weight loss: round million

Well, my last weight loss attempt was a great success.

For about a month.

And then I ran into the holidays and I found a list of good excuses to take a break.

And then I ate my way through January, February, and the first part of March unable to find any excuses to take any breaks and eating anyway.

And here I am now bigger than before.

And it's started to scare me.  It's starting to scare me because I can't seem to find any traction.  It's starting to scare me because I'm turning thirty this year and, if I can't get control of this, my health is going to run away with my youth.  It's starting to scare me because I see Kate wanting to copy my binge eating habits.

I'm beyond frustration, exasperation, and exhaustion.  I've moved onto to fear.

Fear that I'll never beat my addition.  Fear that it's contagious and my children will catch it.  Fear that I won't be there for my children to grow into adults.  Fear that I've run out of options.

Luckily, this is where I turn to my support system.  This time I've enlisted the help of my mom and dad and my wonderful husband Dave.  I'm thankful that they love me enough to jump right down in the trenches to do this with me.  I'm afraid that I've lost the will to do this on my own anymore.

But I'm learning that that's okay.

my baby anxiety

For as long as I can remember, I have had anxiety.  And by that I mean literally for as long as I can remember.  My first memory was feeling anxious.  I was too young to have a vocabulary that included words like anxiety or nervousness or probably even fear so I called them "Bad Memories."

My mom has compared my anxiety to being like a big giant baby that I have to carry around and tend to my entire life.  And unlike a real baby, it doesn't make me smile in awe at the latest trick it's learned and it certainly never grows up, unless it's in the Baby Huey sense where it just becomes bigger and heavier and evermore clumsier.

Of course, the whining infant of my anxiety requires more and less attention from me at certain times in my life.  It ebbs and flows seemingly along with the tides and lunar phases, or at least with a change in my hormones.  The last two trimesters of both of my pregnancies were smooth sailing.  The first trimester of my first pregnancy turned me into a total mess of oozing emotions, someone who locked my classroom door during lunch and sat and sobbed at my desk.  The first few weeks after my children weaned from nursing were bad.  The stable patterns of hormonal cycles during my college years were both after the storms of teenage-hood and before the torrents of child bearing years.  I didn't suffer from anxiety quite as acutely. Middle school was bad.  Middle school was the worst.

I've determined, along with my family members and licensed medical professionals (read - I have not just self diagnosed as I often do), that I have a chemical imbalance that causes these intense feelings of distress and malaise.  I'm not just a "nervous nellie."  I have Obsessive Compulsive Disorder.  And by that I don't mean, "Oh, I'm super neat and tidy.  I just have to have everything just so."  In fact, I'm quite the opposite.  I'm a messy person by nature and maintaining a clean home is a real struggle for me.  Just peer into the windows of my car for evidence.  The floors of my car are a wasteland that I have just given up on.

When I say I have anxiety, I don't just mean that I worry a bit.  To be sure, in the good times, that's exactly what it is.  It's a mild sense of jumpy nerves, almost more like a heightened awareness and compulsion to always be vigilant.

Check to see that the doors are locked, that the oven is turned off, that the stoves aren't burning.  Did I unplug my hair straightener?  Are my children up to date on their health care?  Is Dave secure in his job?  Have I accidentally hurt the feelings of someone I love?

This is a level of worry that I have learned to accept.  It's never going to fully disappear but at least the baby is down for it's nap.

But sometimes it's worse than that.  Sometimes it intensifies and I can't run or hide or get it to leave me alone.  The worst are the times when I struggle to separate my anxiety from what's real.  Imagine that my abilities of logic and reason are like a pair of glasses.  The anxiety and my disorder are the blurriness around the lens.  While many people are lucky enough to wear contact lenses, I'm stuck in glasses and even though I find clarity when I look straight ahead, I can always see the blur in my periphery.  When the fear settles in, however, it's like having the glasses knocked from my face and I'm forced to stumble along blindly through the haze of my self made terror.

Thankfully, I'm blessed enough to have a support team of people I love who, in my times of inadequate vision, describe the world to me in the clarity they're able to see.  For nearly thirty years, my mom has been my live in, always on call personal therapist.  Often she brings in her associate, my dad and seven years ago, Dave joined the practice.  These people I love and trust help me differentiate between anxiety and reality.

Yes, it is reasonable to make sure the doors are locked before you go to bed.  It is not necessary to keep getting up in the night to check and recheck.

A visit to the doctor for an annual flu vaccine is a great idea.  Prophylactic rabies vaccinations are not.

It's logical to have a healthy desire to protect your children.  Researching and ensuring that your children have appropriate and correctly installed car seats is an important thing to do.  Barricading the front door with heavy furniture in case your children learn to unlock the doors in the night is not a rational thing to do.

