The promise of okay

So far this week has been…..fair.  My weight loss goals have still fallen by the wayside, but my mind is starting to get the hint.

A meme I found on Facebook.

A meme I found on Facebook.

Last week I was so depressed and so defeated feeling that just dragging my butt to the meeting was all I had left in me.  I honestly can’t tell you what the meeting was about last week, that’s how mentally there I was.  Just physically getting there was the only baby step I could handle.  All I remember is people talking about forks and I remember hugging AnnMarie.  An hour of my life and that’s all that got through.  So very sad.

However, this is a new week.  And I’m starting to feel a little better mentally.  My mind is becoming more aware of the damage this past month (it’s been THAT long) has caused, not just to my weight loss goals, but to my body.

My Grateful Dead shirt no longer fits.

My back hurts when I shop longer than 15 minutes.

I feel lethargic.

I feel bigger.

I am finally conscious of my food choices, and what bad ones I’ve been making.

Things with my family are—and I say this with crossed fingers and toes—beginning to stabilize.  It’s been a tough row to hoe for us, but some confidence is beginning to grow.  We hit rock bottom, took two steps forward and then promptly took three steps back.  But we’re crawling out of it.  I’m noticing smiles where before there were only tears and scowling.  I’m noticing mental growth and the dawning realization of accountability.  All of these are good things, and my heart is clinging ever so desperately to them.

Tomorrow is meeting night.  I’m going, and my goal is to be mentally present.  I’ve got my tracking book ready.  All the cake is gone in the house.  The fruit drawer is filled with grapes, apples and bananas.  There’s lean meat for sandwiches, oatmeal in the cupboard and Diet Dr. Pepper in the garage (a.k.a. the big fridge).  I’ve got what I need behind me and I’m ready.  I’m ready for my own accountability lesson.  I’m ready to focus on me instead of everyone else for a change.

I’m not going to lie.  It still feels selfish to focus on my weight loss when so much more requires my constant attention, but I’ve learned something this past week with the help of my friend, Renee, and my husband, Jim.  They each made me the same promise, even if they didn’t realize it.

I expressed to Jim that I felt like our family was falling apart.  He said to me, “We’ve been through worse and we made it.  We’ll make it through this, too.”  Then he got very serious.  Jim demanded, not simply requested, that I leave the house and do something fun this weekend.  He demanded that I hang out with Renee.  At first I thought he was a nut.  I just didn’t have time.  Then he said to me, “It’s important that you MAKE the time.  You need it.  I’m taking the choice away from you.  You.  Are.  Going.”

So, I spent a few hours hanging with my friend.  I talked with her about all these problems we’ve been facing and how my sense of stability has been shaken to its core.  I talked to her about my desire to keep things private, which is a flaw of mine, but one I cling to in moments of insecurity.  She was there for me.  Like she’s always been.  She listened.  Like she always has.  We spent some time with my boys reminiscing about when we were younger, sharing memories I had forgotten we shared.  Amid the laughter and sometimes tears, I discovered that my problems grow worse the more I keep them inside.  They become bigger and more unbearable the more I try to deal with them alone.

After coming home and getting the boys in the shower and off to birthday parties and dinner in their bellies, I remembered a fifteen-year-old me sitting in the hallway of our school with a sixteen-year-old Renee.  I shared with her that morning a secret I’d never shared with another living soul my entire life:  that I had a father who beat me and a mother who turned a blind eye.  I remember the weight that secret carried, the pain and fear behind that admission.  And just like Saturday, she put her arms around me, cried with me, told me she loved me and that it would be okay.

So, I begin anew tomorrow, because, sometimes it’s enough just to have the promise of okay.

 

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About Miranda Gargasz

Miranda Gargasz is a freelance writer. Many of her essays can be found on sites like ScaryMommy, The Christian Science Monitor and The Huffington Post. In 2014, she published Lemonade and Holy Stuff. She is also a contributor to Only Trollops Shave Above the Knee, and Lose the Cape: Never Will I Ever. She is currently working on a book about the realities of weight loss entitled Plus Size Mama, due out in 2016..
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4 Responses to The promise of okay

  1. I got your back, too! I will see you there tomorrow, back row. I will save you a seat!!

    HUGS!

  2. What an incredibly beautiful post, Sista! I know things have been rough, and I’m SO glad Jim MADE you spend some time with Renee.

    However, Sara JUST told me Jim has Whooping Cough. Sorry, I SO rarely check FB. I’m not even sure I know what that is. But may he get well soon!

    Hugs from Ecuador,
    Kathy

    • It’s just horrible! It causes you to cough and cough and cough in spasms so bad that you can’t breathe. People have been known to pass out after a coughing spell from lack of oxygen. They even cough so hard some people have broken ribs! We’re all vaccinated against it, but as we grow older the vaccine gets weak and we need a booster. It’s usually coupled with a tetanus shot. Poor guy! He just looks pitiful.
      I had it along with pneumonia a couple years back and I just wanted to die. I feel so bad for him…..I’ve quarantined our family because I don’t want my nieces to get it. Kaitlyn is so young and little ones can sometimes die from it. Scary shit!

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