After last week’s revelations, I’ve had a good, strong week — and a loss to show for it.

And, along with that, some growth; I am more focused than ever, now, on goal completion. Not just in weight loss; in whatever I encounter, because inevitably, it’s completion that’s the issue, not just whatever it is that doesn’t get finished.

I have a big event this weekend; we attend an annual wine festival, and it means a lot more walking than I usually do. I’m probably about 60 to 70 pounds heavier than I was last year at this time, and I discontinued arthritis medications in the spring because of gastric issues. This combination means that even a minimal amount of walking causes me a great deal of pain and discomfort.

I mention this, because even though I have a pretty high pain tolerance, I dread the idea of having to endure great levels of pain, especially in public. My answer has been to let myself slide into becoming a hermit; it’s not much of a challenge, just staying at home and not having to worry about pain. I will occasionally venture out, but it’s usually for very short walks; into a restaurant, into very small stores, to friends’ homes.

This past week, I went into my local Wal-mart (a very small superstore) and another much larger Wal-mart in a neighboring town. It has been months since I’ve been in one; I find them very difficult to negotiate. Still, there were things I needed for my upcoming trip, so on Wednesday, I visited my local Wal-mart.

Let me back up: I’ll also add that I bought a cane. Yeah, a cane to help me walk. It’s collapsible so I can stick it in my (suitcase of a) purse when I don’t need it. I felt stupid using it at my local Wal-mart, so I didn’t, but by the time I got back to my vehicle, my knees were screaming at me. But still — I made it.

19 Pounds Lost — Just like this turkey.

On Thursday, I made the decision to drive to another town. (I live in a very small town, and often have to leave town to shop.) I brought the cane. I realized, afterward, that I picked the sequence of stores by how mobile I could be in those locations; a trip to the eye doctor’s office was no issue. Then, to a small department store, where I knew the items I needed were close to the entrance. And finally, the bigger Wal-mart; by then, I was hurting, and had decided to break down and use a mobility cart. I brought my cane in with me, just in case. (I’d used it for the first time at the previous store.)

As luck would have it — there were no mobility carts available. I cringed at the thought of using one; and now, in retrospect, I’m glad I didn’t. I did my shopping by walking it out, and stopping at various benches throughout the store to give my knees a break. The lesson: take your time, plan, and you can complete the task.

For me, those challenges were important to face; I’ve been feeling a great bit of anxiety about my upcoming wine festival trip because of the necessary walking. Although my knees hurt horribly both evenings afterward, it was more important for me, mentally, to make the effort and get out to meet the challenges. I still feel some anxiety about the trip, but I know that if I take my time, I’ll be fine. I know the grounds well enough to figure out, in advance, how to cope.

It was equally important for me to accept that using a cane gives me some assurance, especially when my knees are hurting particularly badly. This is temporary assistance; as I continue to lose weight, my mobility will improve. I also have a custom knee brace (that’s currently too small, thanks to weight gain), and these items are here to assist me, not make me feel inadequate. Getting them and not using them is — well — stupid.

So, this week has been a learning experience, and I’m glad for it. While I’m not crazy about my set of circumstances at the moment, I need to be more aggressive about using the tools available to me so I can improve my quality of life.

This week: I’m down a total of 19.4 pounds. Almost 20, and almost 40% to my first goal of 50 pounds off. I’m thrilled!

Yes, I’m aware of how trite the title is; it’s an overused phrase, and those who say that sort of narcissism is partly to blame for a lot of the ills of this world are likely right.

But stick with me, here. I’m not talking about the sort of “Love Yourself” that compels people to pucker up for duck lip photos in the bathroom mirror and post them on Facebook. I’m talking about the message of “Love Yourself” that people, like me, need to consider and hear more often.

This is a multi-faceted issue for me.

I still have a lot of mental sludge from my childhood. I know this; I recognize it, and I don’t see it as an excuse for anything — merely an explanation of behaviors that get triggered as an adult. I admit this is probably something I should seek therapy for, as my methods to date haven’t worked.

My particular brand of sludge came from my father. I know he was an inconsiderate jerk of a man; a sociopath, very self-centered, and unfortunately, charismatic. A lot of people over the years believed his particular brand of BS because they were drawn in by that magnetism, only to get burned by it. He was not a nice person at all.

As an adult, I know this. I’ve made my peace with it. I know that the things he said and did to me in my childhood were garbage. I know, above all, that he was 100% wrong, too. This wasn’t  just about my weight as a child; this was also about my value as a daughter to him and to my family. He was an arrogant bastard who was raised to believe women were nothing, and that’s how he treated me.

I hungered for praise and attention from him. I had two older brothers who were offered rewards for good grades in school; I only know that the offer was made. I don’t know that he followed through with it, because by nature, he often (intentionally?) forgot his promises. Still, I was never made that offer — and I was an exemplary student. Everything I attempted, I tried to excel at, and often did — only to receive absolutely no recognition from him. This also included any sort of parental support, from assistance with homework to attendance at school functions. He never did anything for me unless there was something in it for him.