There are a variety of ways that I cope with this disorder.  The love and support and guidance of my family are an invaluable tool for calming the storms of my fear.  A few years ago, I started taking an anti-anxiety medication.  I know that this is not the answer for some but to me, it was as if I was in a prison of anxiety disorder and a doctor handed me the key to get out.  In my case, I believe that medication was an answer to prayers and it's evident when I forget to take it.

Unfortunately, one of my major methods of handling the stress of anxiety has been to self medicate with food.  When fear and panic settles in, which is more likely to happen late in the evening, I am compelled to turn to binge eating to soothe my pain.  More is better and I very quickly consume a very large amount of food, particularly foods that are high in sugar and simple carbohydrates.  Often, they aren't even tasting good to me.  At times I've found myself eating slice after slice of plain sandwich bread in order to dull the sharp sting of panic and anxiety.

It always works for a while.  It helps for the night but in the morning I'm awoken with guilt and heartburn and I'm even farther from my health goals which only exacerbates my problem.  Usually, when I wake up the next morning, the effects of my self destructive medication have worn off and my baby anxiety is once again wailing loudly into my brain.  It's become a vicious cycle and I'm desperately fighting to break it.  This is what I meant when I said weight loss is about so much more than simply eating less and exercising more.

This is going to be the fight of my life but I'm still going strong.  I'm looking for new ways to ease the anxiety.  I'm finding that something as simple as a good hobby I enjoy can help for a while to occupy my mind.  In the past, playing piano has really allowed me to disconnect from the fear for a while.  I've thrown myself into my work and have taken on more jobs to keep me busy.  I know that exercise is sure to help.  A portion of the solution may be to adjust my medication to fill the gap that binge eating has left behind.  I'm turning to the Savior for help shouldering this burden.  Of all the things I've mentioned, I know that this will help.  He's carried me before.

This was kind of hard for me to write.  Well, I should clarify.  This wasn't hard to write.  The words came tumbling from by brain down to my fingers and on to the screen at an alarming rate.  I have a lot to say and am definitely not at a loss for words when it comes to this topic.  What I mean to say is that this was hard to post.  It's not easy to share these feelings that so often come across as crazy.  But I'm tired of skirting around the elephant in the room by saying, "This is so hard," but not really talking about why.  So there it is and now I'm not sure how to end this post.

So I guess I'll just end with a weight loss update.  Despite these challenges, I'm still going strong and limping along what feels like the beginning of a life long marathon.  It's getting harder but I'm just not ready to give in this time.

 Starting Weight: 281.5

Current Weight: 267

Total Lost: 14.5 pounds

I spent the afternoon at the doctor's office because, you know, a swollen tonsil is sure to be cancer.

Obviously, I did not have tonsil cancer. Waste of a $25 copay you say? Maybe but at least I got a flu shot out of it.

a eulogy to food

Correction: I credited my great grandmother Elgie for the term "polishing the silver." That phrase was actually coined by my mom. :)

This is hard.

I've said it before and I'll say it again.  Weight loss is about so much more than watching what you eat.  This week, I am really struggling with intense feelings of emotional loss.

Food wasn't just something I enjoyed.  It wasn't just a hobby or a pleasure that I indulged in one too many times  And it certainly was never just a means of obtaining bodily sustenance and nutrition.  Not to me.  Never to me.

Food was my friend that was always there.  If I was bored, it was entertainment.  When I was sad, a shoulder to cry on.  Food was a companion if ever I was lonely and it calmed my nerves whenever I was scared.  One of the wonderful things about food and particularly binge eating was the fact that it was like a magical remedy for any unpleasant emotion.

It was also my companion in the happy times.  Whenever there was a party or a holiday or a birthday celebration, my friend food was always invited.  When I accomplished something I was proud of, my first inclination was always to celebrate with a meal, a special treat, a candy bar, or anything else that had a high caloric intake.

Food, for me, has always been a loyal companion that has cured my hunger, healed my pain, and shared with me some of my happiest moments.

And now it's gone and I'm having to grieve.

Obviously, it's not completely gone.  I have to eat.  Food is still with me in the form of fruits and vegetables, whole grains and lean protein.  It's there in less volume.  It's with me in a different format but it's not the same.  It's as if my best friend had a make over and plastic surgery and a lobotomy all at once and now I don't even recognize it in the same way.

In time, I'm sure I'll learn to love this new version of food, this sleeker, slimmer, lighter fare that will ultimately help me find my own true satisfaction.  But for now, it's hard and I'm so so sad.

