car washes and dieting

Katelyn and I are facing our fears one car wash at a time.

She is terrified of the car wash.  I took her once as a young toddler, thinking she would be delighted by the experience of driving through a tunnel of soap suds and whirling scrubbers.  I've always found car washes to be a combination of peaceful and fascinating.  I imagined my child would feel the same.

I've avoided taking Kate to the car wash since then.  However, a few weeks ago, on a Saturday afternoon, I had her with me running errands.  Sam was taking a nap at home with Dave and Kate wanted to tag along as I picked up groceries at Walmart.  Getting into the car, I realized that our vehicle was a crumbly mess of crushed graham crackers, a random assortment of forgotten toys, and a single brown crayon that had melted in the heat of springtime in Houston.  The exterior of the car matched its interior.  My once bright red minivan was now a rusty orange, thanks to a thorough coating of pollen, a by product of, once again, springtime in Houston.  We needed to go to the car wash.

Being an adult, I knew for certain that a car wash was not dangerous, that buckled into our seat belts with the windows rolled up, we would remain dry from the spray and safe from the curtains of water and soap.  I knew this.  But Katelyn didn't.  She begged me to let her stay by the vacuum station while I drove the car through.  However, I was not about to let my three year old sit alone on a curb while I got the car washed.  She was going to have to tough it out and face the dreaded car wash.

As we approached the end of the tunnel and sunlight flooded our car again, Kate unplugged her ears and looked up at me in the rear view mirror to exclaim, "That wasn't so bad.  I think I like the car wash now."

We laughed and laughed and drove off to Walmart in our freshly vacuumed and scrubbed van and I thought to myself how much the experience reminded me of dieting.  I know I need it.  I can hear the people around me assuring me that it's safe and good for me.  But in the moment, it doesn't feel safe and good for me.  It feels bad and scary.  It feels like a darkened tunnel with sharp stinging sprays of water and soap that is burning my eyes.  And like Kate entering a car wash, I can hear you but I just have a hard time believing it.

Of course, from experience, I know that as I approach the end of that tunnel, I encounter the sunlight of success and say to myself, "That wasn't so bad.  I think I like this new healthy lifestyle."  Because a clean car is always better than a dirty one and a healthy body and a controlled appetite is always better than the chaos of an eating addiction.

I know all these things and have forgotten them all at the same time because, in the beginning, car washes and dieting are both kind of scary.

motivational speaking

Yesterday I was talking to my mom about why I started writing blog posts concerning my weight.  This is not the first (or even the second or third) time I've begun a weight loss journey and publicly announced my intentions.  As you may have guessed, the other attempts were not successful.  This really got me thinking about the question: "Why do I keep doing this?"

And I thought and thought and thought and decided that I wanted to write about my blogging motivation because it's also a stop along this road I'm traveling.

You might be assuming that starting a weight loss blog is all about accountability.  After all, I've been posting statistics and, at times, even pictures of my poorly pedicured toes behind the numbers on the scale.  It would seem that having to announce my weight every so often would be motivation enough to keep me on the path.

But it turns out that the digits on the scale are just a number, a way of quantifying what you already know about me.  I'm a big person and I eat too much.  And in the midst of a food addiction, accountability merely takes a tiny bite out of the elephant I'm eating.  (Do you see what I did there?)  I have been a full fledged paying member of Weight Watchers and have stood there on the scale while the ornery receptionist records my weight gain and thought to myself, "Whatever.  She doesn't know me."  Accountability does very little for me because I derive my confidence from my own self and loved ones.  My family members love me for reasons that have nothing to do with my weight.  They don't see a size.  I am surrounded daily by a fierce tribe of people who build me up all the time.  And besides, at the end of the day, the person who truly decides whether or not I'm fabulous is me.  For accountability to be effective, you have to be a little bit embarrassed about your weight.  And I'm just not ashamed of myself or my size.

You might wonder if I'm looking for virtual support from my online social media community.  Or maybe I'm hoping someone will give me the wisdom that I haven't heard or the magic elixir that will set me free.  I'm always pleasantly surprised by the number of people who like, comment on, or follow my blog.  I love hearing your words of encouragement, pieces of advice, and, most of all, plans to join me.  This is a wonderful unintended consequence of writing these posts for which I'm very grateful.

Perhaps you might wonder if I'm looking for sympathy.  I mean, society tells us that being fat is the worst thing that can happen to you.  Maybe I started blogging in the hopes that people would take pity on me and tell me wonderful things to make me feel better.  But don't feel sorry for me because I certainly don't feel sorry for myself.  And while I love reading people say positive things about me (because who doesn't?!), I didn't do this so that readers would feel give me compliments or tell me I'm great.

So if I didn't start blogging about my weight for those reasons, why did I?

