The truth hurts. It is not a cliche' as we all think, but instead a tiny shard of reality. The truth is something that comes in many forms. Half truths, glossed over truths, the truth as you see it and blunt truth. I looked at myself this morning. I mean actually looked at myself and examined every inch of the mass that makes up me. Somewhere along the line I must have kept telling myself that I look okay. I must have lied to myself everytime I would look at another chubby gal and think, "well, at least i'm not THAT big". The truth of the matter… I am actually THAT big. Not only am I that big, but my stomach hangs down after two c-sections. I shudder to think about how low that thing can go.
It never ceases to amaze me that my biggest burden to bear is my weight. It seems so trivial and small yet weighs so very heavily on my mind. IRS called? Who cares. I'm fat. The family dog died? Whatever. Have you seen my butt lately? It is so shallow and yet not all in the same breath. I absolutely deplore the fact that I think about it THIS MUCH. I don't even know if anyone could consider this normal behavior.
I am at a crossroads. I can feel it. I'm no longer in the not doing a thing about it stage and slowly creeping into the get moving/get losing corner. I used to read fat acceptance blogs and now find that I am reading more blogs where women are losing weight and blogging about it. It is more freeing to me than the acceptance blogs. Mainly, because I don't accept myself. This of course has to do with more than just how much I weigh/how I look.
The hard part about the truth is that I have finally forced myself to look and really understand what I am doing to myself. I hate what I see. I am in complete disgust of myself. Not that I ever had rose-colored glasses on before, but now I really see. I see every inch of my body. Each inch leading me closer to being diagnosed with diabetes or a heart attack.
Everytime I choose alcohol, candy, fast food, fried food, I am choosing crap over living a long healthy and happy life with my family. My kids and my husband are waaaay more important than food. However, since I was a kid, I have had this relationship with food that is hard to describe. If I give it up (well, the junk food anyway…) I know i'll be happier. But I would be lying if I said there wasn't a part of me that worries and wonders if life will ever be as "fun". Weird thinking eh? When did having fun equate with eating?
I think that fun = eating and eating = fun is part of my thinking process that needs to change. Obviously, I need to see food only as a means of survival and not as a means of entertainment or therapy. Still, when you have loved and counted on something for 27 years of your life…. it is hard to give it up.
This blog isn't about me whining constantly about my weight. More or less, i'm going through my honest feelings during this whole process. I am hoping that through writing, I will discover tiny pieces of myself that I didn't know were there. That those pieces I will discover will make me whole and replace the way I currently fulfill my emotional needs.
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