Ya, the schedule, it’s not working. We’ll cal that complete and write once a week. That I can do. If I feel like doing more, then I’ll write then as well.

I am for putting exercise in the diary. However, since there is nothing in my diary (feel the “I’m unemployed and depressed” saga coming on) I don’t ever feel like it. I feel like eating a pizza (which I did), sleeping on the couch (two nights in a row) smoking too much (cigarettes in NC are CHEAP and I bought a carton) and watching Law and Order. So the exercise can wait until tomorrow. Tomorrow, i love ya, tomorrow.

Aggh.

So my job was posted as an internship, I am getting phone calls and facebook requests from former colleagues that have had to take on some of my responsibilities. Part of me wants to go “pay me, and I’ll help you” and the other part wants to just let it go and be helpful. Being helpful has always gotten me into trouble.

I am super duper helpful. I rearrange my life to help people out. I slack on bills to help out friends and family, I bail on things I really want to do to be available for movers, childcare, potential parties. My whole social register is about helping out people.

Interestingly, and kind of obviously, I stopped helping people out just after surgery. I asked for help. I said I am powerless and started a whole new life. I guess I am gearing up for the terrible twos– I’ll be 2 years out in August. I have gone back to old habits. And it feels like ick.

So, back to helping people out. I don’t have to be everything to everyone, just everything to me. If I really really want to be at 190 for the remainder of my days, I have 76 pounds to lose and keep off. But really, I want to be healthy, start a marriage, have a family, be gainfully employed with a career I love at a company I love even more, write all the time and have a little house, possibly upstate, that has a room I can write in that has a little window I look out over beautiful scenery that inspires me creatively. To make all that happen, I have to put me first me first.

Putting me first has always been a bit of a bitch. I don’t know how to feel good about being a priority. I never asked for raises, I always went for the funny character part instead of the lead, I wanted people to like me more than respect me. However, it’s a total life change.

So here’s the labotomy. I am first. And to be first, things gotta change around here. I will not consider myself a failure if someone calls me selfish. This is the bypass on the brain.

Okay, and all of that said, the sun came out and stopped the 7 days of rain in NYC. At least for now. Law and Order is over, and the ashtray is empty. Hey, it’s gonna rain again, but this time, not on my fucking parade.

Watch out world. I’m coming after you and going to suck the juice of life right outta ya.

Thanks for keeping me accountable. You can count on me to write once a week. Warts and navel gazing and victories abound.

much love–

Kim

So much for that whole schedule thing I came up with, right? Wow, aren’t I brilliant! With the schedule, we will be PERFECT BLOGGERS and that will help us be PERFECT PATIENTS.

Oh, I am so very funny.

I can’t seem to keep to a schedule for more than a week, ever. You know that trick they teach you to make an appointment for the gym and then you’ll go? Doesn’t work so well for me. I mean, I go to bed with the intention of going to the gym, I write it on my calendar and then reality hits. I wake up and I’m too tired or I need to go to work earlier than usual or…something. Hell, I’ve even been managing to miss my weekly fitness classes on Saturdays just because I’ve been out of town for the past few weekends. That, of course, just means that I should be making more of an effort to get that exercise in. So yeah, I’m exercising…not as much as I would feel I should be but more than I ever used to. You asked me ages and ages ago what I do for exercise so here’s what I do:

At the gym, I love the elliptical. I do 45-60 minutes on a LifeFitness machine, set at least at level 12 in the hill program. Any less than that (time or level) and I don’t have that “Wow, that was a good workout” feeling. I try and alternate that with treadmill time since I am trying to get into the whole running groove. I’ll warm up for 5 minutes with a fast walk, then jog for as long as I can, then do intervals for the rest of the time, usually for a total of 35-45 minutes. After the cardio, I do some weights…either resistance machines if I’m in a hurry or free weights if I have time. My trainer-lady from my fitness class is a big fan of combining free weights with things like squats and lunges, so I tend to do things like bicep curls with squats or tricep lifts with lunges.

