Simply because I find it easier to post here for anyone who is interested than to repeat myself for people who ask. Anyone understandably not interested, maybe go read this old post about building our garage. Or, if you want something more deathy there's this. (Or something random, or something violin-y.)
I'm doing well! The new doctor put me on steroids back at the beginning of December, and that's doing the trick. Apparently steroids either work for people with Granulomatous Mastitis immediately or they don't help much at all. I am in the lucky category of people for whom they seem work.
My own space apart from the babble of the internet
Showing posts with label weight. Show all posts
Showing posts with label weight. Show all posts
Thursday, January 21, 2016
Wednesday, December 2, 2015
Accepting the Fat Pants
It's not been an easy go since summer. There are many good things to be grateful for, but a combination of grief and chronic pain has undermined my world in a way that some things have had to give. The main thing is I don't have the mental energy to be disciplined about what I'm eating. It makes me sad, but I don't know what else to do.
It seems wrong that you can undo a lot of work so quickly. It took a year to get my weight down to where it should be, and a matter of weeks to go back. Not that I'm all the way back, but enough that I can't fit into what I was using as my regular clothes for a while. I saved out one pair of bigger pants when I lost weight and now they are they only pants that fit. I will try to get myself under control enough that I don't outgrow those.
It seems wrong that you can undo a lot of work so quickly. It took a year to get my weight down to where it should be, and a matter of weeks to go back. Not that I'm all the way back, but enough that I can't fit into what I was using as my regular clothes for a while. I saved out one pair of bigger pants when I lost weight and now they are they only pants that fit. I will try to get myself under control enough that I don't outgrow those.
Monday, November 2, 2015
That Hopeless Feeling and Knowing Better
I'm in that awful limbo of feeling tired and frustrated and stuck, and still knowing I should appreciate how much I have. Nothing is terrible. But nothing feels quite right, either.
I'm stressed about my breast issue, which never completely went away. It's improved since July, and I'm not in pain, but after three ultrasounds, two aspirations, and a mammogram they want to do another biopsy and I just don't want to. I get wanting to rule out cancer, but I don't think it is cancer, and I don't want to go through all that discomfort again just to be back at square one. But it's hard to know what to do and all of it is upsetting. I don't feel like there are people I can talk to about it without upsetting them, too.
We have been struggling with the high school application process for Aden. In Milwaukee you apply to go anywhere, and a few schools (like the High School of the Arts) require additional hoops to jump through, and that has been stressful. The school issues with Aden in general have been frustrating. Only other parents going through something similar seem to understand how little control over any of that we have. Everyone else just seems judgy, which never helps.
I'm stressed about my breast issue, which never completely went away. It's improved since July, and I'm not in pain, but after three ultrasounds, two aspirations, and a mammogram they want to do another biopsy and I just don't want to. I get wanting to rule out cancer, but I don't think it is cancer, and I don't want to go through all that discomfort again just to be back at square one. But it's hard to know what to do and all of it is upsetting. I don't feel like there are people I can talk to about it without upsetting them, too.
We have been struggling with the high school application process for Aden. In Milwaukee you apply to go anywhere, and a few schools (like the High School of the Arts) require additional hoops to jump through, and that has been stressful. The school issues with Aden in general have been frustrating. Only other parents going through something similar seem to understand how little control over any of that we have. Everyone else just seems judgy, which never helps.
Thursday, February 19, 2015
Weighty Issues
I'm officially in the range of normal for my weight. It's a large range (depending on which chart you use) and I am in the heaviest end of it, but technically I'm not overweight, and certainly not obese. It's taken a lot of effort, but it's good to be 35 pounds lighter than I was back in June. I still have another ten pounds or so to go, because I want to be squarely in the normal range. I would like the option of one day eating a cookie again without that tipping the scales into overweight territory.
Self-perception is a strange thing, though. Other people tell me I look slimmer, but I'm not really seeing it. I know I am smaller by looking at the clothes I can wear. I was an 18 and now I'm an 8. (My preferred swimsuit, however still fits best at a 14, because somewhere, somehow, I am always a size 14.) But when my pants are tight enough to stay up I still have some muffin-top stuff going on, so I don't feel any different. I have the same body issues, just different pants.
Self-perception is a strange thing, though. Other people tell me I look slimmer, but I'm not really seeing it. I know I am smaller by looking at the clothes I can wear. I was an 18 and now I'm an 8. (My preferred swimsuit, however still fits best at a 14, because somewhere, somehow, I am always a size 14.) But when my pants are tight enough to stay up I still have some muffin-top stuff going on, so I don't feel any different. I have the same body issues, just different pants.
Thursday, November 6, 2014
Off Switch Eating
I've lost about 30 pounds since the beginning of June. That's enough weight that people notice, and many ask what it is I'm doing.
I know what people want to hear is that it's something that doesn't involve much sacrifice. Unfortunately that's not the way it works. For me, anyway. Everyone's bodies and goals are different, so I can only say what works for me and people can take from it what they will.
For various reasons my weight has been up and down and all over the map. I know at this point what my body responds to, how exercise and food affects it, and where most of my limits are. My 30s were all spent in and out of pregnancies and breast feeding, and dealing with the stress of small children, starting a business, and my husband's deployments. But now my last baby is about to turn eight, Ian returned from Iraq four years ago, and I've finally arrived at a place where I have no excuses for getting control over my own body and my health and my habits.
I've learned that exercise has almost no impact on my weight. I swim a mile almost every day. That was true 30 pounds ago and it's true now. Exercise is important, and I'm glad it's something I've added to my routine, but I think weight loss has to do with what you eat, not how you move. Exercise does affect the shape I'm in. I think if I'd lost 30 pounds rapidly and without exercise I would look very different. For instance, my arms are not flabby anymore, but only because my muscle tone is good and my skin has had time to adjust to the change. So I'm not saying exercise isn't helping, but it does not affect the numbers on the scale.
What has brought my weight down is eating less. I know, shocking. But I'm not someone who wants to track every bite I put into my mouth. I don't want to think that hard.
So I've come up with a system for myself that I'm calling "Off Switch Eating."
I know what people want to hear is that it's something that doesn't involve much sacrifice. Unfortunately that's not the way it works. For me, anyway. Everyone's bodies and goals are different, so I can only say what works for me and people can take from it what they will.