After years of struggling to lose weight, I've realized that a huge portion of this challenge is mental and emotional.  For a very long time I've grappled with two different very firmly held beliefs that I have.  One is that my self worth has nothing to do with my size.  Neither does my weight affect my self esteem.  I have a very strong testimony that my value as a daughter, sister, wife, mother, friend, human being, and child of God never has been and never will be dependent upon my outward appearance, including my weight.  Obesity is just one aspect of who I am and it is one of the least important.  I'm not embarrassed about my weight nor am I ashamed of myself or feel like I need to prove anything by reaching a certain number on the scale.

The second belief I have is that I need to lose weight.  I have a lot of reasons for this.  Right now, my biggest one is that I want to have more energy.  I am so tired.  I'm just spent all the time.  I hate it.  I know that, as a mother of young children, I can always expect some level of exhaustion but the way I feel is beyond that.  I know that losing weight would take a huge load off my shoulders.  (Did you see that?  Another pun.) I also worry about my health.  Any time my left arm hurts or feels weird, I worry that I'm having a heart attack.  This is not a normal concern for a twenty nine year old healthy person.  But because I obese, I know that I'm taking a risk and testing my body's ability to handle this weight.  Lastly, I believe that moderation is an eternal principle that God wants me to figure out.  Even if I could eat all the cake in the world and keep my girlish figure, that would not be what is morally right.

So how do I reconcile those two beliefs?  They are both so true to me and so important. What was really holding me back was the knowledge that, while most people would agree with me about the second school of thought, there are many who simply do not feel that someone can have worth and be obese.  And for the most part, I don't really care what people think of me.  But there is this stubborn portion of my personality that just wants to be contrary.  It's the rebel gene that has been passed down to me from a long line of an ancestry that says, "I don't have to take this."  And that is the part of me, that in my weakest moment becomes the devil on my shoulder saying, "Why don't you just show them?  Don't give any of those haters the satisfaction of seeing you lose weight.  Then they will look at you all thin and say, 'Megan finally got off her fat lazy behind.'  Don't give them the opportunity to say that about you.  You do you, girl and you are fat.  There's nothing wrong with that and don't let anybody tell you otherwise."

I know that this doesn't make sense.  I know that this is, as my mom would say, cutting off my nose to spite my face.  In theory, I get it.  But in reality though, when I'm tired and hungry and feeling anxious or stressed, when I'm standing at the fridge late at night and a piece of Target cake is smiling invitingly at me, it's just enough to push me over the edge.

So I decided to write about it.  I told myself I would say my piece and let it go.  Instead of wondering what other people are assuming is my story, I would just let them in and read my story to them.  If they don't understand after that, it's on them and not me.  I've spoken my truth and said what I needed to say.

And the irony is that after I had harbored all of these indignant feelings about ideas that the people around me may or may not be having, I found that most people don't think badly about me because of my weight.  I mean, no doubt there are some people who do.  There are also some people who just don't get it and never will.  There will be people who think I'm too lazy to do it or too stupid to understand how weight loss works or too pathetic to overcome my challenges.  Some people will feel sorry for me.  Some will read my future triumphant blog post when I lose the weight and fit into non-plus sized clothes and cheer with me while quietly thinking to themselves, "She finally did it.  She finally earned her self worth back."  There will be those who read my blog but never really hear what I have to say.  And that's okay because we all view the world through our own personal lens and it's not my job to force mine on anyone else.

I have no doubt there are still some people who think I'm a literal waste of space and will breathe a sigh of relief when I finally figure this out.  But I don't think most people feel that way and if I can't reach them, that's not my burden to bear.

So really, I started writing about my weight as an outlet to unload some emotional baggage.  I did it so I could share my story and then forget about it and get to work on tackling the real issue.  Even if everyone I know reads all this and not one single person hears me, I get comfort knowing that my truth is out there and I don't have to dwell on it.

And while that may be my initial motivation, I've found myself really enjoying these moments behind the keyboard where I get to write my monologue and share my feelings.  I realized that I have lot to say about this issue and although my voice is just one tiny squeak in an online ocean of a million screaming tones, it feels good to let the sound of that squeak resonate in my little corner of the world.  And despite the fact that I promise I didn't do this for validation or nice comments, I find your kind words of encouragement popping into my head sometimes when I want to give us and stop doing this.  It takes away some of the loneliness and silence that so often accompany the topic of obesity and that is nice.  So keep talking.  Let's have a discussion and learn from each other.  Tell me your truth while I tell you mine.  Maybe we can make the world a little bit better by trying to understand each other.

don't look at me

Well, the first week of my diet was a brilliant success as it almost always is.  I stuck to it religiously, never even looked at forbidden foods, and even exercised a few days.  And on Monday morning, I stepped onto the scale to be delighted by a five pound weight loss.

The first week is always great.

During the first week, I'm still riding high off of the day before my diet starts.  That's the day where I allow myself one final binge.  I eat my fill of all the foods I will be missing and say goodbye to them one by one.

Blue Bell Butter Crunch Ice Cream

Cheese

Ranch Dressing

Pasta with butter and garlic

Cake with lots of frosting

You know, all of my friends.

For the next week, I live off of that buzz that I get from all the sugar and simple carbohydrates.  I feel great for a while and I think to myself, "I can do this."

