Ok, so, I’ve moved to our dream home, as described in the last post. Everything has changed, right? I promised myself that things would change. Life would be more laid-back. My stress level would be way down. I’d have more time for exercise, for myself, for preparing and eating simple, healthful foods. I’d cultivate a vegetable garden. I’d do home canning, and make my own soap. I had a fantasy of rural life.
Some of it has definitely panned out. I’m eating locally laid eggs from the shop beside my youngest’s hippie pre-school. We’ve purchased pastured poultry, which I roasted with rosemary picked from the front yard, and later used to make chicken stock. But, in other ways, I’m reminded that I’m still the same person, with the same issues I’ve carried around all along.
As we unpacked some boxes last weekend, I came across a lot of pictures of myself at various ages. I looked at them carefully, assessing myself and thinking carefully about where I was, mentally, at those times, and about what was going on in my life. In almost every case, I’d think back to the time when the picture was taken and remember that I’d thought of myself as too fat. In fact, in a lot of the pics, I was pretty hot.
The experience encouraged me to work on a weight loss program, so I joined a local center (won’t advertise them here, but it involves buying a decent amount of food from the company weekly) and set to eating properly. I’ve got mixed feelings about the program, because it involves a lot more processed food than I would like to have in my diet, but the bottom line is that it is a super-easy way to have guidance on what (amounts and general food groups) I should be eating, to lose weight.
The first few days went great, and a mid-week visit to the center (for a photograph and measurements) had me down a couple of pounds, already. I was psyched. So, why, then, when I went in today for a real weekly weigh-in, was I UP a pound? I can only attribute it to my screwed-up brain — something that has not changed, despite the move.
I’m still examining exactly what happened, but, it seems like, the last few days, I’d become enveloped by a strong urge to eat something — and not the salad or fruit or vegetables I’m “allowed” as part of the program. Then, I’d warm up a tortilla with cheese or pour myself a bowl of cereal, and eat it dutifully, as if that inner “voice” had ordered me to do so. I wasn’t even hungry, and I knew it.
I think it was some measure of loneliness, some feelings of self-pity, and a sense of being overwhelmed (I am caring for 2 kids + the house by myself, for much of the time, as DH hasn’t yet joined me full time here). I haven’t been exercising, yet, so I don’t have the mental-health benefits of that to draw upon. Whatever the reasons for last week’s setbacks, here I am again, starting afresh and feeling better. Yes, there are things that haven’t yet changed… but I CAN change them, slowly, over time. And I will.