For various reasons my weight has been up and down and all over the map. I know at this point what my body responds to, how exercise and food affects it, and where most of my limits are. My 30s were all spent in and out of pregnancies and breast feeding, and dealing with the stress of small children, starting a business, and my husband's deployments. But now my last baby is about to turn eight, Ian returned from Iraq four years ago, and I've finally arrived at a place where I have no excuses for getting control over my own body and my health and my habits.
I've learned that exercise has almost no impact on my weight. I swim a mile almost every day. That was true 30 pounds ago and it's true now. Exercise is important, and I'm glad it's something I've added to my routine, but I think weight loss has to do with what you eat, not how you move. Exercise does affect the shape I'm in. I think if I'd lost 30 pounds rapidly and without exercise I would look very different. For instance, my arms are not flabby anymore, but only because my muscle tone is good and my skin has had time to adjust to the change. So I'm not saying exercise isn't helping, but it does not affect the numbers on the scale.
What has brought my weight down is eating less. I know, shocking. But I'm not someone who wants to track every bite I put into my mouth. I don't want to think that hard.
So I've come up with a system for myself that I'm calling "Off Switch Eating."
Monday, September 15, 2014
Size 14 Forever
I went out last night to buy new pants because nothing fits right now. It's a good problem to have when your weight is going the direction you want, and not so when it's going a direction you don't. But sizes are a mess anymore.
I started this summer at a size 18. When those pants got loose I used a belt for a while, and managed to bypass needing anything in a 16. When I got to 14 I was happy because my favorite pair of jeans in my closet is a size 14. It's a pair of Calvin Kleins I got on sale at some point during my weighty journey either up or down several years ago. They would probably get classified as "mom jeans" by someone because they actually come up over my hips to my waist, where, frankly, they should be. That whole mid-rise trend is not fair to those of us whose torsos are just a battlefield of stretchmarks.
Anyway, my weight has been up and down enough times that I've had several occasions to break out those size 14 jeans. Now they are loose again and I had to buy a pair of 12s. The 10s I have still gathering dust in the closet from the last time I was smaller will have to wait until I've lost another ten to fifteen pounds.
But here's the thing: Another ten or fifteen pounds from now I will be the weight I was when I got married in 1997. And back then I was a size 14. I also remember shopping for pants in high school in the 80s. And I was a size 14. There is a forty pound difference between where I am now and where I was in high school. That is insane.
Which makes me wonder why I'm going to all the trouble of swimming a mile every day and being disciplined about what I eat because apparently if I just wait long enough I will be a size 10 again without even trying. Or maybe the pendulum will swing the other way and I will be back to being a size 14. (Either way, nothing short of a sari has ever fit me that my brother has brought me back from India because there sizes are a whole other thing and my 5'10" frame is off all the charts.)
I started this summer at a size 18. When those pants got loose I used a belt for a while, and managed to bypass needing anything in a 16. When I got to 14 I was happy because my favorite pair of jeans in my closet is a size 14. It's a pair of Calvin Kleins I got on sale at some point during my weighty journey either up or down several years ago. They would probably get classified as "mom jeans" by someone because they actually come up over my hips to my waist, where, frankly, they should be. That whole mid-rise trend is not fair to those of us whose torsos are just a battlefield of stretchmarks.
Anyway, my weight has been up and down enough times that I've had several occasions to break out those size 14 jeans. Now they are loose again and I had to buy a pair of 12s. The 10s I have still gathering dust in the closet from the last time I was smaller will have to wait until I've lost another ten to fifteen pounds.
But here's the thing: Another ten or fifteen pounds from now I will be the weight I was when I got married in 1997. And back then I was a size 14. I also remember shopping for pants in high school in the 80s. And I was a size 14. There is a forty pound difference between where I am now and where I was in high school. That is insane.
Which makes me wonder why I'm going to all the trouble of swimming a mile every day and being disciplined about what I eat because apparently if I just wait long enough I will be a size 10 again without even trying. Or maybe the pendulum will swing the other way and I will be back to being a size 14. (Either way, nothing short of a sari has ever fit me that my brother has brought me back from India because there sizes are a whole other thing and my 5'10" frame is off all the charts.)
Friday, January 25, 2013
A Matter of Size
It's hard to explain to anyone who hasn't struggled with his or her weight how difficult it can be. I'm a pretty determined person and able to accomplish most things I set my mind to. But getting down to a weight where I want to be and staying there? I'm starting to think it's impossible. Which is frustrating.
I try not to beat myself up too much about it. I'm doing better at incorporating regular exercise into my schedule (I swim a mile in the morning about five or six days a week), and I'm trying to make better choices about what I eat. But life gets stressful and I betray myself with decisions I know are bad but seem irresistible in the moment. When I start to question my sanity and lack of will I think about how if Oprah with her infinite resources and all the incentive in the world to keep her weight down still struggles, then there is probably more to it than I realize and shouldn't feel like such a failure.
But does anyone who cares about me really love me less when my jeans are getting tight again? Do I care less about anyone based on his or her size? No. So why do I obsess? Why do I dislike myself so much over it? I'm not sure, but I don't seem able to escape it.
Back toward the beginning of the school year I went through all my kids' clothes to figure out what fit them and what didn't, what should be handed down, and what should be given away. We seldom have to shop for Mona since she is delighted to inherit whatever clothes no longer fit her sister, but each time Aden grows we end up walking down the street to Target and stocking up on some new shirts and leggings and skirts. Easy enough.
But Aden has finally reached the limit of what the girls section at Target has to offer. She's tall, like I am, and the biggest size girl clothes are 14/16, which are getting too short on her. We looked around at things she liked, but realized anything we bought would likely not last the whole year. So we had to move over to the older girl/women's area of the store. And it wasn't good.
I try not to beat myself up too much about it. I'm doing better at incorporating regular exercise into my schedule (I swim a mile in the morning about five or six days a week), and I'm trying to make better choices about what I eat. But life gets stressful and I betray myself with decisions I know are bad but seem irresistible in the moment. When I start to question my sanity and lack of will I think about how if Oprah with her infinite resources and all the incentive in the world to keep her weight down still struggles, then there is probably more to it than I realize and shouldn't feel like such a failure.