And then on Saturdays I do Fitness Without Walls, with Sheila, who is the third part of my Holy Trinity of Health (the other two being my PCP and my shrink). Sheila is insanely peppy and energetic and able to do things with her body that I can only imagine being able to do. She’s also encouraging and careful and completely non-judgy. I hate, hate, HATE getting up and dragging my exhausted self out there so early on a Saturday, but I always feel so good afterwards (even if the core class is basically 45 minutes of TORTURE) that it’s worth it in the end. I started working with Sheila 3 weeks after my surgery; her program was the “prescribed” work out program for my surgeon’s office. There’s other post-ops in the class with me, and we joke all the time about loose skin bouncing around. Hee-larious. But the best thing about Sheila is that she’s watched my progression from 318 pounds to 205. She’s seen me go from lagging at the back of the class to being one of the ones she insists be in the running group. You should have seen her excitement when I told her about how good my numbers were at my last checkup, should have seen the high five she gave me when I bragged about jogging for 20 minutes without stopping. Yeah, she kicks my ass and sometimes I walk funny the next couple days, but she refreshes my self-confidence and polishes up my feelings of well-being, and that’s really what exercise should do.

So this spring I’m going to start making more of an effort to do more outside activities like FWW. more walking with friends, more hiking with Kevin, more random games of tag with my friends’ kids. And yeah, maybe a bit of running just for running’s sake.

How about it? Want to come play outside with me?

L, M.

Sorry about going dark for a couple days. I was in a dark mood. But taking care of myself in gentle ways– going for walks, smelling the fresh air, continuing to search for the elusive perfect position……

I was so happy to hear that you are taking care of yourself and not starting off with golden Mcnugget happiness and ending up with serious stomach distress.  You (we) deserve good food. Good fresh food. And to take care of our bodies, our skin, our joints, our hair. I realize I spend way too much time in my pj’s these days and now have a guideline that jammies have to be off by 11am, and showers taken. I know this would be a serious luxury for you and the job and school and husband and napping kitties, but trust me, after 6 weeks of it, you too would be a directionless sloth in fuzzy jammie pants. Potentially with either hearts or clouds covering your ass (depending on what mood you were in).

I am inspired about your Cooking Light and will seek a new recipe this week to attack. I did make tortilla soup over the weekend (not the good clear broth kind with floating fresh avocado– no, the black bean and corn kind that I like to refer to as Poop Soup– because, well yes it helps and two, well yes it kind of looks the same in our coming out) and will attempt to have that for lunch or dinner 3 times this week. It will have me get all my protein and fiber in one sitting. No pun intended.

Since the layoff, depression ebbs and flows. Sometimes I am really mad at my former boss and have visions of going back and being bigger/bolder/better than ever. And then I realize that I got eliminated, I am just grieving. I didn’t do anything wrong. But it still feels a lot like “Why me?” so until I can get out of that phase, I stand stuck.  To jolt this along, I am walking and exercising more. And up until yesterday smoking more.  But then we did the bills…..

Early last week, the boyfriend and I started having those hard conversations– budget, money, debt, career, move in-conversations.  He brought all his financial stuff over, and we went through it. And he, like every American, is in debt. We figured what it would cost him to live here vs. at home with his folks and he loses money by living here. Splitting rent/food/utilities plus the additional money on gas for work…. it’s not pretty. The first thing he says,

“We can’t afford to smoke. No really, it’s like $9.75 a pack and I just don’t have the money.”

So we quit. Again. We celebrated that decision by heading to the diner for dinner with the rest of our packs and realizing we didn’t have $10 for the burger and fries– so I got cottage cheese, he got soup, and we split fries. And I finished my last cigarette and wondered aloud if I needed one more. And I chose to be a non-smoker, right then.

I’m going to have to keep choosing it everyday, but I have faith that I can do this. I’ve done it before, and I can do it again.

So we had the hard conversations. And I didn’t overeat, overprepare, or overanxiety-out on him. We just talked and it was normal and mellow. And we figured that there is work for both of us to do to have the kind of life we want. Maybe two jobs for him, maybe taking a step down for me to get something faster.

He left Sunday and  I didn’t overeat. I did eat, graze, snack….. and noticed that I was doing it. And stopped it when it got to be too much. Sometimes I let myself be consoled by food. See, I don’t eat that much while he is here- I have 3-4 meals and 1-2 snacks on the weekend. Yesterday I let myself be consoled by food. And I woke up this morning with a food hangover, being a non-smoker, and sipping my coffee about ready to take off my jammies and head to the gym….

I can’t be perfect. That’s the hardest conversation I am having with myself.  I can just be gentle with myself when I need to be.

Kim

Am I being gentle with myself?