It's always Day Eight that really gets to me.

I start feeling anxious at first.  This is not an unusual feeling for me so at first I don't notice it.  Then I feel sad for no reason.  I start to worry about strange things that don't make any sense.  Yesterday, I started having existential crises.

That's right.  Existential crises.

Then I get mad.

And that's where I found myself this afternoon.  Standing in the kitchen feeling angry and mad.  And today the object of my rage was poor Dave.

Poor Dave stepped into the line of fire for me today because I was standing at the kitchen counter making two jam sandwiches.  I was making jam sandwiches because I had had enough.  I was at my limit of feeling tired and sad and grouchy and worried so I was going pump sugar into my veins in the fastest way I knew how which was to eat the most processed sugary food I had in my house at the moment.

I don't even like jam sandwiches.  This wasn't like I had done a poor job of ridding my kitchen of the foods that tempt me.  In all honesty, if I didn't have bread or jam, Dave would have found me standing in front of a bag of sugar with a spoon in my hand.  And I'm sad to say, I'm serious about that.

Poor Dave tried a sly approach this afternoon.  He came into the kitchen and carefully asked, "What are you doing?"

"Making sandwiches."

Followed by, "Don't look at me!"

He then cautiously asked if I was making the sandwiches for the kids and then I just lost my cool because he knew that I wasn't making those sandwiches for the kids and I knew that he knew I wasn't making those sandwiches for the kids.  I felt like he was treating me like the addict that I am.

In the end, I didn't eat the sandwiches.  I furiously threw them away and stormed out of the kitchen.  And then that sweet wonderful man actually apologized to me and took the blame for that incident by saying that he should have approached it differently.  I feel terribly guilty, by the way.

Then he took the kids and me to Orange Leaf for a healthier treat.

And I stayed on the wagon thanks to poor Dave.

Before we left, Dave told Kate where we were going but not to tell me because it was a surprise.  It was all she could do to keep the secret.  She kept shouting, "We're going to go...  We're going to go..."  She rode to Orange Leaf with both hands over her mouth to keep from spilling the beans.  When I finally guessed it, she screamed with excitement because Orange Leaf is her favorite place and Kate loves surprises, even if she has a hard time keeping them under wraps.

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.

back and bigger than ever

Here I am embarking on what feels like the millionth attempt to lose weight.

In case you couldn't tell, I haven't been successful over the past three years.

I've tried almost every diet plan out there from prepackaged freeze dried meals that arrive in the mail to group weight loss to simply trying to cut back on the quantity of food I consume.  And here's the thing.  They all work.

I wish I could say that it's as simple as calories in and calories out for me.  I mean, physically it is.  I'm not claiming a metabolic malfunction or anything like that.  But the reality is that there is so much more to weight loss than just what you eat.

There's the emotional baggage that accompanies long term obesity.  There's societal pressure to look a certain way and the contrary urge to fight against it.  There's food addiction and celebratory eating and personal commitment issues and so many other things that go into weight loss other than simple portion control and exercise.

But amidst all of that going on, I have the desire to do it and I've realized that writing about it is going to be just as an important aspect of the equation to my weight loss success as watching what I eat.

So here's hoping that the 1,548,570,357,025,409,825th time is the charm!

I wanted to get a good before picture but then Dave caught me taking selfies in the bathroom and made fun of me.  How embarrassing!

Starting Weight: 281.5

Current Weight: 272.5

Total Lost: 9 pounds

a belated post

I meant to write a post about the first week of the Year of Megan last Wednesday.  But, you know, life happens and here we are almost a week later and well...  That's just how it is.

Last week's goal was to stick to some sort of healthy eating plan.  It was a difficult week with a few ups and downs.  Turns out it's really tough reigning it in after a few months of crazily eating with abandon.

I was grouchy, I was tired, and I was anxious.  I complained a lot.  I mean, I really whined about it.  But at the end of the week, I felt a little more in control and a little closer to my goal.  It's all about baby steps, right?

The mason jar salads really helped last week.  It was great to have a healthy lunch ready to eat without even thinking.  Over half the weight loss battle is mental, you know.  When I told my mom about the salads, she predicted that I wouldn't for more than a week which, as I'm sure my mom knows, is akin to challenging me to eat these dumb salads for the rest of my life.

She was either incredibly wrong or that was some serious reverse psychology going on.  The world may never know.

This week, I made two new salads and a repeat from last week.  The first new salad is a Southwest Chicken Salad with corn, beans, romaine lettuce, and homemade chipotle ranch dressing.  I basically just chopped up some chipotle peppers and dumped them into some store bought ranch.  Don't be too impressed.

Back by popular demand, I made a baby spinach and fruit salad with a homemade vinaigrette.  This dressing was actually homemade as in I actually made it.  But it was just a combination of honey, olive oil, apple cider vinegar, and salt and pepper.  So, again, don't be too impressed.  Both Dave and I agreed that this was by far the best salad from last week.

