Wednesday’s are generally somewhat darker emotional days for me. I’m physically tired from hard training the day before, generally pretty sore and when I’m that exhausted and hurting, it’s hard to keep a leash on my thoughts. However, that’s not a completely negative thing. When my thoughts go a-wandering, they go places – places that might just need to be explored.
On my way home yesterday, yes, blue funk and all, I started thinking about a friend who recently went back on Lexapro. Lexapro is a great med for anti-depression and anxiety – on me though, it WILL cause weight gain. Even as it regulates my moods and keeps me a bit more stable, yeah, the weight shoots up quickly.
The thought occurred me: “I wish I didn’t have these ups and downs. I wish I could go back on Lexapro. Yes, I’d gain back some weight, but really, who cares? 20, 25, 30 pounds. Eh. At least I’d enjoy the trip back up.”
Where in the hell did my thoughts just go? Who cares?!? Only the most important person in my life – ME! I’d care. I'd care a whole lot! 20 pounds is almost 6 months of work. How could I be so casual about that?
Then the second part of my thought slammed into me, “At least I’d enjoy the trip back up.” Does that mean I’m not enjoying the trip down? Or does it mean something darker? A thought lurking in the back corner? A secret wish?
Yeah, I think there's something there actually. A dark place that needs some light before it's allowed to grow.
I'm pushing in on losing 100 pounds. That's a whole lot of weight and a whole lot of work.80 – 95% of people who lose that much weight regain it. Plus some extra.
I get it now. I totally get it.
A flash of insight hit me right there in my car, while driving down Rte 17. I know how I could regain all of my weight and then some. It could completely happen. One pound at a time.
In a way, it’s easy to be fat, and in some ways, it’s not so bad. Being fat gives me a ready excuse for everything.
Someone doesn’t call me back? It’s my weight.
I don’t get a job I wanted? It’s my weight.
I screw up? It’s my weight.
Every possible bad thing in my life could be pinned to my weight. And when that happens, *I* don’t have to take responsibility for my actions. *I* get to whine and moan and complain, but I don’t have to change. Now, with the weight down to what is a normal level, anything that I do wrong is on me. Just me. Not my weight, not my size, me. Now I have to change.
That’s hard. Do.Not.Want.
Now I know the truth. If and when I decide to start eating cheeseburgers and French fries and chips and sweets, I will have to admit I do it with full knowledge I am CHOOSING to regain weight. It’s not ‘out of my control’ or ‘my metabolism’ or ‘my genetics.’ Nope. It would be a conscious choice.
I’ve long established that moderation is not my strength – I cannot eat ‘just one’ of most things. There is no need to pick up the first cheeseburger, the first fry, the first chocolate bar. Because right behind the first will be a second, a third, a fourth, and so on. Probably not right away, but it will come. I know me too well. It will come.
I cannot lose 100 pounds without first losing 5, or 10, or 20.
I cannot regain 100 pounds without first regaining 5, or 10, or 20.
That’s a hard fact of life. But it’s the truth. And truth is better than any platitude, any cliché, any feel-good-ism. The truth is what I need, always.
So that’s the upside of letting my thoughts wander much like a naughty child exploring an abandoned cave. When the parent goes in for a rescue, sometimes, discoveries are made and mysteries are solved.
Thoughts to take with me today: Choices – I choose to be healthy. I choose to eat right. I choose this life. I choose joy.