Finally, for once, I can say yes. This weekend was amazingly, decadently full of self-care. It was, as usual, incredibly busy but it was chock-full of things that I wanted to do. Breakfast and shopping with friends. Two hours of massage and facial action. Naps and birthday parties and grocery shopping and kitty snuggling.

It was during the facial that I had this…moment, for lack of a better word. You know that osteoporosis commercial where Sally Field declares that she “only has this one body and this one life?” For some reason, Sally’s voice popped into my head, repeating that over and over as I had my face exfoliated and massaged by my aesthetician. And I realized that man, she’s right.

One body. One life. And I could choose to take care of those two things or I could keep on imploding and self-destructing. And I decided, right there on that table with my eyes closed and some chanty music wafting around me while my pores were steamed within an inch of being that I’m going to start taking care of myself again.

The thing is, when my therapist asked me what I do for self-care, the only thing I could come up with was my weekly workout on Saturday mornings. And that is just unacceptable. I deserve to have fresh, wholesome food available at home; I deserve to get a massage every month; I deserve to have a body that’s as fit as it can be. And I am the only one who can make sure all of that happens, so I spent the rest of the weekend making it work. I scoured my Cooking Light magazines for recipes, I made grocery lists and weekly menus and plotted out exactly what I’m going to eat every day.

Don’t get me wrong; I did not write out precise directions with calorie counts and fat gram calculations. I just finally gave some thought to what I was putting into my body, instead of giving in to the “whatever I can grab” theory I’ve been living by lately. I love lists, I love checking things off, and having my food listed out for the week has helped me make it through today without feeling that willpower struggle. I’m not dieting, truly; I’m just having a plan and I’m just following my list! It’s a to-do list to make me feel healthy again instead of sluggish and gross and disappointed in myself.

I discussed this whole thing with my therapist tonight and she actually said it seems like a good coping mechanism for me, so I’m going to go with it. Bonus: saving money by eating in! And husband eats some healthy food too!

Now I just need to get back on track with the gym once my ankle finishes healing. One step at a time though, right?

L, M.

This past week has been all over the place. I went out to CT to hang with my folks Sunday through Wednesday. I enjoyed myself tremendously. We drank wine, ate great food (most of it WLS friendly, as mom is a post op too), and then did massive food shopping, the likes I have not done in quite some time.

I love going to my folks house. Everything is calm, there are tons of magazines to read, the TV is on, and conversation happens over the TV. Dinner is yummy (my mom is an EXCELLENT cook), and love abounds. We talked about the job search, and how it is different from last time I was laid off. This time, I have a clear idea of what I want and don’t want, and what I expect to get paid. Last time I was switching careers and was at a hopeless loss. Now, I am focused.  Going out there was a bit of a relaxation period– although I didn’t sleep much past 8 every morning, I just focused on me, and not a job search.

My pop drove me home with all my yummy groceries, and then we headed for the best burger ever. It’s interesting that I still think I can eat the same way I did prior to surgery. See, food doesn’t have that same soothing quality it once did. I ate a little less than a half of a burger, and maybe 10 fries, and enjoyed the heck out of it. With no guilt, and no need for a nap after. Very worthwhile.  It’s also good for this big city girl to spend some time with her pop– he’s such a cool guy– he loves music, he likes talking about his work, and he’s funny to boot. He tends to bit a bit shyer when it comes to talking about the big important stuff– his emotional intelligence is a little low, but he always listens and gives good advice. Pop rocks.

And then I spent a few hours with a friend from job bank– drinking wine and having lunch. By 2:30 on Thursday, I was trashed, and proceeded to get more trashed as I met co-workers (former) at 5pm. By 8 I was obliterated, and it took everything I had not to crouch on the subway platform and pee– too much to drink. Out of my mind drunk.  Since then, I have had a glass of wine last night, and it tasted like crap. And have been drinking tons and tons of water.

I went to the WW and lost .6. I felt good about that considering I didn’t write a damn thing down or go to the gym, or move off my couch much. And then, went to the gym.  I think I spend a lot of time in my “all or nothing” phase– it’s part of the disease of compulsive eating. It’s part of what makes me– well– me.  For years I spent weeks doing “everything perfect” for diet and exercise and then have one bad weekend and throw it all away. Sometimes, it would be just a conversation with a roommate, and I’d have to dive into ice cream to make it go away, sometimes it would be a shitty email from a boss or co-worker, but mostly it would be when I was “too tired to think about it”.