Lastly, I made a chopped salad to pay tribute to my days of eating lunches at my elementary school cafeteria.  I didn't get to buy lunch very often.  I remember sitting down with my mom and the school lunch calendar carefully picking out which days I would buy my lunch.  I always picked Chicken Ring Things.  One of the options was a Chef's Salad and, while the name intrigued me for some reason, I always wondered who was choosing this option when there were rings of chicken to be eaten from off your fingers instead.  I'm still not sure what a Chef's Salad is.  This is just a mixture of all the things I would choose from a salad bar minus the beets.  I didn't have any beets and I'm still a little sad about it.

Bears.  Beets.  Battlestar Gallactica.

Name that TV show and we can still be friends.  Just kidding.  I'll be your friend even if you don't know.

In other news, my sweet baby was sick today.  Poor girl has had a runny nose for a week and started tugging at her ear yesterday.  We went to visit our friend Dr. Byrd.  It was traumatic.  I'm not sure which was worse for her, being pinned down by my mom and me while the doctor examined her ears or being force fed nasty pink medicine later that day.  Or maybe the ear infection was the worst.  Either way, it was an all around tough day for poor baby Kate.

The only upside of having a sick baby is the cuddles I got from my baby who usually whirls around like a cross between a hurricane and a tornado.  She let my snuggle her for an hour while we watched cartoons.  This was by the far the best part of my day.

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.

the lazy chef

It should come as no surprise that my first weekly goal in the Year of Megan is to work on losing weight.  I mean, I've been "working" on it for what has seemed like an eternity now.

One of the biggest obstacles I think is standing in my way (besides myself - get it? lolol) has been this feeling of frustration with dieting in general.

Stay with me for a moment.  I know that sounds obvious.

I have been struggling with my weight since the fifth grade and probably before that.  Eleven is kind of the age that sticks out in my mind.  Maybe I really had chunked up or perhaps I was just becoming more self aware.

In any event, that means that I have been trying to diet, lose weight, watch what I eat, whatever-you-want-to-call-it for nearly two decades now.  Because of that, I know a lot about dieting.  Like seriously, I'm somewhat of a dieting expert.

First I tried cutting out sugar.  Next, I started counting calories.  In high school, I joined Weight Watchers.  And then again in college.  And then again before I got pregnant with Katelyn.  And then again after she was born.  (There should be some sort of Frequent Fatty discount for people like me.)  During my teenage years I tried the Atkins Diet for a while.  Then I read The South Beach Diet and totally revised my method of thinking on weight loss.  I drank Slimfast by the gallon my freshman year at BYU (not all at once, of course - that would defeat the purpose)  Once I tried eating only Lean Cuisines.  It was expensive and gross.  For a while, I went on Nutrisystem and had all of my food delivered to my house in a giant cardboard box.  It was more expensive and more gross.  I tried counting and measuring everything I have eaten.  I downloaded a handy little calorie counting app on my phone that I never once opened (because nobody wants to record the calories that came from eating an entire container of Blue Bell ice cream).  I've just about tried it all.

I guess there are two points I am trying to make here.

One is that I am not fat for a lack of trying.

The second is that I am burned out of everything.

And here's the kicker.  They all work.  They really do.  Every single one of those diets I've just described is pretty much effective.  Here's the key though.  You have stick to it.  Which I'll admit I haven't done.  I'm not trying to give myself and easy out and be all like, "Yeah, I just can't lose any weight because no diet will work for me.  So..."  I'd venture to say that EVERY diet will work for me if I could just stick to it.

Why can't I stick to it?

Well, that's a post for another day.

Anyway, this time around I'm trying the lazy poor person diet.  What's that, you ask?  Well, I invented it.  The lazy poor person diet is when you are too lazy to cook nutritious meals for yourself during the week but you are too poor to buy prepackaged diet foods.  I will admit that it takes some effort but not much.

Yesterday I spent about a half an hour planning my meals for the week.  I wrote everything down.  (!!! I love making lists!!!  Your mileage may vary but, besides eating, this is the best part of the diet.)  I made a list of our family meals and a list of the groceries needed.  I even made another list to organize the items needed by grocery store department.  It was truly blissful.

Next, Dave and Katelyn and I drove to the store and braved HEB on a Saturday afternoon.  In retrospect, this would have ideally been done during the week in the morning but I was really excited to get started.  I got everything we needed and triple checked the list to make sure nothing was missed.  Being lazy means that you will choose going off your diet rather than making a separate trip to the store.  Just being honest.

So tonight was where the effort came into play.  Starting at about seven, I cooked and prepared nearly everything for the week.  I sauteed, chopped up, washed and rinsed, mixed, stirred and packed away about 75% of the food we will be eating this week.  I just finished so that means I spent a total of about three hours in the kitchen which, really, is not too bad for a week's worth of food.

I made breakfast casserole muffins (which are AMAZING) to go with our smoothies in the morning.

For lunch, we have fancy mason jar salad.  (Mason jars make me feel like a hipster imposter.)  All we need to do is shake them and enjoy.