But does anyone who cares about me really love me less when my jeans are getting tight again? Do I care less about anyone based on his or her size? No. So why do I obsess? Why do I dislike myself so much over it? I'm not sure, but I don't seem able to escape it.
Back toward the beginning of the school year I went through all my kids' clothes to figure out what fit them and what didn't, what should be handed down, and what should be given away. We seldom have to shop for Mona since she is delighted to inherit whatever clothes no longer fit her sister, but each time Aden grows we end up walking down the street to Target and stocking up on some new shirts and leggings and skirts. Easy enough.
But Aden has finally reached the limit of what the girls section at Target has to offer. She's tall, like I am, and the biggest size girl clothes are 14/16, which are getting too short on her. We looked around at things she liked, but realized anything we bought would likely not last the whole year. So we had to move over to the older girl/women's area of the store. And it wasn't good.
Monday, July 2, 2012
A Body of Work
I suspect that if I live long enough to get to die of a ripe and wrinkly old age I will regret that I wasted so much time and energy being frustrated with my body.
It's unwarranted, my disappointment with it, because it serves me so well. It works! No, I haven't put keeping it in its optimum condition a priority, but I can walk and move and see and feel and breathe.... From a vanity standpoint I don't think I'm conventionally cute, but I like my face and wouldn't change it. I should accept my body's size and shape and concentrate on being healthy and not get so critical. I know these things. But it doesn't matter sometimes what I know.
It's a weird line between getting motivated to change and being self-critical. I'm not in the shape I would like to be in, and it's hard not to feel like a failure about that. But if I'm too forgiving of myself in that regard then I'm less likely to do something different. There must be a happy midpoint in there, but instead I tend to ping pong over that net between the two extremes. I wish I didn't, because as I mentioned, it seems like a colossal waste of time.
I have been back on my 'paleo' (no grains, dairy, sugar, legumes, or processed foods) kick since the first of May. It does solve my problem with headaches so it's not a completely ridiculous thing to do, but it's not easy. My husband needed to lose weight for the Army so he did this plan with me this time, and annoyingly lost about as much weight in six weeks as I did in as many months. (Ugh, men. A friend told me her dad dropped twenty pounds and when she asked him about it he said, "I just had one scoop of ice cream at night instead of two!" Yeah.)
I am proud of myself for staying with the stupid food rules even while on our recent road trip. Those are hard restrictions to follow outside of my own house. I eat really well most days and enjoy some really nice food, but it's labor intensive making every meal. I make a good carrot soup, and zucchini strangely enough is a good substitute for noodles, and throw some pine nuts in with my curry stir fry and I'm happy. I start planning my meals around vegetables, and there is something really satisfying as I watch our groceries at the checkout because it's all produce and whole ingredients and just an occasional box of cereal for the kids, but otherwise it's eggs and apples and kale, etc.
But eating out is hard, and eating with other people is awkward. I end up eating my hamburger without a bun, and I can't have the chips or the dip or an ice cream cone. It looks silly and arbitrary (which it is, being self-imposed and not some medical need), and I fear unnecessarily draws other people's attention to what they are eating when they shouldn't have to. In my opinion it's rude to turn down food offered to you at someone's home, but on my trip I felt like I needed to do it and tried to not make it seem annoying or overly weird. I know people understand, but sticking to my salad while everyone else indulged in some outrageously good looking pizza was really tough. But I did it. I decided I've had pizza in my lifetime. I've had too much pizza. The couple of minutes of enjoying more pizza at this time does not outweigh my desire to fit into smaller clothes. Someday I will eat pizza again. Just not right now. So for the first time ever I came back from a vacation a little lighter than when I left. That's good.
But what's not good is the more weight I lose the more critical I seem to feel about my body. I can actually tell when my weight goes up a bit because I'm oddly more confident about my appearance. Why is that? What screwed up relationship do I have between my brain and my belly that I can't see or feel things clearly in this area? I just don't know.
As regularly as I can I swim at the Y in the mornings. Most often I do laps at the same time as the aqua-aerobics class which is populated with old ladies. (I suppose I should say Seniors, but my grandma used the term old lady and I just like it. I find it endearing and hope to live long enough to become an old lady.) I sort through an interesting collection of thoughts and emotions when I'm in the changing room with the aqua-aerobics class.
There is nothing that will make you feel better in a swimsuit than to be at the Y during aqua-aerobics. I see bodies that are large, lumpy, saggy, discolored, and all kinds of odd. My overweight, 43-year-old self seems quite young and fit in that environment.
Then I end up next to a lifeguard who appears to be about twelve with perfect skin and has thighs that don't rub together and I blend in better with the old ladies, lumps and all. I go from feeling sort of aghast that the people with such heavy or peculiar bodies are willing to be seen in bathing suits, to being impressed by how little it matters. It will seem crazy to me that they to want to be in public in such outfits, and then it seems just as crazy for them not to be out there baring themselves if they wish. They are not there for a beauty contest, they are there to get healthy and strong, and I admire that. In the end it's neither heroic nor an affront to fashion, all these different shapes in their different suits. It's just people living their lives.
The thing is, I intellectually understand where I want to be in terms of my own attitude and level of comfort with myself, and I can't figure out why I put as much importance on my body image as I do. Because I know, for a fact, that my love for other people is not dependent on their body shapes. I don't give a damn what size my mom or friends or brothers or cousins wear. I care in the sense that I'm interested in what matters to them, and if that's something that concerns them then I am concerned too. But I would love them at any weight or in any condition. I would not love someone less if their bodies were fat, thin, sick, healthy, or covered with tattoos. I'm quite sure none of the people in my life who love me do so based on my size. As long as my husband and kids want to be with me, I bet they feel whatever size I am is the right one. Which happens to be how I feel about them as well.
I suppose the trick is to be able to extend that kind of love to myself. I find it a little alarming that apparently I don't. In the meantime I will continue to pay attention to what I eat and keep exercising as part of a regular routine, because regardless of how I see myself (or don't see myself) I know what the right things I must do are to stay healthy. If I can't do that at the moment for love of myself, I will do it for those who love me back.