I never realized how much I don’t like thinking about food. Meaning, I don’t like planning. I love thinking about food, dreaming of diving in head first to a mountain of cheese and pepperoni, guacamole and chips, steaks, chicken covered in golden mushroom goodness, etc etc. But weighing and measuring and planning and sticking to plan, well, not so much. Actually, not at all.  For me, its kryptonite, one more way to prove I can’t do it. I can’t stick to it, and the tape starts again.

I thought weight loss surgery was supposed to fix that, that I would be perfect every day for the rest of my life. But no, not perfect. At all. Sugar, alcohol, cigarettes, cheese (and full fat cheese), chips, etc etc– bring it all. Hello my old friends. However, I know, these are not friends, just familiar sights that I don’t have to partake in.

This time, WW is different. I am doing it, but haven’t committed to the program. I am using it as a guideline. And I still get up and go to the meetings. And just be the normal non perfect person, who tries to make decent choices. For instance, I chose to stay away from the alcohol this weekend, save for a shitty 5 sips of wine.  I went for a salad at the BBQ place. I stayed away from all the bread at the party. I indulged in ham spread and cheese, but my tummy told me when enough was, well, enough. And I feel no guilt.

This is the difference. Could I do it better? Sure. Am I beating myself up because I am not doing it better? No. I am being an observer in my actions towards food. And seeing where I can shift behaviors, ever so slightly, to make a long term difference. I figure with the surgery, I have a 120 pound start, and now just have to keep tinkering to be the most human I can be. The best I can be for me right now is being gentle.

And now off to cuddle up with the boyfriend on the couch and have jammie Sunday. Naps for sure will happen today. And perhaps, a nice long end of winter walk.

Melinda, are you being gentle with yourself?

Much love–

Kim

I’m happy to have received your update. Interesting that both of us “set a schedule” and then can’t follow through.  I know I have tons to write about, but managing writing is something I don’t like to do.  Just doing it makes the difference for me.

When I begin a letter or a post, I usually have no idea what I am going to say. This holds true for this post. I know I want to talk about de-cluttering– it’s an offshoot of getting off the procrastination wagon, coming clean with myself, and discovering what sobriety is.

So first– WW. The first week, I lost nothing. I however, actually went to the meeting and weighed in, knowing that I could have gained. The second week, a three pound drop– and immediately I went to “it’s not enough, you’ll gain it back, it’s nothing”.  A wise leader once told me that it would be “useful to be a novice in the conversation of yourself”.  After pondering that, hearing what I am saying to myself after a three pound drop, and feeling all the fear of never being normal– I am becoming a novice in the conversation of myself.

I totally understand the WW point thing, and how it can lead to the obsessive behavior that then triggers compulsive overeating. I have been right there with you, writing down everything, tracking every mouthful, tracking things I think about eating– and then (at least for me) blowing it all in the evening.  Wake up and new day to do it again, so that the cycle becomes faster and more vicious, until the Saturday morning I don’t get out of bed and weigh in, and call it off. The difference for me this time is I am using it like a tool, a guideline. I am not tracking, but making different choices. The weight isn’t peeling off me as it has in the past. And it’s a choice.

I wonder what it would take for me to commit to the whole program.  Right now, I am a bystander– still drinking, still enjoying a cookie every now and again, tracking in my head. I’ll keep you clued in on the process, and I think you are right, it does have that AA quality to it– being in the room and hearing others stories does impact me in some way.

And on to drinking– girl, I feel you. I wonder why we do these things to ourselves?  Last night I consumed a bottle of wine and attacked the boyfriend and didn’t sober up until the morning. I don’t get the hangover like I used to, but I still feel crappy (I mean poopy) in the AM and kick myself.  All those points. It’s like my head turns off when “I want to have fun” and I don’t have the ability to be the vigilant perfect WLS patient I once was. I have to admit, that person was a little boring, but I liked her results.

I’d like to strike the balance between the two.

And now, on to de-cluttering– the boyfriend moves in in about a month. The first time he’s moved away from home, the first time for me living with a loved one and partner. I had to clear out space in my life to create this relationship, and now I am clearing out space in my apartment to have him be here and welcomed into something we are creating together. Which means I have to do tons of filing and paperwork and sorting and shifting and tossing and boxing up.