And lastly, I whipped up some baked ziti with sausage and a delicious chicken casserole (not pictured) for dinner.  So that's at least two nights taken care of.  But also there's no way we could even think about eating all that pasta so leftovers!  Holla!  Also, this will look WAY better once it has been baked.  That's kind of the point of baked ziti, I guess.

The lazy poor person diet might not have a good name but it will save you money and I think it's shaping up to be quite the healthy plan.

a sea shanty

I know what you do with drunken sailor (shave his belly with a rusty razor) but what do you do with a fat sailor?

Prepare yourselves for a nautical post.

I feel like I am stuck in the doldrums.  I hate the word doldrums.  I remember the first time I heard it and wondering to myself, "What is the meaning of that terribly ugly sounding word?"

Well, in case you were wondering, the doldrums were originally areas of the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans which are affected by a low pressure zone near the equator.  The range of low pressure causes the prevailing wind to be calm.  Exceptionally calm winds seems like it would very pleasant for a sailor but they were not.  Sail powered ships could get stuck in the doldrums for days, weeks, or even months at a time.  Mostly this was a problem during the eighteenth century before modern communication and when westward exploration was at an all time high.

Okay, sorry.  History lesson over.

Seriously though.  Could you imagine being stuck on a rickety wooden ship full of stinky sailors and limited provisions for weeks?!?

Anyway, the actual doldrums aren't really a problem anymore for sailors.  At least I don't think they are.  But figuratively they can stop me in my tracks sometimes.

I don't know how to explain the past week.  It's like some sort of weird misty fog of tiredness has settled over me like a big blanket of exhaustion.  I know why.  I've stopped eating carbs again and my mind and body are staging an all out revolt.

The past week I have just felt lazy and unmotivated at the same time.  I wake up in the morning and want to do nothing but sit on the couch with Katelyn and watch Thomas and Friends, Dinosaur Train, Super Why, and those krazy Kratt brothers talk about animals.  Don't get me wrong.  I have actually been thoroughly enjoying myself.  On weekday mornings, PBS has a pretty exciting lineup.  I'm loving the quiet time Katelyn and I have spent relaxing on the couch with a blanket spread over our legs sharing a bowl of cottage cheese.  Sometimes we discuss the fascinating plot lines of the progrms we are watching and everyday we agree that we are both annoyed by that Sid the Science Kid.  It's okay because he's pretend, right?

Anyway, the problem is that I feel guilty about all the laziness.  I'm not trying to teach Kate that it's okay to spend the hours of ten to noon sitting on the couch eating cottage cheese out of the container.  I mean, at least not every day, I guess.

Also, I feel badly that I have been enjoying the laziness.  I get to spend my days shut into my apartment dressed in an oversized nightgown from Walmart all while in the company of a delightfully entertaining toddler who wants nothing more than to sit on the floor with me while we play with her toys and she intermittently gets up to give me a hug.  I just feel guilty for not getting out more and accomplishing things, I guess.

I mean, we have been getting out every day but I don't think it counts if it's only to beg my mom to pick us up and let me follow her around for the afternoon.

It's just that this diet is draining me of my will to move.  I feel like feet have been firmly planted in a vat of molasses and, because I have been deprived of all of the foods that are good and benevolent, I am just too tired to fight the exhaustion.

I've been trying to remind myself that this has been, as my mom called it today, one of those "go with the flow" weeks of motherhood.  I can already feel myself breaking free.  Today, we ventured out to Walmart where I circled the same two aisles about fifteen times forgetting what I was trying to find.  Don't worry though.  I eventually found it.  It was a Genie Bra because nothing says glamor like a bra that comes out of a box.

Seriously though, it is the most comfort I think I have ever felt in my life and at night, I change into those giant cotton nightgowns so that's saying a lot.

Anyway, I've already decided that tomorrow will be great.  Tomorrow I am going to wake up and accomplish all of those tasks that have been patiently awaiting my attention for the last week.  I am taking Kate to play group at the church.  I'm deep cleaning my apartment.  I might even think of cleaning the car.  (Just kidding.  No I won't.)  I will finally return those books to the library.

So I bid farewell to the doldrums because this sailor is ready to move.  I'm gathering all the energy I can muster so I can get out there and start moving again.  And if all else fails, I'll just forget about this diet thing and buy myself a big piece of Target cake (fuel).

Just kidding.

back in the saddle again

So you may have noticed that I have taken a leave of absence for a few weeks.  You may also have noticed that I sort of stopped updating Saturday Stats.  Maybe you have noticed that I merged my two blogs together.

Or perhaps nobody noticed which is okay too.

I feel like I should explain a few things.  After all, I invited everyone on my weight loss journey and then went into hiding.

First of all, it became too difficult for me to keep updated on two blogs.  I know that doesn't sound like much but when your profession is toddler entertainer/magician/maid/laundress/cook/bill payer/family CEO it begins to feel a little overwhelming.  My family blog got left behind in the dust and I hadn't written anything since I began my weight loss blog.  It felt kind of sad to abandon a blog that had posts from before Dave and I were married.  So I merged the two to make things just a bit easier.

