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08 septiembre 2024
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08 septiembre 2024
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08 septiembre 2024
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Perdiendo 7,3 kg a la Semana
07 septiembre 2024
⚠️TRIGGER WARNING ⚠️ (mention of eating disorder)
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This is the first time in many years I’ve been able to count calories, exercise, and still actually prioritize my health. After going into recovery from my eating disorder, even looking at a bathroom scale on a store shelf used to make me get weird butterflies in my stomach.
Chewing gum or drinking plain herbal teas did the same thing. Reading nutritional labels, deciding to limit portions, refusing condiments, doing HIIT, seeing a photo of a bone-thin model… all of these things used to inspire a gut-churning anxiety reminiscent of the excitement I used to feel at weighing myself literally every single day of my life.
I would gingerly step on my $200 smart scale (which I purchased despite definitely not being able to afford it at the time) and seeing the number drop precipitously low. I would be on cloud 9 (albeit a depressed version of cloud 9) all day— as long as that number was lower than yesterday. I would get viscerally angry if anyone pushed me to eat something I hadn’t painstakingly weighed and measured for its caloric content. If anyone commented on how thin I was getting, I genuinely took it as a compliment— I couldn’t imagine that these comments were out of concern.
When I got to my “ultimate goal weight”, I felt immeasurably empty. At first, I decided that the solution was simply to lose more weight. I mean, why not? I could definitely lose more. But I quickly began to realize that my health was starting to decline. I looked sick, and I knew I didn’t care that I looked, and I knew that not caring was as also indicative of illness. I began to rationalize— I won’t do this forever. I just need to get to a better place in life, then I’ll be fine. I knew that required seeking help. I read stories from others that went into recovery and changed from sad, sickly ghosts to radiant, life-filled people, chasing their dreams and achieving amazing goals. But I saw that they gained weight. And I was desperate not to. I decided I didn’t want to seek help because I didn’t want to gain any weight.
One day, I thought about how my child would soon be old enough to see how I treated my body, how I abused myself, how I was terrified of food and practically worshipped the scale. I thought of my child doing the same thing to himself, and it made me physically ill to imagine. After that day, I slowly began to abandon my awful habits.
I began with the scale. I knew if I saw the number creep up at all, I’d go back to my old ways. So I trashed it. I began to peel off nutritional labels as I was putting the groceries away. I deleted all my calorie counting apps. I would eat small tiny meals still, and I never told myself “I’ll never purge again”, but I made deals with myself. I would eat, then go on a walk and say to myself “if I return from this 30 minute walk and I still want to throw up this food, no problem, I will do it.” But by time I got back, I felt so much better, my stomach didn’t feel heavy, and I didn’t want to purge enough to actually do it. I would still “water log” by drinking water till my stomach was full before eating. I would still go on a long walk after eating a lot of the time to “burn off” the food. But I just was careful to distract my thoughts enough to avoid the most extreme behaviors, and over time… it worked. Of course I was in therapy weekly and that helped, but most of the work happened in solitude.
Eventually I got back to a normal weight, but I realized that I was still at the whims of external pressures as far as my weight and eating habits. No longer was it the scale, but my new marriage! I was very happy with my life, and my sweet husband would often bring sweet treats and fresh breads to show love. In turn, I’d cook delicious meals, often serving lamb and homemade bread. When I did the routine glucose screening for potential gestational diabetes when I became pregnant with our baby, I was shocked to learn I was borderline. I had to repeat the screening with a longer duration and more blood draws. I ended up passing the second screening, but it scared me.
I bought a mini stepper and a stationary bike in case I was too lazy to go outside in the cold, and a bathroom scale. I didn’t want to be unhealthy especially while carrying my baby. However, I just couldn’t let go of my unhealthy eating habits. I made so many excuses to keep eating crap and not exercise. But 6 months after my baby was born, I realized that I was still in clothing 2 or 3 sizes bigger than before. I had lost some weight, but not nearly enough. I was still overweight, and at risk for every health condition that comes with being overweight.
So, I dusted off the dust that had accumulated on the bathroom scale, realizing with happiness how much healthier I was since I could own a scale and let it get dusty. Instead of being angry with myself and punishing myself, I was able to look at food for what it is— FUEL. It is what my body needs to nourish my nursing baby. It is what my body needs to nourish my brain as I finish nursing school. It is what my body needs to sustain life— to allow me to read the books on my reading list, dance and play with my happy little baby, to take long meandering walks the park with my husband as he pushes the stroller. Food is fuel for my body to perform the workouts that make me stronger and give me more energy and focus and keep aches and pains at bay.
After beginning to exercise regularly and watch my calories and nutrition, I am no longer scared of food. I am no longer scared of the scale. I am no longer scared of exercise. While my weight is still considered medically “obese”, I look in the mirror and see a healthy person, a person who is actively doing the work necessary to get to a healthy weight, and avoiding actions that are unhealthy are either extreme. My weight may not YET be healthy, but me? *I* am healthy.
And for the first time I can remember, I am confident in this body that I have right now.
(8 comentarios)
07 septiembre 2024
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