It's unwarranted, my disappointment with it, because it serves me so well. It works! No, I haven't put keeping it in its optimum condition a priority, but I can walk and move and see and feel and breathe.... From a vanity standpoint I don't think I'm conventionally cute, but I like my face and wouldn't change it. I should accept my body's size and shape and concentrate on being healthy and not get so critical. I know these things. But it doesn't matter sometimes what I know.
It's a weird line between getting motivated to change and being self-critical. I'm not in the shape I would like to be in, and it's hard not to feel like a failure about that. But if I'm too forgiving of myself in that regard then I'm less likely to do something different. There must be a happy midpoint in there, but instead I tend to ping pong over that net between the two extremes. I wish I didn't, because as I mentioned, it seems like a colossal waste of time.
I have been back on my 'paleo' (no grains, dairy, sugar, legumes, or processed foods) kick since the first of May. It does solve my problem with headaches so it's not a completely ridiculous thing to do, but it's not easy. My husband needed to lose weight for the Army so he did this plan with me this time, and annoyingly lost about as much weight in six weeks as I did in as many months. (Ugh, men. A friend told me her dad dropped twenty pounds and when she asked him about it he said, "I just had one scoop of ice cream at night instead of two!" Yeah.)
I am proud of myself for staying with the stupid food rules even while on our recent road trip. Those are hard restrictions to follow outside of my own house. I eat really well most days and enjoy some really nice food, but it's labor intensive making every meal. I make a good carrot soup, and zucchini strangely enough is a good substitute for noodles, and throw some pine nuts in with my curry stir fry and I'm happy. I start planning my meals around vegetables, and there is something really satisfying as I watch our groceries at the checkout because it's all produce and whole ingredients and just an occasional box of cereal for the kids, but otherwise it's eggs and apples and kale, etc.
But eating out is hard, and eating with other people is awkward. I end up eating my hamburger without a bun, and I can't have the chips or the dip or an ice cream cone. It looks silly and arbitrary (which it is, being self-imposed and not some medical need), and I fear unnecessarily draws other people's attention to what they are eating when they shouldn't have to. In my opinion it's rude to turn down food offered to you at someone's home, but on my trip I felt like I needed to do it and tried to not make it seem annoying or overly weird. I know people understand, but sticking to my salad while everyone else indulged in some outrageously good looking pizza was really tough. But I did it. I decided I've had pizza in my lifetime. I've had too much pizza. The couple of minutes of enjoying more pizza at this time does not outweigh my desire to fit into smaller clothes. Someday I will eat pizza again. Just not right now. So for the first time ever I came back from a vacation a little lighter than when I left. That's good.
But what's not good is the more weight I lose the more critical I seem to feel about my body. I can actually tell when my weight goes up a bit because I'm oddly more confident about my appearance. Why is that? What screwed up relationship do I have between my brain and my belly that I can't see or feel things clearly in this area? I just don't know.
As regularly as I can I swim at the Y in the mornings. Most often I do laps at the same time as the aqua-aerobics class which is populated with old ladies. (I suppose I should say Seniors, but my grandma used the term old lady and I just like it. I find it endearing and hope to live long enough to become an old lady.) I sort through an interesting collection of thoughts and emotions when I'm in the changing room with the aqua-aerobics class.
There is nothing that will make you feel better in a swimsuit than to be at the Y during aqua-aerobics. I see bodies that are large, lumpy, saggy, discolored, and all kinds of odd. My overweight, 43-year-old self seems quite young and fit in that environment.
Then I end up next to a lifeguard who appears to be about twelve with perfect skin and has thighs that don't rub together and I blend in better with the old ladies, lumps and all. I go from feeling sort of aghast that the people with such heavy or peculiar bodies are willing to be seen in bathing suits, to being impressed by how little it matters. It will seem crazy to me that they to want to be in public in such outfits, and then it seems just as crazy for them not to be out there baring themselves if they wish. They are not there for a beauty contest, they are there to get healthy and strong, and I admire that. In the end it's neither heroic nor an affront to fashion, all these different shapes in their different suits. It's just people living their lives.
The thing is, I intellectually understand where I want to be in terms of my own attitude and level of comfort with myself, and I can't figure out why I put as much importance on my body image as I do. Because I know, for a fact, that my love for other people is not dependent on their body shapes. I don't give a damn what size my mom or friends or brothers or cousins wear. I care in the sense that I'm interested in what matters to them, and if that's something that concerns them then I am concerned too. But I would love them at any weight or in any condition. I would not love someone less if their bodies were fat, thin, sick, healthy, or covered with tattoos. I'm quite sure none of the people in my life who love me do so based on my size. As long as my husband and kids want to be with me, I bet they feel whatever size I am is the right one. Which happens to be how I feel about them as well.
I suppose the trick is to be able to extend that kind of love to myself. I find it a little alarming that apparently I don't. In the meantime I will continue to pay attention to what I eat and keep exercising as part of a regular routine, because regardless of how I see myself (or don't see myself) I know what the right things I must do are to stay healthy. If I can't do that at the moment for love of myself, I will do it for those who love me back.
Thursday, January 19, 2012
Temporarily Not A Liar (Babble)
This morning I hit an arbitrary milestone. After months of making a conscious effort to watch what I eat and trying to exercise regularly
I’ve made some progress. And today? Today I stepped on the scale and
discovered I now weigh what it says I do on my driver’s license. This
is both exciting and pathetic.
I’m proud of myself that I’m more than 20 pounds lighter than I was back in the spring. I still have another 20 to go to get where I really should be. The next 20 will be harder than the first were, but I think I can do it. My goal was to see if I could reach a healthy weight that I can try to maintain by my birthday in March, and my gift to myself would be a new driver’s license with my actual weight on it, but I don’t think I’m going to get there by then. Maybe summer? Although my motivation is wearing thin so hard to say how fast progress will be from here.
But here’s a question to anyone else out there who struggles with his or her weight too: Do you see and feel the changes in your body when you lose weight? Because I sort of don’t, and I wonder about that. I know I am lighter. I started out at some size randomly bigger than an 18. (Target doesn’t really sell women’s jeans above an 18 so I had something from the men’s section for a while that fit but I don’t know what it was.) Then whenever I reach a point where I can remove my jeans without having to unbutton or unzip them I buy the next smaller size. I am currently down to a 14 which is starting to feel loose, and I have a pair of 12’s in the wings that I can get on but still look too tight to venture out in public in yet. The last time I worked really hard to lose weight after Mona was born I made it all the way down to an 8, and then I got pregnant with Quinn and Ian got deployed and cookies became my friend and that’s how I ended up in the men’s jeans.