I wish I could say that I did it because my weight loss journey is at an end.

Secondly, I stopped updating my stats because, well, things just weren't going in my favor.  And by that I mean, I wasn't losing any weight.  And by that I mean, I found the weight that I had lost.  And by that I mean, I was making poor choices.  And by that I mean, I haven't been updating Saturday Stats because I didn't feel like admitting my failure.

For a while, I kept inventing alternative plans.  Maybe I could buy a new scale and make up some story about how every scale is different and imply that it accounts for the difference in numbers.  Maybe I could just stop doing the stats altogether forever and nobody would notice.  Maybe I could get liposuction real quick and be all like, "Surprise!" and pretend that I did it myself.  (The weight loss not the lipo.  I just had a strange mental image of holding the tube extension to my vacuum cleaner and sucking the fat out of myself.  If only it were that simple.)

It took me a while to come to the conclusion that I really needed to stick to my original plan and just come clean with it.  I've been so exposed and so vulnerable already.  Why stop now?  I've really tried to shine a light on some of the challenges of weight loss.  I've blogged about my anxiety, food addiction, and the emotional baggage that needs to be unpacked before I lose any weight.  It seems a shame to only discuss some of the aspects of obesity.

A big part of weight loss is falling off the bandwagon and into the gravy train.  I would be willing to bet that nearly everyone who has lost a major amount of weight has also had a few moments of reckless abandon where they give up the fight if only for a day.  It's just a part of the process and hiding it doesn't seem right.

So over the next week, I'm going to try to pick apart the last several weeks so I can decipher what went wrong.  I want to finally figure out what it is that sends me off course and what it is that finally helps me correct myself.

So even though I don't really want to do this and even though it's not officially Saturday, I'm going to post my weight again and try to make this work all over again.

mrs. robinson

This picture has absolutely nothing to do with this post but look at that big giant fish I caught!

When I was student teaching, I had a student who was incredibly intelligent but incredibly lazy.  He was a ninth grader after all.  He would arrive to my Geography class prepared with all the answers and then some but with no homework completed.

Maybe his dog ate it?

Anyway, the student was just very gifted.  He spent the entire semester attempting to do the minimal amount of effort required for an A.  He had learned, I'm sure, through an educational career of advanced level classes that he did not have to do everything to excel.  He could coast by without crossing every jot and dotting every tittle.

This worked well for him until the end of the semester in my class.  He had a ninety one percent.  A mere week away from the semester's end, he realized that he had an A-.  An A- is an excellent goal for nearly every student but, to him, it would be a black eye instead of a gold star.

So he did what every high school student assumes will work, he pestered me every day before and after school.  He begged and pleaded and finally, he cried.  And I just couldn't take it any more.  There is something in my neurotic and procrastinating personality that extended empathy towards this student and his plight.

So I cooked the books for everyone.  I offered a last minute extra credit opportunity to the entire class.  It was an onerous and annoying task.  It teetered on the balance between educationally beneficial and didactically irritating.  Only a few students completed the assignment but this student had an A.

On the last day of the semester, during a teacher work day, I noticed an email in my school account from the student thanking me for my academic assistance with a line from Simon and Garfunkel at the end.

"Here's to you, Mrs. Robinson."

My name is Robertson but whatever.  The reference to 1960's rock was refreshing in a classroom where the students stared blankly back at me when I had mentioned the TV show Recess.

(Coincidentally, Robertson is a difficult name for high school students to remember.  I heard all sorts of versions of my name including, but not limited to: Robinson, Robert, Roberts, Robins, and my favorite, Robitussin.)

Here's the point to my long and seemingly random story: I am a procrastinator.  I understood the problem.  He just kept putting it off and shuffling papers around and somehow disconnecting from the reality of the situation until it was almost too late.  I get it.  I procrastinate everything.  Because, you see, there is always tomorrow and tomorrow, I will be a better version of myself.  I haven't thought through how but I just know that tomorrow I will wake up craving carrot sticks and water instead of chocolate cake and Dr. Pepper.

A procrastinator's favorite word is later.   There is just always more time later.  Time to finish that pesky little task, time to mop the floors, time to exercise, time to lose weight.  But here's the problem.  Later never arrives.  Tomorrow is always a day away and the sun never rises on today.  Thousands of laters later and I am still overweight and miserable.

I'm still miserable.  A series of vacations and "staycations" and birthdays and date nights have set me off track and I have spent nearly a month waiting for later to start things up again.  I'm miserable because, while tomorrow is still in the future, today is right here and I'm sitting in it.  I'm fat today and that is the problem.  How good is the promise of a bright and beautiful tomorrow if I'm fat, tired, and miserable today?

This evening Dave and I took Katelyn for a walk around our apartment complex and I was just so moody and irritated and miserable.  I went through the list of usual scapegoats I try to pin the blame on.  Our apartment is too hot.  I couldn't find my grey leggings this morning.  We ran out of hummus.  The tag on my shirt is itchy.  I'm in the middle of a particularly unattractive break out.  There were people grilling super stinky food a few units away.