This is where it gets hard. For us to have a life together, I need to clean up mine. And it’s not only the physical space, but the emotional space. I realize I am putting a lot of un-necessary pressure on him to step it up. And I am not stepping up at all. Actually, not stepping. Haven’t been to the gym in over a month, haven’t set foot on the wii since January, and barely leave the confines of my couch. Yesterday I just let myself be sad/angry/mad/weepy/disjointed when I found my former job posted as a 15 hour a week intership. At first I was mad, then I thought I should apply for it out of vengeance, then I was really mad, then I calmed down and let myself mourn my old job. See, I don’t want the job I just had– I want the one from June. Before the new person was hired, division changed, the market crashed. I want the one that was sunshine and roses and overtime. And it’s gone.

FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK. WAAAAAA. POOR POOR PITIFUL ME!!!!!!

And after the crying, I took a shower and felt tons better. Did my hair and drank a bottle of wine with good friends over dinner, and the boyfriend surprised me with a mid-week visit.  YAY ME!

So, the job hunt, well, it’s not terrible. Not a lot of bites, but I’m not worried.  I can’t be. I can only focus on what I can control.  So today, I will focus on doing some de-cluttering– cleaning out the old to create the new.

I guess that’s what I am doing all along, cleaning out the old habits, the old patterns, and creating something new. With this body, with this energy, with this job search, with the boyfriend moving in, with this relationship. I have always wanted to be the person I am right now– excited about the future, ready to tackle big projects, and off my couch.

Spring cleaning, per se. Hmmm.

So, any patterns you see for yourself that you might want to shift?

Love always–

K

I’ve been all over the map and flighty with you lately, I know. Life has been all over and flighty with me so I figured I would share the wealth!

It’s interesting that you have rejoined WW. I’ve had moments when I considered going back but then I remembered the resentment I had and the fantastically disordered eating it triggered for me. WW and I are not meant to be, I must admit. But I hope it works for you. It definitely has the feel of an AA group, so perhaps it will help lead to the sobriety you are seeking.

It’s odd that you brought up sobriety, because really, that’s what we are all looking for isn’t it? Normalcy and control and sobriety. But here’s the thing: there is no “sober” when it comes to eating, is there? It’s not like we can stop eating, right? And I think there are times when a little excess is a good thing.

Like this past weekend, for example. Last weekend was the infamous Weetacon weekend put on by the fabulous Weetabix. It is a weekend filled with booze and friends and love and snow. And booyah and pineapple fluff and bratwurst and brownies and hamburgers and fried cheese curds and chili with spaghetti in it. And I had some of it all (except the bratwurst, because I prefer the booyah). I don’t regret a single bite of food that brossed my lips because all of it tasted exactly perfect and was just what I wanted right then, and I didn’t even think about my protein intake. Can you imagine??

See, when I was in WW, I knew exactly how many points were in each bite of food I had. And now, after the surgery, I’ve memorized protein contents. The only problem is that (as my therapist pointed out) I use those protein counts to rationalize an awful lot of my food choices. Lattes have protein! Hell, butter crossaints have like 5 grams of protein! So it’s okay for me to eat those things because there’s protein! So she’s having me work on not thinking about the nutritional content of all of my food, but to start thinking about what I really, truly want and even take it a step further and listen to my body and figuring out what IT wants.

So foodwise, I did okay this weekend. I ate some french fries, I ate some cheese curds, I buried my face in a bowl of booyah. But I only ate as much as I wanted so I never felt sick afterwards, I didn’t feel like throwing up because I was so full, and I didn’t regret any of it.

What I did regret was the alcohol poisoning on Saturday night. I’ve been so lucky so far; every time I’ve indulged in some boozing, it’s been unharmful…easy drunk, easy sober, no hangover and no throwing up. And lots of entertainment for my friends. But this weekend we were at the Bad Bar and I stopped drinking at 11:30 and started pounding water and I could not sober up. 2am came and I was still dry heaving and drunk and totally unable to sober up and quite frankly, it was scary.

It was scary to not know what was going on with me, to not be able to figure out how to make it stop, to think about the damage I might have done to my liver and my brain and teeny, tiny stomach. And it reminded me that I am not normal anymore, and I need to take care of myself instead of damaging myself anymore than I already have. My inner self-destruct mode still hasn’t calmed down yet, I guess. I spent years trying to destroy myself by eating crap that barely qualifies as food and now that I would rather have a salad my inner demons have decided vodka will work just as well. So it’s back to a single glass of wine or one beer for me. Oh, those lovely addictive personality traits. SO much fun to deal with, aren’t they??

