stop calling me fat

Dear Mothers, stop calling your daughters fat

I was originally just going to post a link to the article but then I read it again and realized how closely I could identify with the words.

I've had that moment. The one when you realize that you're different from all of your friends. That you're bigger. That you can't share clothes. That you just aren't as pretty. My memory of that moment isn't nearly as clear as the author of the article but I can remember feeling uncomfortable with myself as early back as second grade...maybe first. I remember not enjoying the parts of summer vacation that involved water and pools, which is pretty much the whole thing. My friends would wear bikinis and I would wear a one piece. I never really understood why I was bigger than my friends. We would eat the same junk food and do the same things. The big difference was that a lot of them were involved in sports and I was simply too embarrassed to try them.

My family was slightly different. My dad was a pretty average weight but most of the rest of my family was the same as me. I have memories of my mom and dad dieting...nutrisystem I think. They would tease me about my weight with nicknames that still make me cringe. I know this was never malicious. Never intended to hurt my feelings but it did. I don't think I've actually admitted that to either of my parents. I was never pursued to lose weight but I spent most of my life wanting to lose weight. Then I finally did! I had finally found something that worked (after trying different things) and I rode that train until it feel off of the rails...and here I am.

I work with young kids all day long and I realize how much words can effect them. I hope that my future babies will know that they are accepted and loved for everything that they are. I don't want my relationship with food to be the example they have. I repeat this every time I have a bad day. I'm getting healthy.

resistance is futile

There is nothing about recovery that I have found to be easy...the increased eating, decreased energy, challenge foods, anxiety, bloating...even down to the constant schedule juggling for appointments. But one of the things that I have found most difficult is how extremely lonely this journey is. How much resistance can be found even in the people that love you the most.

Discovering who I am minus the eating disorder (and all that it represents) is more challenging than I ever thought it would be. I had this idea that I would start therapy, get permission to eat more (and weigh more), start eating and that would be the end of it. I would be anxiety free. I couldn't have been more wrong. I've been learning who I am and how to use the voice I have been given. Enter the resistance.

"No" is not a word that I have used often. People don't like the word no. It upsets them. I don't like to upset people, or disappoint them or anger them. You see the connection. But I can't always say yes and that's ok. I can't please everybody and that's ok. I don't need to feel guilty saying no or disagreeing or just being honest.  I am Mandi. I'm not anybody else. I have bad qualities but I have some extraordinary ones too. I have a right to stand up for myself whether you like it or not. I'm not a child and I'm not going to stay quiet anymore. I say this all with love. Love for my never failing support system. Love for every ear that's listened and arm that's hugged me. Love for myself. I have to learn how to do that and be good to myself before I can give my all to anybody else. That doesn't make me selfish. It will make me healthy.

obsessed

Obsessed. I use that word a lot. I'm obsessed with Starbucks...with my cats...with Law & Order:SVU...with any and all Christmas movies. Those are the fun obsessions. My not so fun obsession? Food...the reality that my body is changing (in my mind for the worse)...m pant size...my hunger.  My therapist tells me that there will be good times and bad. I feel so deep into the bad that I don't think I'll get out. She says that I've made wonderful progress but all I see are my failures. The failure to get over this. The failure to eat my calories every day. The failure to stop the obsession. Don't get me wrong, I come close to my calories. I enjoy eating (the "safe" foods) and I like that I can eat that much but I'm terrified. I'll hit my goal one day and then for the next 4 I'm 100 short. It's just 100 calories right?? What's the big deal?...Those 100 calories represent weight gain, bigger pants and a bigger stomach. An avalanche of gaining that I won't be able to stop. One day my calories goal will be sufficient. The next day I don't be able to stop eating. This is what scares me. I know that if I feel the hunger then I'm cutting calories and that will ward off the weight gain. But If that's true then why are my pants getting tighter?? Maybe I should cut more calories. The constant battle in my harder is longer and louder that I thought it could be. This is my favorite time of year and instead of being excited I'm anxious. My wish this year? For this rocky road of recovery to become a bit smoother. It's my prayer every day.

want a baby? have a latte

It's been so long since I've posted anything. There were a million times that I could have written...probably should have written. I'm here now though and I don't know how I'm doing. I guess I'm the only one that would truly know how I'm doing and I'm not sure.

I continue to get food challenges from my nutritionist although not as often as I have in the past. We're starting to work on some other things but I'm still afraid of some foods. What am I afraid of?? Starbucks. I go there most days of the week to get coffee to start my day. It's not the coffee that gives me sweats. It's the mocha...the frappuccino...the pumpkin spice latte. I started to frequent Starbucks as I was losing weight so I have never had one of the infamous pumpkin spice lattes. Every fall it rolls out and every fall I struggle with the decision to indulge. I foolishly mentioned this to my nutritionist and it immediately went on my challenge list. One of my goals for recovery is to get my body to a healthy place to both c carry a baby without extra strain on my body and to be in a good relationship with food so I can be a role model. One of my biggest fears is that I will continue to struggle, my kids will see that and think that's how they should be eating. Anyway...it took several weeks, and many failed trips, before I finally got up the nerve to order one. One of my reasons to be brave is for the baby I very much want. So I ordered it. Walked to my car. Sat down and took a sip. The results??? I wasn't in love. I drank the whole thing of course. It was good but not what I was expecting. It was incredibly sweet. Too sweet for me. Will I order it again? Perhaps. Will it be a venti? No. Am I still afraid? No.

I guess that nutritionist knows a thing or two that I don't. I hate when that happens.

progress

I have been tracking my measurements for 2 years. Today I took a sharpie to the paper and scribbled out my progress. Numbers will not define me anymore.

One step at a time.

transformation

vents ahead

Unenthusiastic.

That's been my mood for the past, eh, 2 weeks. Maybe 3 weeks.

I'm just tired. Tired of being tired. Tired of having to eat certain things or a certain amount. Tired of having SO MANY rules. Or at least feeling like I have a lot of rules. Tired of counting calories yet unable to ignore the anxiety that rises when I don't count them. I can feel the fatigue and irritability set in when I don't eat enough yet I'm still afraid to eat more.

I'm confused by my recovery team of doctors. My nurse doesn't say one way or another whether I have to gain weight, my nutritionist actually lowered my calorie requirements (perhaps because I wasn't meeting them) and mentioned that my weight was "stable" and my therapist is pretty convinced that I have to gain weight. So which is it??

Some days I'm so frustrated that I want to stop trying so hard and just go whatever I want. Then ED creeps back in:  "I can't do what I want. Doing what I want was what got me obese to begin with. Not caring about what I'm eating can't possibly be good for my body. I've worked so hard for this body...don't throw it all away now."

Restriction begins which leads to guilt over restriction which leads to frustration and lack of enthusiasm all over again. It's a painful cycle to be stuck in.

I'm always looking for way to move. It's hard to sit down, sit still, sit at all when I know I should be moving because I know how many calories I'm eating.

This will end, right? I pray every single day that it does. I need prayer. I can't do this alone.