I didn’t become overweight because the planets wouldn’t align for me to be skinny. Nope, I did this to myself. First, I turned 40 and my body decided that it wasn’t the spry twenty year old body that could eat what it wanted without working out. Shocker. The weight slowly started to creep. I honestly thought it would just go away, I had never dealt with weight gain, aside from my pregnancies. As someone who was always thinner, the slow weight gain was something I just started to deny. Not me, I’d say. It will fall off, I would think. Then, tragedy struck and I lost my my best friend of 25 years to cancer. I sat on my front porch, drank vodka tonics and smoked cig after cig in grief for the next year and a half. I didn’t do squat but grieve. And the weight rose and rose and rose. Before I knew it I’d gone from a size six to a size sixteen.
Did I do anything about it? Nope. I gave in. The thing is, I was really happy with my life, I just wasn’t happy with me. I’d lost my one-two punch. I stopped caring about most of what I was passionate about. Writing stopped. I dropped out of plays. I stopped creating. I sat. I sat and drank and smoked. Even though I loved my husband, my home, my children … my life played out like a fairy tale! So why was I sabotaging myself?
There’s a saying about people fearing success. It’s almost as if we stop short because we either don’t want to fail or we wouldn’t know what to do if we didn’t. We get comfortable in failure, complacency, and we know mediocrity better than anything. It’s kind of a safe ground. The uncomfortable truth is … we need to get UNCOMFORTABLE.
I decided, at size 22W and 264 pounds that I needed to STOP. The only way to change was to change it ALL. Uproot the system and the system has to reboot itself, right?
I stopped drinking, smoking, and went on a diet and then decided on weight loss surgery and went on a liquid diet. I quit it all. No more front porch sitting. No more self sabotaging. I was going to get to the root of why the hell I was okay with slowly killing myself.
It’s the same story all of us have, in one way or shape. I didn’t feel like I belonged in my life. I didn’t feel worthy. I grew up a survivor of painful experiences and so avoidance and denial and running were my go to’s. But you know what? Enough was enough. I’d learned bad behaviors and it was time to get nasty ugly uncomfortable.
I can’t tell you, in the last 6 weeks, how many times I’ve stood in my living room spinning in circles crying asking myself what the ^8ck I’m supposed to do with myself. Changing routine is HARD. It’s definitely uncomfortable. But for every spin around the room, I’d force myself to do something, even if that something was clean the filthy stove. Anything to keep me from sitting and drinking and smoking.
I’m uncomfortable. And it’s working. I want to live life with a kick in my step and a laugh on my lips. I want to sit on the floor with my grand daughters and wrestle and play games. I want to go kayaking for the first time with my son. I want to travel and not be told at customs that I can’t come in because my passport picture doesn’t look like the fat version of myself. I want to get so uncomfortable that I don’t give a shit about what I did to survive but rather what I’m doing to LIVE.
Let’s get uncomfortable!