I wanted his approval. I saw him give approval to my brothers, even if it was on a limited and selfish basis to them, as well. I yearned for it, and when my brothers were finally gone from home, I thought he would finally pay me some attention; and he did, but it was negative. His treatment of me was full of criticism and mistrust.

I know, now, that the way he treated me was not my fault. But there’s still a 16 year old that remembers having to walk outside to meet a date because I didn’t want him to meet my father, who laid on the couch in the evenings, often with his belt undone. There’s a 17 year old who was told she couldn’t date until she was legally old enough to be responsible for anything that might happen. (Mind you, anyone who knows me from those years would likely bust a gut at the thought that I might be anything other than very quiet and reserved.) Or the 16 year old that was offered $100 if I would lose enough weight to look like a mannequin that happened to be wearing an outfit I’d commented on in his presence.

I won’t continue with the examples; I’m not looking for condemnation of him, or sympathy.  I know he was wrong, and I don’t need anyone to agree with me. He passed away years ago, and I made my peace with him before his death, but that damage is still there. That overwhelming sense of not being good enough is still deeply entrenched, regardless of how hard I try, and it’s that inner voice that happily chimes in and reminds me that I’m not good enough when I’m not getting the results I want. Not just in weight loss, either; in anything.

It just seems to be the strongest when it comes to weight loss.

This seems to manifest itself in two ways; I tell myself that the opinions others have of me does not matter. That I am strong enough, and determined enough, to value my own judgments and succeed. If I tell myself that enough times, I believe it (at least temporarily), and it actually works.

But only to a point. I do care. I am sensitive to the approval of others. I want validation, and when I don’t get it, I feel like the teenager who tried her best and got ignored — again. This makes me vain, I realize. It also makes me want to make sure everyone on God’s Green Earth knows that I wasn’t always fat. That I have made supreme and successful efforts in the past when it comes to weight loss — as if I have something to prove to anyone else, when I really don’t.

I fear perceptions. I worry that when people read, here, what my real weight is, that they devalue what I have to say, who I am, who I was, what I want to accomplish. I am horribly embarrassed to be seen as a failure; not only by people I know, but people I don’t know. I can feel my anxiety level going up just writing about this.

Not good enough.

So I do things to convince myself I was/am worthy. I look for that validation. I can be very obsessive-compulsive about things, to the point where I cause my own failures. These feelings of unworthiness are amplified the heavier I am, so right now, they’re through the roof.

I know I have to work through them. My own logic tells me that I’m probably pretty average when I view other people. If someone’s overweight, I might note it, but I don’t hold it against them. If I see someone I knew from years ago and they’ve put on weight, I might notice it (along with graying hair or other physical characteristics), but I don’t see it as any sort of personality flaw or value judgment. I only see what made them my friend in the first place, and that rarely has anything to do with looks; much more with how that person made me feel when they were around.

So, it’s definitely dysfunctional that I automatically assume that other people view me in any different light. I know that. I have to work on it, especially times like now, where I grow impatient with progress (for absolutely no reason; I’m actually doing quite well) and that sense of unworthiness arrives right on time.

I know I need to work on the concept of “Love Yourself”; not in a vain way, but in forgiving self-acceptance. Last week, I talked about the “Blerch”; now, I realize that “Blerch” for me is “Walt” (My father’s name). I always knew that, but I confess that I thought I had that issue beat.

Whoever or whatever your “Blerch” is, it’s time to have a serious talk with it.

17 pound baby girl.

As for weight loss this week (did you think I forgot?), I had my monthly review. I’ve completed one successful month on plan and lost 16.2 pounds. I’m happy with that.I’m also happy to report that some of the physical problems that moved me to give weight loss another try are improving. I’ve had some IBS-related issues that seem to be clearing up. I’ve done better about drinking all my water and taking all my prescriptions and supplements; I’m horrible about taking them.

I’m now at 17 pounds down. I’ve had my ups and downs these last couple weeks, including a temporary gain of water weight; I’m glad to see that I’m down this week. As I’ve said before, I’m fighting for every single pound, and I have seen the weight drop since last week in fractions of pounds.

That’s a 17 pound baby. Ouch! I’ll be glad when I’ve lost enough weight to use examples of weight loss that aren’t fish or babies. 😉

This past week, I hit a speed bump. I’ve been pretty happy for the past 3+ weeks to have lost a nice amount of weight (15 pounds before this week; see the update on that, below), and to only have seen losses on the scale.

I know, though, that at some point, that would change, and that’s the detriment of weighing daily; no matter what I feel like otherwise, that number on the scale does destructive things to my brain. My evil negative-talking alter ego jumps out and starts feeding on my insecurities.

From a purely physiological standpoint, I know that I’m on track with my diet. If a calorie is a calorie is a calorie (a subject I have some opinions about, but I’ll leave for another day), it takes 3500 calories over and above what your body needs to maintain itself in order to gain one pound of fat. While I am on a low carb plan, I also pay attention to calories. I track my food and water intake religiously.