I promise I’m back on track with entries this week, pinky swear.

L, M.

I guess I should have prefaced my last post with– it’s mostly snark, with a tint of real in it.  Absolutely, guilt and shame have helped me along the way to almost 400 pounds,  I’d feel guilty for being heavy, then eat something to forget it, and then feel ashamed. I only ate large quantities with others who were going through the same thing, or found groups of friends that otherwise alternatively pushed emotions away with alternatives that are in the same way addictive.   Just when I think I have healed the guilt of one thing/ issue/ lesson– another surfaces. And then it’s the same cycle again.

What WLS is teaching my head is that ever day is a day to be present. To my emotions, my body, my life. Last night, I was not so present– I drank a bottle and half of red wine, consumed loads of chocolate, and at one point thought I was going to puke. The redeeming factor is that I did it with two of my best friends– and had a fabulous time. But oh boy, am I paying for it today.

Have I told you that recently I am obsessed with addiction shows? Intervention, Sober House, Till Debt do Us Part, and anything that is about drugs and alcohol. I realize more and more, when folks talk about their sobriety, they mean so many different things. It got me thinking, what is my sobriety? Sobriety, according to some online dictionaries, is refraining from excess.  I look around my life, and it is full of excess. Joy, laughter, pain, heartache, love, wishes, dreams. Those are the good ones. (Again, that good and bad thing). Then the not so good ones– the actual things, not emotions: Debt, smoking, sleep, food, alcohol (at times), gossip.

So what would sobriety look like for me? A routine. Convenant with myself that aligns who I want to be with who I am. I want to be a loving, open, accessible woman who is free to express herself emotionally. In some relationships I have this. In others, not so much. Sober for me would be an eating plan, mapping out calories, not the “I don’t know what I want”. It would be saving for things, not spending on whims.  Going to bed and rising at about the same time every day. Refraining from TV when I am bored. Refraining from smoking, eating when I am bored. Starting and finishing projects. Paying bills on time and on schedule.

And making amends. I realize I can’t do this on my own. I need people in my life that support me and that I have a relationship based on love and trust, not because I can help them. And that I love and trust myself to treat myself in a way that honors who I am and what I am to accomplish.

The first step: I joined WW. I figure I am 70 pounds from goal weight. And that an accountability would make a difference for me. This first week, I alternately binged and wrote most everything down. Almost a “this is where I am at week”. And tracked what I was feeling at the time. Like right now, I want a chocolately covered yodel and to wash it down with a huge glass of milk. But I also know I am full from lunch and for once do not have that garbage in my house. So, I just have to keep telling myself it’s nice to want things. I don’t have to have them immediately. I can wait.  I’ll find out tomorrow what a difference of a few small changes has made on the scale. But this was more than “I need to lose weight”.  This is about I need the accountability.

I do feel cleaner inside. And my bills are paid, and my resume is updated, and I am interesting in gaining a life free of excess.

A little deep. But what do you expect. It’s Saturday evening of a terrible hangover.

Have I told you that writing my guts out makes a difference for me?  It does. Thanks to you, I now have a schedule. So jump on board– you too!

Much love–

Kim

Let me ask you something.

Are guilt and shame and remorse really the way we want to go here? Are those the emotional tools we want to use to keep ourselves healthy?

I have to admit, I didn’t have much shame about my body before this whole surgery shindiggity. I didn’t have much love for it either though; in fact, I think I was totally disconnected from it. It was simply what I was housed in, and I never, ever had a realistic view of just how big I was because I just didn’t think about it.

But the guilt. Oh, the guilt. I’m a binge eater and a compulsive overeater, and that meant I spent my whole life eating and then hiding the fact that I was eating, because it doesn’t count if no one sees you inhale a pint of ice cream, right? And dieting just made it worse for me, because then food was either Good or Bad, Evil or Saintly. But I got so tired of thinking about food that way. Why can’t food just be food? Why can’t Good Food be something really decadent and drool worthy? Why does it only have to be low in calories and fat and taste?

Getting rid of the guilt was actually a big part of why I had the surgery. I was tired of thinking about every bite I out in my mouth, of weighing its relative badness against the diet I was on. (The irony here, of course, is the fact that I have never thought about the food I was eating as much as I did for the first 6 months after my surgery.) So as much as it scares me to not have the guilt around to keep me in check, I’m going to learn to let it go.