I wish I could admit that I'm exaggerating.  It would be great if this could be like one of those "Ha ha, the fat lady misses cake now" blog posts.  The truth is, though, I'm really in mourning over a drug that I've relied on for a very long time.

I spend a lot of time missing my friend and trying not to dwell on the good times we've shared. I'm doing my best to keep myself busy.  One day I spent the kids' nap time lost of in a jumble of Xbox and cable cords.  The thought of tackling any meaningful chores felt too overwhelming so I spent my time meticulously untangling wires until they were lined up neatly behind the TV stand.  I'm told this is what my great grandmother Elgie would have called "polishing the silver."  That means putting off less preferred tasks for something easier like polishing silver or straightening up TV cables. It worked though so I have a feeling I will have a lot of spotless silver by the time I reach my goal.

I feel silly eulogizing an inanimate entity such as food.  I'm always taken aback by how hard this gets.  The strange thing is I'm not struggling with a lack of willpower as I usually am.  I really am committed this time.  My hardship has taken on a completely new form and I'm just sad about it.  I know it will get better.  It will take time for my efforts to pay off and ease the loss of my friend food so I'm going to stick it out and be patient.

But for now, I'm sad and I think I need to learn to be okay with that for a while.  I'm finding that a big piece of this weight loss puzzle is having to make peace with the negative emotions that are certain to find me every now and then.  Not all sadness or anxiety or anger needs to be fixed right away.  Every feeling along the emotional spectrum is meant to be experienced in different time and places of my life and that's okay.

And at the end of the day, if the sadness is still there, I can always look at these beautiful faces for what my mom and I call our "daily dose of liquid sunshine" for a reminder of why I am really doing this.

why am i hungry

This girl spent her afternoon lying on the playground floor of McDonald's reading a magazine.  Totally unrelated to this post but still super cute.

I want to eat all the time.  I'm not just exaggerating either.  I think about food from the second I wake up in the morning to the moment I lay my head on the pillow at night.  Often, I dream of food.

I don't know why I have always been so obsessed with eating.

This time around on the diet train, I've been trying to focus on identifying my reasons for eating.  It has taken all the impulse control I can muster to stop myself before consuming anything to ask myself, "Why am I hungry?"

If I am physically feeling actual rumblings in my stomach, good.  "You may proceed," I tell myself.

Even if I am only eating because it is a prescribed time of day (breakfast, lunch, or dinner) I allow myself to continue with caution.

If I find myself answering with any other response, it means I need to figure out some sort of alternate plan.  If I am hungry because I am bored, I need to go clean something, go somewhere, or go find some sort of non edible entertainment.  If I am hungry because I am lonely, I need to drive over to Mom's or call someone on the phone.  If I'm hungry because I'm angry, I need to take a walk to blow off some steam.

Daily, I keep finding myself standing at the open fridge after a trance like trip of wakeful sleepwalking.  "Why am I hungry?" I think to myself.

Today, the answer has been, "I'm hungry because I am anxious."

I awoke this morning with a churning in my stomach that is totally unlike the stomach flu or morning sickness (this is NOT an announcement) and is so tightly linked to the feelings of anxiety.  There is a pit in my intestines and a tightness in my chest.

I know that these are symptoms of a heart attack.  I assure you, I am in no cardiac distress.  These are very distinct feelings I encounter when I feel anxious.  This is just the best way I can describe them.  I am having an anxiety attack, not a heart attack.

I'm not surprised about the anxiety.  I'm in the midst of the perfect storm of the end of vacation, withdrawals from sugar, and hormonal shifts (again, NOT an announcement) all at the same time.  I'm an emotional mess and I've been expecting it so it's all good.

What is not all good is the fact that I constantly want to eat.  I just know that if I self medicated with a bit of processed sugar and refined carbohydrates, I would feel so much better.  I would and I wouldn't at the same time.  I would trade self control for momentary comfort so I have to keep reminding myself to keep my eyes set on the goal.

It's a special kind of torture to have to store your drug of choice at all times inside an easily accessible space of your home.

I know I could eat until I make myself physically ill and still not feel completely satiated.  That is the thought that keeps me from breaking.  That and the beautiful face of my sweet baby who is a constant reminder that I am too big to have the energy to play chase with her.  I won't break today but it's all I can do to stay out of the kitchen.

So here is my question for anyone who has the answer.  How do I respond?  I have a response to nearly every emotion that drives me to eat.  I have thoughts and ideas and plans and back up plans to keep myself on the straight and narrow of my dieting destiny.

But what do I do when I'm hungry from anxiety?

So far the best idea I've thought of is to continue wringing my hands and clinging to the knowledge that tomorrow will be better.

I hope it works.