So I’ve come a ways in the right direction and I see the progress through my clothes. I also see the startled reaction on the faces of people whom I haven’t seen in months and know they see a difference in my appearance. But I can’t see it in myself. Is that normal?
Part of me thinks that when I am heavier I am good at 1.) just not looking at myself in the mirror much, and 2.) adopting an attitude of inner beauty being important. If I’m not actively watching my weight, then I’m actively ignoring my weight. If I am trying to lose weight, then I have to pay attention, and I get frustrated by what I see. If I’m actively looking to change a flaw then I am hyper aware of that flaw, otherwise how could I address it? Therefore my own body image is oddly better when I’m heavy, I guess just through the magic of denial. But it seems unfair to go through all this effort and not get to at least feel more genuinely pleased about it.
I mean, I am pleased, because I want to be healthy and I want to set a good example for my kids. Aden worries about my denying myself sugar, but we had a talk about how I don’t need it and different bodies need different things. Her body is growing so she can have the spaghetti with the meatballs and I’ll just have the meatballs and the salad and that’s what’s better for me right now. I want my kids to see that exercise is something you build into your day based on what I do, not because of some lecture. That there are lots of choices to make about food but they don’t have to be hard, just sensible. I think I’m accomplishing those goals, so the effort is worth it. But when you are overweight and dream of being smaller, it’s weird when being smaller in and of itself doesn’t bring the joy you expect it to. Or maybe it does and I’m weird? I’m probably weird.
In any case, yea! Officially smaller, whether I see it myself or not. I hate this struggle and the amount of mental energy it sucks up, but it’s important. This is the only body I’ve got and I’d like to keep it in good enough shape to keep building violins for a long time, and to be around to enjoy my family and so many other things life has to offer.
I’m looking forward to the weight on my driver’s license being wrong the other direction for a while.
(Quinn at the center of the labyrinth at school. That’s the kind of triumph I want to feel! Maybe I need to walk that labyrinth….)
I’m proud of myself that I’m more than 20 pounds lighter than I was back in the spring. I still have another 20 to go to get where I really should be. The next 20 will be harder than the first were, but I think I can do it. My goal was to see if I could reach a healthy weight that I can try to maintain by my birthday in March, and my gift to myself would be a new driver’s license with my actual weight on it, but I don’t think I’m going to get there by then. Maybe summer? Although my motivation is wearing thin so hard to say how fast progress will be from here.
But here’s a question to anyone else out there who struggles with his or her weight too: Do you see and feel the changes in your body when you lose weight? Because I sort of don’t, and I wonder about that. I know I am lighter. I started out at some size randomly bigger than an 18. (Target doesn’t really sell women’s jeans above an 18 so I had something from the men’s section for a while that fit but I don’t know what it was.) Then whenever I reach a point where I can remove my jeans without having to unbutton or unzip them I buy the next smaller size. I am currently down to a 14 which is starting to feel loose, and I have a pair of 12’s in the wings that I can get on but still look too tight to venture out in public in yet. The last time I worked really hard to lose weight after Mona was born I made it all the way down to an 8, and then I got pregnant with Quinn and Ian got deployed and cookies became my friend and that’s how I ended up in the men’s jeans.
So I’ve come a ways in the right direction and I see the progress through my clothes. I also see the startled reaction on the faces of people whom I haven’t seen in months and know they see a difference in my appearance. But I can’t see it in myself. Is that normal?
Part of me thinks that when I am heavier I am good at 1.) just not looking at myself in the mirror much, and 2.) adopting an attitude of inner beauty being important. If I’m not actively watching my weight, then I’m actively ignoring my weight. If I am trying to lose weight, then I have to pay attention, and I get frustrated by what I see. If I’m actively looking to change a flaw then I am hyper aware of that flaw, otherwise how could I address it? Therefore my own body image is oddly better when I’m heavy, I guess just through the magic of denial. But it seems unfair to go through all this effort and not get to at least feel more genuinely pleased about it.
I mean, I am pleased, because I want to be healthy and I want to set a good example for my kids. Aden worries about my denying myself sugar, but we had a talk about how I don’t need it and different bodies need different things. Her body is growing so she can have the spaghetti with the meatballs and I’ll just have the meatballs and the salad and that’s what’s better for me right now. I want my kids to see that exercise is something you build into your day based on what I do, not because of some lecture. That there are lots of choices to make about food but they don’t have to be hard, just sensible. I think I’m accomplishing those goals, so the effort is worth it. But when you are overweight and dream of being smaller, it’s weird when being smaller in and of itself doesn’t bring the joy you expect it to. Or maybe it does and I’m weird? I’m probably weird.
In any case, yea! Officially smaller, whether I see it myself or not. I hate this struggle and the amount of mental energy it sucks up, but it’s important. This is the only body I’ve got and I’d like to keep it in good enough shape to keep building violins for a long time, and to be around to enjoy my family and so many other things life has to offer.
I’m looking forward to the weight on my driver’s license being wrong the other direction for a while.
(Quinn at the center of the labyrinth at school. That’s the kind of triumph I want to feel! Maybe I need to walk that labyrinth….)
Sunday, September 11, 2011
30 Days (Babble)
I’ve been doing a food experiment for the past 30 days.
I’ve wanted to get a better handle on how I approach food and I’ve found that trying to do something sensible like eating in moderation doesn’t work for me. I find it hard to make good decisions about food when my schedule is full and I’m rushing between work and kids and rehearsals. In order to pay attention to what I was eating I needed to shake things up and try something extreme. I did a little hunting around online and came across something called ‘Whole30.’
This is not an endorsement of that specific program or whatever it sells because I didn’t go into it that deeply. It denies it’s part of the ‘paleo’ movement, but as far as I can tell that’s what it is. There is apparently a school of thought that from an evolutionary standpoint our bodies aren’t really designed to process things that have only been added to the human diet in the past few thousand years. So Whole30 suggests you cut out dairy, grains, all sweeteners, legumes, and any kind of processed foods.