Before you point out that several of those issues are my own doing (too disorganized to find my grey leggings, greasy fatty food acne, not grocery shopping a single time over the past week, etc.), let me just say that I already know.  Procrastinators are really good at warping reality to fit our own needs.  I'm miserable because I've dropped the reigns of control in my life and I've stopped doing the things that make me truly happy.  I know.

So I gave myself a pep talk and said, "Good thing tomorrow is Monday.  What a great day to start.  I'll start tomorrow.  Tomorrow is going to be really really great."

And then I inwardly chuckled at the irony of it all as I caught my procrastinating habits creeping back up on me.  Day one starts right now.  I went back home and cleaned my apartment, tackled laundry mountain, and drank a glass of water instead of eating through the rest of the pantry.

Tomorrow starts today.

mad megan disease

This picture is old but it pretty much sums up how I feel about healthy food right about now.

I've hit that part of my diet where I constantly think to myself, "Am I still really doing this?"  It's like, "Okay.  I took the stairs instead of the elevator at the doctor's office the other day.  Am I thin yet?"

Does it count that it was taking the stairs down a level instead of up?

It's like this feeling of boredom and stale food.  The novelty of eating healthy has worn off and the weight loss has plateaued and it is just so freaking annoying.  I'm just sick of all the healthy food and although the concept of dieting is never fun, it has amazingly become even less fun (which I didn't even think was possible).

Maybe I am past the anxiety stage and on to the anger stage of dieting.  No wait.  I'll never get out of the anxiety stage.  But I am definitely angry.

I'm angry at my genes. (I'm angry at my jeans that lost a button too but that's a different topic altogether.) I'm irritated that other people can eat more than I can.  I'm annoyed that I have to even think about this when I see thin people eating cake and driving through McDonald's.

(Yes I am a little obsessed with cake.)

I'm annoyed that I want to lose weight.  No, it doesn't make sense.  Yes, it makes me sound crazy.  Sometimes I wish I could say, "Well, who cares?!?  I'm going to try to be as big as a house!"  I'm sure that there is some weird show on TLC that documents the journey of fat people who want to be fatter.  If I could just be at peace with my weight then I could get a film crew to pay me to eat cake.

Sometimes I'm actually angry at the food around me.  I'm mad that it even exists.  I'm irritated by the fact that there is bread in the pantry for Dave's lunches and popsicles in the freezer for Katelyn.  I'm angry that there is an entire aisle of potato chips in the grocery store and pictures of ice cream cones and french fries on the menu when I drive through to get a simple calorie free Diet Coke.

I'm also getting hacked off at the healthy food.  I was eating sugar snap peas today and I was thinking in anger towards the peas, "Who do you think you are acting like you are all better than the other foods because you are healthy?  You are stupid."  Seriously.  Sugar snap peas have no right to feel superior to other foods just because they are green and have nutrients because, you know what?  They are only okay and they have that nasty string that is hard to chew up and gets caught in your teeth and I really only like them with ranch anyway so they are just not as great as they think they are.

It's aggravating to me that exercise exists.  Even the word is really getting on my nerves.  It's one of those words that I always almost misspell.  Is it a z or an s?  Or maybe even an c?  It sounds like it should be exercize.  Why is it not?  Who made the decision?  I need to know because I am really upset with that person.  How am I supposed to teach Katelyn to spell if there was apparently no order or rules when people were making these words up?  How am I supposed to exercise if I struggle just to remember how to spell the word?

Don't even get me started about the Fourth of July.  Yeah, independence is great but how am I supposed to have fun if I'm not free to eat everything in sight?  Seriously.  Where is my liberty when it comes to hamburgers and potato salad?  I love potato salad.  It has carbs in it!  The only salad better than potato salad is pasta salad! (Unless there is some cake salad that I'm unaware of.)

If we really want to get deep here I'm mad that the choices I want to make will make me unhappy and sad and even more mad.  I'm mad that I'm mad!  I would like it if I could be happy that I am making happy choices.  Why can't I enjoy the fact that I'm in control?  Why am I so angry?

I'm just mad today.  It's not a big deal, really.  The anger is all a part of the process.  Soon my anger will shift from being aimed at my situation to myself and I will have to sort out those feelings.  But for tonight, I am just angry because I have to constantly make choices throughout the day that are irritating and make me feel deprived.

So watch out.  jk.  lol. :)

GOAL!!!!!!!!!!!!

Isn't that what they say at soccer games?  Or is it score?  I don't know.  I'm not into sports.

This is a picture of my mom and I at a UH game last summer.  We only went because it was in the air conditioned Reliant Stadium.

Weeks ago I outlined a pretty extensive plan for my weight loss.  I included what I would eat and when I would incorporate certain foods back into my diet.  What you may have noticed missing is a goal weight from that plan.

So what is my goal?

