Let’s face it. I’ve been in a funk rolled in desperation and frustration, then deep fried in depression.
So much has been going on in my life the last few weeks (and if I’m honest, things have been off for the better part of a year–maybe more). There’s been a personal crisis for nearly every member of my family and I think I’ve reached mine. Fingers crossed.
You see, I wrote about my thoughts to have gastric bypass surgery to help me in my stagnated weight loss plans. I also wrote about the show I watched called “My 600 Pound Life.”
I think it affected me way more than I first let on, because here’s the thing: It helped me reach my “Enough is Enough” line. You know what line I’m talking about. The one where you decide that the bullshit stops here and now.
For the past two/three weeks I’ve been a woman on a mission. And that mission is ROCKIN’ right now. My doctor changed my meds for PCOS and coupled with my altered eating plan (low carbs–bye, bye bread for most days–hello lots and lots of fruit and veggies) I’ve dropped 13 pounds.
But wait, there’s more.
Three of those pounds I lost DURING my period! That’s something that has NEVER happened!
And there’s more….
For Mother’s Day my husband splurged and got a family membership to the Y. Today, our first day as members, I went swimming for 2 glorious hours.
And the hits keep on coming.
I cheated. I ate a zinger. And IT. WAS. AWFUL. Why was I shoveling this shit into my mouth so often thinking it tasted like heaven rolled in coconut?! Instead of filling up on that garbage, I ate the black bean and corn salsa I made. So good. So filling. So much more satisfying.
The reality of that wretched snack hit me like a brick wall. I’d heard people say that kind of stuff about foods they loved at my WW meetings and always thought they were full of it. They were RIGHT!
I’ve still got health concerns going on and I’m not out of the woods by any stretch where they are concerned, however, I have a plan of attack that I am totally embracing this week.
The scale cannot have control over me. The scale doesn’t tell me anything worthy of remembering. It tells me what kind of effect gravity has on my body. It doesn’t tell anyone that I ate right. It doesn’t tell anyone that I shopped right. It doesn’t tell anyone that I worked out. It doesn’t tell anyone that I gave up Diet Dr. Pepper (okay, I have one once a week–TRUTH). It doesn’t tell anyone that I eat red meat only 2-3 times a week. It doesn’t tell anyone that I eat bread maybe twice a week as opposed to every meal like I used to. It doesn’t tell anyone that I can no longer stand sweets (exception being carrot cake made from scratch–WHICH I made and still didn’t have, so SCREW YOU, SCALE!). It can’t tell me or anyone else that I purchased a bathing suit for my newly minted Y membership and I ordered that sucker two sizes TOO BIG!!!!!! BOOYAH!!!!!!
I feel pretty confident that Thursday will show up and I will make that scale my bitch.