I was intrigued. I wanted to see if I could do it. But the part that inspired me was something in the pitch that said no one can make you eat something you don’t want to. It shouldn’t matter if you are at a party or your aunt’s house or in any of the myriad of situations where you think you have to eat things you probably shouldn’t. No one can force you to have the cake, or the pizza. That’s always been a problem of mine, that situational eating. If it’s a special occasion, or even just a typical social occasion, it’s easy to rationalize and hard to say no.
The other thing was that it suggested getting those elements out of your system could change how you crave things and how you view food. That would be nice. Refusing cake would be simpler if I actually didn’t want the cake.
But could I really do it?
Not without help I couldn’t. I asked Ian if he would take over all the meals for the kids for one month. He does most of the cooking anyway, but if I didn’t have to be in the kitchen at all and handling foods that might tempt me, it would make my experiment easier. Ian said he was happy to help.
The first couple of days was hard. I missed bread. I missed cheese. Ian made waffles for the kids and I had to stay upstairs until the leftovers were wrapped up and put in the fridge before I dared come down. I love cereal, and chocolate, and rice, and thought about them a lot.
For about a week it was all just a matter of will. I know if I were diabetic, or had allergies, or the doctor told me a bite of cheese would kill me, then I could cut the things out of my diet that I needed to and not think too hard about it. I’d simply do it. I’m not sure why with a more nebulous problem like being overweight it’s harder for me to make the right choices, but it always has been. It’s easy to feel like a failure when something as basic and important as maintaining a healthy body seems out of your control. I’m tired of feeling like a failure.
So I got through the whole 30 days without cheating. Without licking marshmallow goo off my fingers when I made rice crispie treats for a party, or taking a bite of the kids’ leftover grilled cheese. I survived the State Fair where I watched the kids eat funnel cake, baked banana bread to give away without sampling it, enjoyed a neighborhood cookout where no one cared if I had any chips or not, and even found something to eat in the hospital cafeteria (which wasn’t easy).
The one place I was most worried about was my parents’ house because my mom is an excellent cook and food is one of the ways she likes to express her love, and I didn’t want her to think I was being silly or picky. But I shouldn’t have worried. My mom is great and she was curious about my experiment and let me do the cooking and ate with me. She was impressed with my stir fry of chopped Brussels sprouts, mushrooms, onions, asparagus, and steak with a salad on the side. My mom even suggested my experiment was making me a better cook because limitations force you to be more creative.
People’s food quirks can start to look like a religion in some cases. I’ve listened to people preach Atkins and testify about veganism and I’m just not interested. There is no one-size-fits-all diet because people are too different. I would personally like to not have to think about food very hard. I love to eat, I enjoy cooking, but I don’t want to elevate the role of food in my life to a degree that gives it more prominence than it deserves. It has a place and it can be wonderful, but talking about Weight Watcher’s Points even when I was doing it was boring. I didn’t mention my food experiment to more than a few people, and then it was more out of necessity because it looks suspicious to serve food to guests and then make yourself something else.
I did discuss it in a vague way with Aden, mostly because she made a weird batch of cookies she invented using bananas and chocolate chips and I was relieved to have an excuse to turn them down. She was concerned I was denying myself things, because I had started eating dinner at the table with them again, but having just the salad and the vegetables and the fruit. I told her I liked my salad. I didn’t want the spaghetti. I don’t force my children to eat things they don’t want, and I said it worked both ways. Just because they were having French toast didn’t mean I couldn’t make myself an egg. I wanted their company at the table, not everything that was on their plates. I want to be an example to my kids about good choices. I waited to join them at dinner until I was past being mopey about what I couldn’t have, and honestly happy about what I was having. I hope my girls in particular are able to see this as something positive I’m doing, and not draw their attention to body image issues in an unhealthy way. I tell them I’m trying to eat food that is delicious and good for me and avoid things I know my body doesn’t need right now. If that also brings me down to a weight that is healthier, that’s a bonus, not a goal. I figure the better I get this under control today, the better I will be able to guide my kids by example. That should be enough incentive to keep it up right there.
So what were the results? Weight-wise I did lose somewhere between five and ten pounds (depending on what time of day I get on the scale and if I have shoes on, etc.), so that’s nice. But the really nice thing is I feel like I have the power to say no to food when I want to. I really can. And it helps that I’m not as hungry as before. I used to be hungry all the time, and now I’m not.
There are other results I’m still analyzing. For instance, cutting out sugar and other sweeteners for a month has changed the flavor of things. I’m far more sensitive to sweet things than I used to be. A grape can now seem almost painfully sweet. I can taste sweetness in things I didn’t used to perceive as sweet, such as walnuts and coconut. Mona offered me a cookie at one point, and I turned it down, and I realized I genuinely didn’t want it. I could imagine it in my mouth and the sensation in my mind was that sort of super-sugary-makes-your-teeth-cringe-it’s-so-sweet-it-hurts kind of feeling, and it was easy to say no. I’m sure I will eat cookies again one day, but not soon. I’ve probably had my lifetime quota of cookies anyway, so I’m not in a hurry to re-acclimate to them.
Another thing is my headaches appear to be gone. I was having problems with something somewhere between mild migraines and severe headaches a few times a week. I talked to the doctor about it, and did seem to notice a pattern related to my cycles, but my period also affected what I ate. I wanted chocolate when I was crampy and I felt entitled to it because I was in pain. After the first week, though, no headaches, no matter where I am in my cycle. No headaches despite stress, lack of sleep, and other things that I thought were related and may not have been. It could have been sugar. (Or dairy, or grains….) Not sure. I’m just glad not to be popping ibuprofen like they were tic-tacs anymore.
I still miss cheese. I still miss bread. But my plan is to integrate those back into my diet a bit. A burger with a bun is just better, and BLT night with the kids looks stupid when I’m eating it all deconstructed on my plate. I’m going to stick with the vegetables and some meat as my main staples for a while, but I don’t want to eat that way forever. I am going to make a conscious effort to avoid sugar, though. Not completely, but I don’t think I want to be eating it daily anymore, and when you start reading labels you realize sugar of some type is in nearly everything. So that will be a challenge, but I’d rather have a headache-free life than a cupcake.
