one, and spent some time with various people trying to tell her just how easy it was to do. Perhaps to them, it was, but to her, it was new and a bit scary; she was unsure of herself but by the time we left, she was slowly getting the hang of balancing and peddling — things Angie can do easily, despite her limitations.

The thing is, I doubt Angie even knows or realizes she has limitations. She lives in the moment, whether it’s a temper tantrum or sheer joy. Someone bought an enormous pool/lake floatie that looked like a unicorn; I saw Angie, yesterday, joyfully carrying on an imaginary conversation with it.

Sure, you can argue that there’s a lot Angie doesn’t know about her plight. She’ll likely never hold a job outside one designed for disabled assistance. She may never marry or have children. She just might be an obligation to her parents well into her adulthood. She’ll never know much of the everyday experiences you or I know. She may never drive a car, play a musical instrument, edit a spreadsheet, operate a smartphone, take a Mexican vacation.

But for all that, Angie is one happy little girl. She doesn’t know (or care) that she’s not like anyone else. And in that, she’s quite fortunate. She’ll never be a fashion model, but neither will I. In fact, Angie’s existence makes the argument for existing in the moment and enjoying it for whatever it might be, including chatting with inflated unicorns.

Me, I worry too much. I worry about my weight and whether I’ll ever get to the goals I set for myself. I fret over whether brief deviations will hurt me overall. I flog myself for my shortcomings. I feel dumb in comparison to others; I read their words and am inspired by them, thinking myself as somehow lesser in comparison because of my (in)abilities. But am I? Why choose that path, when existence in this moment and loving it for all it is worth brings happiness?

I’m telling you — Angie has lessons to teach us. That simplicity to life is worth embracing.

 

Don’t Worry

Jun23

 

For those interested in my progress, I’m finally shedding excess weight that I gained over a couple of weeks of inconsistent eating and exercise. I hope to be reporting new numbers soon!

If you’re wondering why my blog is late, today — it’s because I was out late last night, partying, and slept in this morning. How’s that for irresponsible? I’ve been maintaining for a while that I’ve been aging backward, so it only makes sense that I reach that party-girl stage at some point, right? 😉

Seriously, though… I was at a house concert. House concerts are marvelous things; traveling musicians will perform at a private home, and a small group of people will pay much-less-than-your-average-concert-ticket to hear them play, bringing their own food, drinks, and lawn chairs. It’s a really fun thing to do, and it’s just really catching on around here. It also gave me the opportunity to be responsible with my eating, although it can be a bit of a drag to drink my water when most everyone else is enjoying an adult beverage.

Not actual 70’s mannequins, but still not your average figure.

I mention all this because the group includes people I see roughly monthly. Some, I haven’t seen in several months, and one complimented me on my weight loss efforts. I thanked her — and that’s when things got weird.

I made awkward apologies for not currently being in loss mode.

Why the ever-lovin’ hell did I do that?! Why did I feel obligated to make amends for currently being up in weight? She wouldn’t have known the difference, and while I believe in being totally accountable, that doesn’t necessarily mean over-sharing details of my journey with people who simply gave me a compliment. Needless to say, I mentally kicked myself for that afterward, but it also means I have some mental work to do on that.

It bothers me to not be in losing mode. I have been mortified over the amount of weight I allowed myself to gain while out of town. But I also dedicated myself to getting the weight off and have worked hard in the interim to do exactly that. I’ve done a good job, even if I haven’t completely lost what I gained, yet. Obviously, there’s some part of my brain that thinks it’s not good enough if I feel the need to apologize for it.

This is something I still struggle with. I absolutely need and believe in accountability; knowing that people are following my weight loss is an incentive to keep me on the straight and narrow. But there also needs to be a balance — what I had was an emotional response, not a logical one, and while I know that I can’t entirely keep emotion out of what I do, emotion is also to blame for influencing me into beating myself up over things that don’t, in the long run, matter. Being emotional and unreasonable about weight loss is my number one reason for falling off diets.

I’m not in a race. I have no definite timeline that dictates I must be a certain weight on a certain date, even if my logical brain often tries to project when I’ll arrive at certain points. Summer is also my typical slow time for weight loss because we do a fair amount of camping and traveling, and I’m not always in full control of my food options. (And, honestly, I’m human and want the occasional break to kick back and relax.) Regardless of all of this, though, there’s some part of my brain that’s hardwired to believe that if I’m not moving forward, I’m sliding backward and deserve to be chastised for it.

Maybe it’s a throwback to when I was young and Walt (my father, an emotional abuser) pressured me to lose weight. He did it, even when I wasn’t much overweight. I recall, once, walking through a mall with my parents, and commenting on an outfit on a mannequin; he told me that if I could lose enough weight to look like the mannequin, he’d give me $100. (In the mid-70’s, that was a huge amount of money to offer a teenager!) In his eyes, I was fat and therefore not good enough. What possessed him to say such a thing, when I was just commenting on an outfit I liked? I was probably 16 or 17 at the time.

Imagine that. My brothers got paid for good grades. I had stellar grades but got no recognition at all for them. Instead, he offered to pay me if I could do the impossible: look like a mannequin. It was an absolutely ridiculous thing to say, and I’m embarrassed to admit that I actually attempted to do exactly that. You bet that I failed, but frankly, he was no small man, himself; his parents were hardly thin, either. I’m not of a slight build, and I’m short; I would have had to have been anemic to look like a mannequin in the 70’s. Is it any wonder I have built-in issues with not being considered good enough?

It’s easy to blame him for planting the seed, but as an adult, I own my responses and must make sure emotional responses don’t win.

At this point, I’m recognizing that guilt for what it is: an emotional response that needs to be dealt with so I can move on. I’m on the right track, and as long as I keep chugging on, I’ll get to my destination in my own good time.

Don’t worry. Every little thing is gonna be all right.