Maybe instead of guilt and shame and remorse, we can learn to use love and compassion and enjoyment to keep ourselves in line. And by that I mean love ourselves enough to feed our bodies correctly, have compassion for ourselves and those times when chocolate is the only thing that will soothe us, and enjoy the food we choose to eat.
That first one is kind of easier than it sounds, because I don’t know about you but man, my body reacts quickly to bad nutrition. Too many carbs or too much sugar or not enough protein and I’m all out of whack….tired or bloated or naseous or all three. I am very, very thankful that it only takes a day or so of bad nutrition to wake me up to things, rather than a month or two like it used to.

The compassion is harder though, perhaps the hardest of all. I’m still learning this, with the help of a very patient therapist. We have been so hard on ourselves for so long. We beat ourselves up for being fat, and now we beat ourselves up for not being perfect patients. Fuck that noise. It’s that age old situation….we wouldn’t say these things to a friend, so why do we say them to ourselves? I refuse to feel bad about needing to wolf down some dark chocolate when I am PMSing or sharing a bottle of wine with friends on a Friday night, because that is what I need in that moment.

And the enjoyment factor. Food should be something we can linger over, something we can get enjoyment from and make memories around. We have such a small amount of room for food that really, we should fill our stomachs with the very best of things, things that are real food with real nutrition and real taste that we can savor. I made enchiladas this weekend, stuffed full of chicken and black beans and homecooked goodness. Eating them feeds my soul and my body, and that’s what all of our eating should do.

(Don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten the exercise question!)

Do you think you can let go of the guilt? or do you think that’s what you’re always going to use?

L, M.

You asked this before. And I completely ignored you. Well, more like “didn’t read that bit because my eyes were filled with smoke and wine”, but here I am.  naked, before the internet. Telling you (me, us) what will keep us from eating.

Things that have and have not worked:

Shame. Shame is a good tactic. It allowed me for years to hate my body and wish everything that could help me would.

Willpower. I am stronger than that piece of cheese until it’s covering a lovely slice of toast and pickle, and well, then it’s got a hold on me.

Remorse. For all the beautiful but too big clothes I will have to re-purchase or steal from my friends to fit into things that are 3 sizes bigger than I am now.

Guilt. Guilt works. The Catholic Church has used this for years. God is gonna getcha.

The first time I heard about gastric bypass from my doctor, I was mortified. Mortified that I was so fat that she was encouraging me to cut myself open and get rearranged.  I made a promise that I was going to lose weight on my own for three months to see where I was at, and then we could have another conversation. I made an appointment for 3 months later, cancelled after a week of eating non-stop, and never went back to her again.

The second time, a friend suggested that I “never had known normal”.  Because I was always large. Too big for child toys (ahh, the hippity hop I never had), not being able to shop without a super plus department (as the department stores only cater to a handful of 24′s), not fitting into chairs with arms.  I looked into it, was mortified that my friend would suggest this, and never spoke to her again.

Then my mom had it. And she was peaceful in her decision. She looked great, and felt great and was doing things she had never done before. She jump started my life again.

So I quit smoking and started the path.  For a year, I was doing great. And then got comfortable. Met a great guy, started smoking again, started eating again. Wasn’t taking care of myself.  And here I am, 18 months out, and panicked that my life will be obese forever.

What will keep me from eating?  I don’t know. For me, it’s a combination of feeling so good about myself that the damn tape in my head shuts off and I just get up and go to the gym. That I shop when I am full and only eat food that is actual food (instead of processed carby things). It’s not drinking when I am eating, and maybe even not drinking at all (alcohol).  I recently discovered wine and am prone to alone drinking. Growing up with folks that are drinkers, that’s a bad bad scary bad road to go down.

It might be going to weight watchers and believing that I can do it. It might be acknowledging that I am no longer almost 400 pounds, and am now only 70 pounds from my ideal weight. It might be giving myself a chance to be normal, to make mistakes, to love myself.

Sometimes I feel like I missed out on my life.

I’m having a re-birthday. I am saying this stops and new starts. And I am acknowledging I am powerless. Without getting into the whole higher power thing, I am but a spirit in a human world and there are lessons to learn and grow from.

This is the lesson. To love myself so much that I cause no harm. To me, to others.

And when that lovely piece of cheese calls me from the kitchen, I can say no. This time. Right now.

Navel gazing at it’s best.

Much Love,

Kim