I was pretty confident I could lose 27 pounds in 3 months time, with Thanksgiving as my deadline. I've done it before, and it wasn't a ridiculous expectation. Two weeks ago I danced around the kitchen, overcome by a fit of premature victorious-ness. I was three pounds--just three pounds--from my goal. I had this thing in the bag...or so I thought.
You know the old proverb: Pride goes before the fall. I don't understand exactly what happened with my body or why, but despite my best efforts, from that point on I slowly gained weight, ounce by ounce. Was it dehydration from my illness? Water retention? Was the scale finally going bonkers after so many years?
I finally decided it was a type of plateau, so I had a splurge day last week Thursday to shock my system. What happened? The scale immediately jumped SEVEN POUNDS. That can't be right...right? I was devastated at such an immediate reversal of so many weeks of work. Seven pounds was all I had lost the last month of this challenge. The worst part was, the me I saw in the mirror seconds before stepping on the scale was trim, killing it and hitting goals. The me I saw step off that scale was the fat, bloated me, utterly devastated and defeated. This proves that this is just as much of a mental journey as it is a physical one. My post last Sunday was the product of my struggle to pull myself back on solid ground after that blow.
I am more than a number, but no matter how many times I tell myself that I still struggle with living that way. Isn't it all about numbers? When we buy new clothes we have to chose a number. When we eat we have to chose how many or how much. Our lives are a series of choices...measurements that determine good or bad, right? This narrowness of thought is why a couple pounds has the ability to render an entire day or even week, as bad for me. I should have known those seven pounds would soon be gone again, but it was too close to "Scale Sunday" to have a good weigh-in! The reality is that these measurements are supposed to be used as tools to help us, not to heap guilt on us when they don't work or we don't "measure up". I had to take a step back from obsessively measuring. For that reason I'm calling this early: this is where my weekly Scale Sunday posts come to an end. They have ceased to be a useful tool in my journey at this point.
Pictures and measurements are great at skimming the surface of what really is. They don't show the tears shed and the battles fought in the secret corners of our minds. They don't tell the whole story of who you are any more than they do me. I am not done. I can't be done, because I'm still kicking and breathing. No, this is a marathon, not a sprint. I need to begin building on the habits I've formed over the last twelve weeks, mentally as much as physically. I need to spend more time being thankful for the me God made, and not as much time measuring what I physically consist of.
In numbers:
-24 lbs. since August 30.
-65 lbs. since January 1.
-84 lbs. since April 26, 2017
-312 lbs. of weight that was gained (regained) and relost over the past twelve years of marriage, through eight pregnancies, three losses and the depression through all that, the stress of losing our first home and six moves thrown in. The current version of me measures the same as the newlywed Julie. In inches, I've lost 8 inches from bust, 10 inches from waist, and 11 inches from hips.
I hope to lose more, but my focus will be strengthening where I'm at, at not focusing on the number that is. I need to listen to my body more and not push so hard for what my mind wants and thinks should be.
You guys, I'm elated. I feel free right now, as imaginary as the ball and chain was from the beginning. I feel unchained and free to reach higher than I ever dreamed before. I feel patience with myself right now, something I have not felt in a long time...if ever.
