I broke my long 3 month plateau. I lost 4 pounds this week. I’m telling ya, I was losing faith in myself. But the biggest think I learned about myself in this long 3 months, is that the little things count. I know, I know, I know! Weighing and measuring my food, drinking water and exercise only count when we do it daily. I thought I was doing pretty good, but in reality, I was cutting a lot of corners. Is all it takes is a few extra pieces of cheese stuffed in your mouth while you are cooking, and all that tasting, and you can quickly eat 500-1000 extra calories before you even get to the meal. When I cook I often fudge on the portion. Something that is meant to be 8 servings suddenly becomes 4. I almost wish I could say I ate a chocolate cake or drove through Dairy Queen, but that stuff isn’t my biggest problem, it’s the bites and licks, and nibbling in front of the fridge at 2 AM.
I’m not a big salad eater. But I ate salad. I had all the stuff on hand, but it takes time to make a good salad. I have to drag out of the fridge a little baggie this and that, wrap back up the rest of the avocado, tomato and red onion. And once you are committed to having the stuff for a salad on hand, you have to commit to eating it more than once. But there is something therapeutic about chopping the veggies, weighting the amounts, and assembling this masterpiece. It’s self care, and slows you down a bit to really enjoy what you are eating. And after you finish eating, there is no guilt. It also takes longer to eat a salad than to wolf down a cheeseburger.
I now weight 378 pounds! I have a 159 pound loss. I’m still bigger than that football player years ago that was nicknamed “The Refrigerator”. Few woman would confess this. It’s not very feminine. But I’m trying to save my life here, not trying to fit into a pretty dress. I just want to have the stamina to shop at the mall again, go out with friends, and not be in constant pain. I need to say the number, I need to break through the shame that that number can bring if I let it be my identity. Secrets keep us sick.
Thursday is the 16th anniversary of my Moms death. I’m pretty sure I will be the only one who remembers. I miss her. No one has ever loved me that much since she passed. My relationship with my Mom was not always healthy. I have yet to know someone who has not had a little bit of disfunction in their relationship with their parents. But we came full circle. By the time she passes we were in a good place. My Mom had trouble letting me grow up. Probably because she was not all grown us either. She was sometimes emotionally needy. But she was a giver, and loved deeply. And she genuinely loved everyone. If you were her friend, you were friends for life. You never left her house without a gift. She loved giving gifts. One of the most beautiful things I remember about her ability to give, was a breakfast we had in a Hardee’s down the street from my Beauty shop. It was a cold winter day, My mother was a very brittle diabetic and the cold was so painful for her. But that day, she saw a lady come in with ragged clothing and no coat. When we were ready to leave, she went to the counter, gave the employee her coat, and told her to give it to the lady after we were gone. It was a personal sacrifice, but she did it with so much grace, and without tooting her own horn. The woman’s dignity was important to her.
I use to attend Weight Watchers, she was my biggest supporter. When I got my first cell phone I would call her after that Saturday morning weight in and report my loss. She and my father loved to go out to breakfast on Saturdays with Bert and Gerry, two of their closest friends. She would immediately convey my loss, and they would all celebrate while I heard on the phone. Oh how I miss being cared for and loved that much! Today, had she been alive, I would have immediately called her, and she would have been thrilled. She never ever gave up on me. Never!
God doesn’t give up on us either. Success is not measured when the road is easy, but when we blindly move forward and trust, regardless of how many times we stumble and fall.