So, last weekend, when the scale drifted up two pounds, I knew I hadn’t overeaten 7000 calories that added on a little over two pounds in just as many days. What I was carrying was water weight. I could feel the bloat and the discomfort in my joints. Historically, my body has gained up to fifteen pounds of excess water weight, and let me tell you — that’s extremely painful. In the grand scheme of things, those two additional pounds were just something to watch and take note of. I adapted by making sure I fully hydrated each day, because the body may retain fluids when it’s dehydrated.

Everything else was below the threshold I set for myself in order to lose weight. I didn’t deviate. So, the extra weight was water, and in time, the water would filter out of my body.

Logically, anyway.

But that’s when my bad brain starts kicking me around.

“Oh, sure, it’s water weight! You did something wrong. You failed. You’re lying to yourself.”

“Every morning when you step on the scale, you’re making it worse. What you’re doing isn’t working. Why are you making this effort if it isn’t going to work?”

“Is that whole ‘water retention’ theory even legit? How long are you going to let yourself continue to gain weight from ‘water retention’ before you do something about it, like go get a diuretic to get rid of it? How do you know, for sure, it’s water?”

“Making excuses already? Do you even believe this crap you tell yourself?”

The negative self-talk is a huge problem for me. I’m writing this blog on Thursday night; tomorrow morning, Friday, is my official weigh-in day, and I haven’t been below my lowest weight since last Friday. There’s a diseased part of me that wants desperately to wake up in the morning and not only see a two pound loss of the water I gained, but a couple more pounds loss in addition, so I can report at least a two pound loss this week. I’m that competitive — with myself, telling myself that if I can’t achieve that simple number, I’m failing.

And worse: if I’m failing, I should give up.

Because I’ve done that every single time before — and giving up worked so well for me. (*insert eye roll*) It’s dumb to give up and give in to that voice, and I know it. Sometimes that voice is just a little whisper, and sometimes it screams at me. Sometimes, I imagine it even comes out of other people’s mouths, actions, or attitudes when they do or say something that I perceive as criticism of my weight.

Matthew Inman, author of The Oatmeal comics, even addressed this in one of his comics; he calls it The Blerch (http://theoatmeal.com/comics/running). This is a must-read if you’re working on getting healthier; his description of The Blerch is pretty close to that nasty voice that plagues me at times when I’m vulnerable.

I accept that the voice exists, and while I acknowledge it, that doesn’t mean I’m going to give in. No, logic has to prevail when I reach the inevitable speed bump, like I did this week. I have to shut out the voice.

It’s Friday morning, now. The weigh-in: I’m still at 15 pounds down, so it’s unchanged for the week. The good news is that the difference in weight is only .2 pounds up from last week; higher, but the water weight is decreasing. I’ll take that. I’d love to report a higher number for pounds lost, but that will come in time.

Next week will complete one month on plan; I’ll be measuring, taking photos again, and reviewing how things have gone. At this point, if 15 pounds turns out to be the final for the month, I’m okay with it: that’s 15 pounds that used to be attached to my body and isn’t, anymore.

I’m past the ten day mark in my diet, now — and while that certainly doesn’t seem like a long time at all, there have been plenty of times when I’ve meant to make a commitment to healthier eating and haven’t made it this far. Those times, I really wasn’t ready, and I think you have to be in the right mindset to successfully start any sort of a weight loss program.

12 pounds of bowling ball!

I’m feeling pretty good, and when I did my weigh-in this morning, I was pleasantly surprised to find 12 pounds gone. In fact, this surpassed my hopes; I was hoping for a 10 pound loss, since I was at 9.6 pounds down just yesterday. 12? I’ll take it! Passing 10-pound increments, whether it’s in loss or in weight, gives me a happy little dieter’s thrill.

I’ve had a few challenges over the past week; weekends are tough, and so are networking events like the one I had last night. Our company attended a Chamber of Commerce event that included a catered meal, and rather than risk whether there would be appropriate food available, I brought a couple of Atkins bars with me. (I’m on a low carb plan.) I made it through the evening without beating myself up for bad food choices — because I didn’t make them to begin with. Maybe the scale’s kindness to me, this morning, was karma. 😉

Generally speaking, I’m feeling pretty good; just eating cleanly will often take care of some issues in pretty short order. For instance, I have IBS issues, and eating low carb helps. I’m not carrying as much water weight, so my joints aren’t hurting as much as they were. I’m starting to feel a difference in how my clothes fit.

At this point, I’m excited, and I like being in that state of mind, because often, I begin weight loss efforts with a “fake it ‘til you make it” attitude. I feel more ready for this challenge than I have in a very long time, and although I haven’t really noticed great changes yet, I feel very good just for having started the effort. I feel like I’m doing something for myself that I can be proud of, rather than constantly mentally flogging myself for not choosing healthier options.

That feeling of accomplishment is truly what I need.