I hate my BUT.
My but. Not my butt as in my ass because I’m actually pretty okay with my ass. I mean it’s a bit bigger than it’s supposed to be but I don’t hate it.
I do hate my other but. You know – this one…
I love my jobs….BUT I’m fat.
I have to go to the grocery store…BUT I’m fat.
I love my house…BUT I’m fat.
I have to do laundry…BUT I’m fat.
I love my family…BUT I’m fat.
That’s the BUT I hate. The BUT I’m fat BUT. I attach it to everything. I’m 99% blissfully okay and happy with everything in my life except that one teensy little thing.
I let my “BUT I’m fat” card become my answer and ending to every sentence. No matter how anything begins in my life – it’s always going to end in “BUT I’m fat.”
That BUT taints every moment in my life these days...
I guess I knew was in trouble when I literally started researching weight loss surgery in Mexico by Dr. Longduckdong and asked Rambo to pay for it out of pocket.
Apparently, it’s time to admit it. I’m struggling. I’m downright sucking. I have been for a while now. I’ve spent more time in the last few months “trying” to get my mojo back than I have spent dreaming about Milky Ways. That’s a lot, folks.
For years, I was gung ho about my weight and diet – obsessive even. Running 5 miles a day, never missing a day. Eating right – every day…never going astray. Paying $5000 out of my shoe and purse fund to have a plastic surgeon give me a tummy tuck – while I swore this lifestyle and my weight were never going to go backwards again.
Imagine the guilt I feel now. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again – 2lbs or 20lbs or 200lbs….on me – it all feels the same.
It feels yucky. It feels wrong. It feels like I’m abusing my body. Like I’m not giving a damn about myself. It feels like high blood pressure and high cholesterol. It feels like increased migraines. It feels like me grumpier. It feels shameful.
Right or wrong, valid or invalid – that is how extra weight makes me feel.
On my 5ft 3in frame, 20 lbs extra looks like I shoved a baby elephant into my pants.
Nothing fits. So I wear leggings and pretend that I’m okay with that.
I make “I’ll start Monday” plans and look through my old workout and food journals – trying to find some secret to the mystery of why I gained back 20lbs and how I lost over 70 in the first place.
I look at the pics and measurements of me and I wonder how I got from there to here. And I’m pretty sure it doesn’t even matter.
I know that for a while – when I decided to take a flying leap off the healthy wagon – it was because I wanted a break. I very consciously gave myself permission to eat whatever I wanted and be as immobile as I wanted to be. I took a vacation from the me that was fit and healthy….because it had started to feel like a full time job and I was exhausted from the constant drudgery that is remaining healthy – for me.
Then every time I stepped on the scale I got more pissed. More pissed that the evidence proved that for me – health will ALWAYS be a DAILY job. I have the uncanny ability to consume large portions of food and the lovely ability to gain sometimes pounds a day without even trying.
There won’t ever be a time when it’s easy. Or it becomes second nature. Or working out is like breathing to me. Or the choice to have an apple instead of an Oreo will be easy.
Not for me. Probably because I’m a real food addict.
If someone were to ask me what was wrong and why I keep putting my health on the back burner – I’d have no answer. I can’t think of one thing that is bothering me right now. But yet? I’m still shoving something down or back with food, aren’t I? I’m still able to put myself last on the list in daily life, aren’t I? I’m still not good enough for myself.
I start therapy on Thursday. Wanna know what I fear the most? That he’ll ask me point blank, “what have you sought therapy for?” And I won’t have an answer. I have my prepared answer of “I need to learn relaxation techniques for my migraine pain” but something bigger is pushing me to therapy. I don’t know what it is or why. I just feel it.
Maybe it’s the first step towards putting myself first again. Maybe mental health is the first thing that will lead me back to physical health.
If I’m going to be heart and mind healthy, it sure seems crazy to treat my physical body like crap. Why bother with any of it if I’m not willing to do the work or treat my whole body as a temple? Why waste everyone’s time?
Time is a valuable commodity to me and one I don’t have a lot of…so if I’m putting forth the effort and facing the fear of therapy and using precious time to heal myself inside…well then….it seems about the perfect time to do the same for the outside of me.
I have the ability to undo this 20lbs. I know how. And I’m as worth it today as I was a few years ago. The key this time around is balance and moderation and even self-forgiveness on days when perfection is unrealistic.
There just isn’t room for any more “BUT I’m fat” excuses s in my life. It’s almost become more heavy of a burden to not give a damn about my diet and exercise routine than it is to do the opposite. It takes effort to eat this much and be this immobile…and pretend to be happy about it.
I suppose I just needed to remember it again. How when I’m not happy with my health – everything else kind of seems harder to do and be. I needed to re-remember that my health and diet are a piece of the puzzle that completes the entire me.
And I’m so over feeling half put together.
Something inside is happening. I can feel it and I like it.
I think it’s time to kick some BUTs to the curb.
Care to join me?
Tell me, do you have any BUTs you use constantly? What are they?