My general food goal is to find balance. I want to be able to go to someone’s home and simply eat what I’m served. I think it’s rude to hold an arbitrary food standard higher than a person’s hospitality. In those cases I will just pay attention to portion size. Because I want to enjoy food. I don’t want it to seem like the enemy or medicine. I want to be in control of what I eat. My 30 day food experiment gives me hope that maybe I can find that, and with luck next year at this time I will be a healthier version of myself. It’s worth a try.
I’ve wanted to get a better handle on how I approach food and I’ve found that trying to do something sensible like eating in moderation doesn’t work for me. I find it hard to make good decisions about food when my schedule is full and I’m rushing between work and kids and rehearsals. In order to pay attention to what I was eating I needed to shake things up and try something extreme. I did a little hunting around online and came across something called ‘Whole30.’
This is not an endorsement of that specific program or whatever it sells because I didn’t go into it that deeply. It denies it’s part of the ‘paleo’ movement, but as far as I can tell that’s what it is. There is apparently a school of thought that from an evolutionary standpoint our bodies aren’t really designed to process things that have only been added to the human diet in the past few thousand years. So Whole30 suggests you cut out dairy, grains, all sweeteners, legumes, and any kind of processed foods.
I was intrigued. I wanted to see if I could do it. But the part that inspired me was something in the pitch that said no one can make you eat something you don’t want to. It shouldn’t matter if you are at a party or your aunt’s house or in any of the myriad of situations where you think you have to eat things you probably shouldn’t. No one can force you to have the cake, or the pizza. That’s always been a problem of mine, that situational eating. If it’s a special occasion, or even just a typical social occasion, it’s easy to rationalize and hard to say no.
The other thing was that it suggested getting those elements out of your system could change how you crave things and how you view food. That would be nice. Refusing cake would be simpler if I actually didn’t want the cake.
But could I really do it?
Not without help I couldn’t. I asked Ian if he would take over all the meals for the kids for one month. He does most of the cooking anyway, but if I didn’t have to be in the kitchen at all and handling foods that might tempt me, it would make my experiment easier. Ian said he was happy to help.
The first couple of days was hard. I missed bread. I missed cheese. Ian made waffles for the kids and I had to stay upstairs until the leftovers were wrapped up and put in the fridge before I dared come down. I love cereal, and chocolate, and rice, and thought about them a lot.
For about a week it was all just a matter of will. I know if I were diabetic, or had allergies, or the doctor told me a bite of cheese would kill me, then I could cut the things out of my diet that I needed to and not think too hard about it. I’d simply do it. I’m not sure why with a more nebulous problem like being overweight it’s harder for me to make the right choices, but it always has been. It’s easy to feel like a failure when something as basic and important as maintaining a healthy body seems out of your control. I’m tired of feeling like a failure.
So I got through the whole 30 days without cheating. Without licking marshmallow goo off my fingers when I made rice crispie treats for a party, or taking a bite of the kids’ leftover grilled cheese. I survived the State Fair where I watched the kids eat funnel cake, baked banana bread to give away without sampling it, enjoyed a neighborhood cookout where no one cared if I had any chips or not, and even found something to eat in the hospital cafeteria (which wasn’t easy).
The one place I was most worried about was my parents’ house because my mom is an excellent cook and food is one of the ways she likes to express her love, and I didn’t want her to think I was being silly or picky. But I shouldn’t have worried. My mom is great and she was curious about my experiment and let me do the cooking and ate with me. She was impressed with my stir fry of chopped Brussels sprouts, mushrooms, onions, asparagus, and steak with a salad on the side. My mom even suggested my experiment was making me a better cook because limitations force you to be more creative.
People’s food quirks can start to look like a religion in some cases. I’ve listened to people preach Atkins and testify about veganism and I’m just not interested. There is no one-size-fits-all diet because people are too different. I would personally like to not have to think about food very hard. I love to eat, I enjoy cooking, but I don’t want to elevate the role of food in my life to a degree that gives it more prominence than it deserves. It has a place and it can be wonderful, but talking about Weight Watcher’s Points even when I was doing it was boring. I didn’t mention my food experiment to more than a few people, and then it was more out of necessity because it looks suspicious to serve food to guests and then make yourself something else.
I did discuss it in a vague way with Aden, mostly because she made a weird batch of cookies she invented using bananas and chocolate chips and I was relieved to have an excuse to turn them down. She was concerned I was denying myself things, because I had started eating dinner at the table with them again, but having just the salad and the vegetables and the fruit. I told her I liked my salad. I didn’t want the spaghetti. I don’t force my children to eat things they don’t want, and I said it worked both ways. Just because they were having French toast didn’t mean I couldn’t make myself an egg. I wanted their company at the table, not everything that was on their plates. I want to be an example to my kids about good choices. I waited to join them at dinner until I was past being mopey about what I couldn’t have, and honestly happy about what I was having. I hope my girls in particular are able to see this as something positive I’m doing, and not draw their attention to body image issues in an unhealthy way. I tell them I’m trying to eat food that is delicious and good for me and avoid things I know my body doesn’t need right now. If that also brings me down to a weight that is healthier, that’s a bonus, not a goal. I figure the better I get this under control today, the better I will be able to guide my kids by example. That should be enough incentive to keep it up right there.
So what were the results? Weight-wise I did lose somewhere between five and ten pounds (depending on what time of day I get on the scale and if I have shoes on, etc.), so that’s nice. But the really nice thing is I feel like I have the power to say no to food when I want to. I really can. And it helps that I’m not as hungry as before. I used to be hungry all the time, and now I’m not.
There are other results I’m still analyzing. For instance, cutting out sugar and other sweeteners for a month has changed the flavor of things. I’m far more sensitive to sweet things than I used to be. A grape can now seem almost painfully sweet. I can taste sweetness in things I didn’t used to perceive as sweet, such as walnuts and coconut. Mona offered me a cookie at one point, and I turned it down, and I realized I genuinely didn’t want it. I could imagine it in my mouth and the sensation in my mind was that sort of super-sugary-makes-your-teeth-cringe-it’s-so-sweet-it-hurts kind of feeling, and it was easy to say no. I’m sure I will eat cookies again one day, but not soon. I’ve probably had my lifetime quota of cookies anyway, so I’m not in a hurry to re-acclimate to them.