Well I sort of don't have one.  At least not a set numerical goal.  There are a lot I could use.  The CDC says that I need to weigh less than 155 to be considered healthy.  On the day of my wedding I weighed around 150 and it was the thinnest I had ever been.  Maintaining that weight required exercising twice daily and feeling hungry all the time.  When I weighed 175 I thought I was obese and incredibly fat but looking back on it, I looked quite nice I think.  Sometimes I think that if I could just change that number on the scale from a two to a one, I would be set so maybe 199 is a good goal.

This was probably 150-ish, right before Dave and I got engaged.

Here I was probably 175 and I thought I was HUGE!

This weight was hovering right below 200 and I also thought I was HUGE.  It's all relative, I guess.

Here's my big problem with a weight loss goal.  At least for now, 150 seems like a pipe dream.  It's too far away and feels like an unachievable goal.  Thinking about it is overwhelming and makes me want to give up.  Setting a goal like 199 or 175 feels comfortable and good and like something I can do but once I reach that goal, why should I stop?

So this is my goal.  I just want to be healthy.  I want to retrain myself to eat normal amounts of healthy food and I will just let my weight settle there.  I don't want to be hungry all the time but I want to stop overeating.  I want to be active and exercise every day but I don't want to be fanatical about it.

This really isn't a diet I'm doing.  It's much more than that.  I'm making a lifestyle change that I'm hoping will stay with me forever.  Setting a goal implies that there will be an end to this journey when, in reality, this trail will never end.  My goal is to be as healthy as I can forever.  There just isn't a number in the world to encapsulate that theory.

losing the chip

This picture has nothing to do with this blog post.  I just like it.  No one told me that she was going to grow up and stop being my baby.  No one.

Thankfully, a few of the pounds I have lost have come from the huge chip on my shoulder.  It's one I'm sure many overweight people share.  There are just so many out there who judge you based on your weight that pretty soon you come to the conclusion that everyone is judging you.

Haterz gonna hate.

You start to become defensive and paranoid and obsess over who your true allies are and who stared at you a little too long when you ate that piece of cake at the party.  Eventually, most people you encounter are labeled as "fat phobic" or, at the very least, "suspicious" and the whole thing turns into a game of friendship chicken as you begin to hold everyone you meet at arm's length.

And then comes the acceptance phase.  You tell yourself, "I am who I am and people can just accept me for who I am and if they don't then they just don't get to know who I am and that's too bad because I am a pretty good person."  This is the point at which you accept the fact that you need to buy plus sized clothes and you just try to find the ones that don't have Tweety Bird printed on them and hope for the best.

But accepting it allows you to appreciate some of the finer qualities of your personality.  You realize that you are nice or intelligent or have a skill for naming the countries of Africa or whatever.  You kind of come to peace with your weight without becoming so totally complacent that you don't care anymore.

You always care, I think.

But then some thin pretty woman gives you the once over glance from head to toe to head again.  You know what I'm talking about.  If she were a guy (and you weren't so self conscious) it would be perceived as checking you out.  But she's not attracted to you and it's pretty obvious it's not a good thing.

Anyway, I've spent so many years convincing myself that I am worthwhile despite the weight problem and deflecting negative comments and what I perceived to be rude stares from other people, that I now have a big giant chip on my shoulder.  It started to feel like losing weight would be admitting that I was not a very good person.  I felt like if I lost weight all the haterz would look at me and think, "Finally!  Fat Megan has snapped out of it and pulled it together.  She was being so lazy and she really just let herself go."

And that is NOT what happened!  And Fat Megan is still a good person!  And leave me alone!

I hate to admit it but sometimes it actually kept me from losing weight.  I would cut off my nose to spite my face and say, "I'll show you.  I'll show you how I eat this entire cake!"

I was really only hurting myself.

When I had finally had enough, I stopped caring about what other people were thinking about me.  In fact, I cared so little that I posted my weight on the internet and said, "Here I am.  Here is what I weigh.  I'm not perfect but I'm trying my best."

What I found is that most people really didn't care.  Or they did care but only to say how much they wanted to support me. (And not in a "wow, I can't believe you finally realized you're fat" sort of way.) I'm not saying that the haterz aren't still out there.  There will always be people who judge me for my weight like there are people who judge me for my religion, my background, or the fact that I don't have any money.

Like I said, haterz gonna hate.

But the great thing is, people are good.  People are great.  And people care and want to help in a way that is far less judgmental and mean than I thought.  One of the best things about writing this blog has been the ability to let go of the notion that I can't make a mistake.  I've spent the last several years trying to hide the fact that I'm overweight.  It's like trying to hide the fact that you've eaten all the cookies from the cookie jar with the chocolate brown evidence smeared all over your face.

It is exhausting.  It is painful.  It is futile.

Being able to admit that I struggle has been so freeing and liberating.  I have admitted than I'm human and so many people have told me that they are human too.  So I guess we're all human and not dancer.

The experience has been so positive for me that I'm beginning to wonder what other aspects of my life can I apply it to.  Where else can I admit I was wrong, commit to retrying, and just work on it.  It's not easy but the results are so sweet.