Another thing is my headaches appear to be gone. I was having problems with something somewhere between mild migraines and severe headaches a few times a week. I talked to the doctor about it, and did seem to notice a pattern related to my cycles, but my period also affected what I ate. I wanted chocolate when I was crampy and I felt entitled to it because I was in pain. After the first week, though, no headaches, no matter where I am in my cycle. No headaches despite stress, lack of sleep, and other things that I thought were related and may not have been. It could have been sugar. (Or dairy, or grains….) Not sure. I’m just glad not to be popping ibuprofen like they were tic-tacs anymore.
I still miss cheese. I still miss bread. But my plan is to integrate those back into my diet a bit. A burger with a bun is just better, and BLT night with the kids looks stupid when I’m eating it all deconstructed on my plate. I’m going to stick with the vegetables and some meat as my main staples for a while, but I don’t want to eat that way forever. I am going to make a conscious effort to avoid sugar, though. Not completely, but I don’t think I want to be eating it daily anymore, and when you start reading labels you realize sugar of some type is in nearly everything. So that will be a challenge, but I’d rather have a headache-free life than a cupcake.
My general food goal is to find balance. I want to be able to go to someone’s home and simply eat what I’m served. I think it’s rude to hold an arbitrary food standard higher than a person’s hospitality. In those cases I will just pay attention to portion size. Because I want to enjoy food. I don’t want it to seem like the enemy or medicine. I want to be in control of what I eat. My 30 day food experiment gives me hope that maybe I can find that, and with luck next year at this time I will be a healthier version of myself. It’s worth a try.
Saturday, March 26, 2011
The Other F Word (Babble)
One of the bigger adjustments for Ian after returning from active
duty in Iraq was figuring out when to exercise. When he’s home he is
the in house parent, and cooking, grocery shopping, and shuttling kids
around is not conducive to staying fit. My weight gain
during his deployment when that was all my job is testament to that.
So both of us have been trying harder in the past few months to make
exercise and eating better a priority. In Ian’s case his weight and
fitness level are literally part of his job as an Army Reservist, so
when it’s not possible to make time for both of us to go to the Y his
needs take precedence.
We try to head straight for the Y right after dropping the kids off at school, and there is just enough time before picking up Quinn from half day kindergarten for me to swim a mile and for Ian to get in a run on the treadmill and use the weight machines. In theory we should be getting out to exercise nearly every day, but things come up. There are early morning meetings with teachers, or one of the kids is sick, or there are dentist appointments, the frequent trips to Michigan aren’t helping…. There are a million reasons why getting in that little block of exercise time doesn’t happen because there just aren’t always enough hours in a day, but we’ve at least been able to make sure Ian can do some kind of exercise every day. He’s looking good and feeling better and I’m proud of him. He’s doing better than I am.
Aside from the exercise part of the equation there is food. I have more trouble than I’d like with food. Part of my struggle with watching what I eat is that I believe in family dinners. They are short, but they are nice, and I like that time together when we can share a meal and talk. But some days I shouldn’t have all the same things the kids are having. They don’t really seem to care or notice if I have vegetables on my spaghetti instead of meatballs, but I want to make it seem that we’re all sort of having the same thing. I don’t want to draw attention to the fact that Ian and I are eating differently. Not that I want to be deceptive, but girls in particular can develop body image issues so early anymore that I just don’t want it on their radar screen if it can be avoided. What they are eating is healthy and fine–for them. They can have a bagel. Most of the time, I shouldn’t.
So the other night we were having hamburgers and green beans and fruit and Ian and I decided we should have Boca Burgers for ourselves instead because the caloric content is significantly less. I was kind of hoping the kids wouldn’t notice, but Aden asked why dad’s burger looked different. He innocently said what for him was the truth, “I’d rather have what you’re having, but I’m eating this because I’m fat.”
I don’t normally think of myself as the kind of person who shoots her spouse a LOOK, but my head snapped toward him so fast he looked uncomfortable, and then I turned toward the girls and said, “We need to eat different things from you sometimes because we want to be healthy. You are still growing, but daddy and I aren’t, so sometimes we make other choices that are better for us.” Which seemed to work fine, and then the conversation turned to important things like lemurs and gym class and rice scooping work.
It’s funny the things you assume another person knows just because you are around each other. Simply because I’ve obsessed about a particular topic doesn’t mean it’s something my husband thinks about at all. How would he have any idea what my concerns for my kids and their potential body image issues are if I don’t discuss them? He wouldn’t.
It reminds me of a Women’s Studies class I took in college where on the first day we were asked to fill out a questionnaire that included the question: “What do you think about when you walk alone at night?” The few men in the class were completely mystified. They looked puzzled, and said, “What does this question mean? You think about whatever you think about.” And every woman in the class got wide-eyed and said, “You get to think about whatever you want?” We went on to explain that walking alone at night as a woman meant constantly monitoring who else was in the vicinity, which places were open that might be safe to run to, and being prepared to gouge someone in the eyes with our keys if necessary. Letting your mind completely wander meant putting yourself in danger. The men were stunned. But how would they know?
So for Ian, the word ‘fat’ is just a word. He certainly cares about being in good shape and thinks about the work it takes to get there and stay that way, but the word ‘fat’ is not used as a weapon in his world. It’s just a blunt description. For girls and women, it’s something else. Something as tricky to grapple with as walking alone at night. ‘Fat’ isn’t merely descriptive among women, it’s pejorative. It’s painful. It’s wrapped up more deeply than it has any right to be in our self-worth.
I explained to him later that I am very careful not to use the word ‘fat’ in front of the kids. When I go exercise I tell them it’s because I want to be healthy and strong. Yes, it will be great if I can fit into a smaller size more appropriate for my height at some point, but I want my kids to know that I’m glad to have a body that works. It’s good body, and I like it, even if it’s flabby in places. I don’t want to convey that I think of my body as disgusting. I let my kids poke my belly if it makes them giggle and I try to laugh about it too. There are days I’m depressed about how I look and wish I could magically fix it, but I don’t want my kids to see that. They love me. If they see me being overly critical of my body they will very likely start looking at their own bodies in a harsher light. The longer they can be spared from that the better.
I wish I didn’t struggle with my own body image as much as I do. Most days I think I do pretty well, because I do appreciate my health and my overall endurance. I don’t want to look like someone else, I just want to be a better version of myself. But it’s hard not to feel like a failure when something that matters so much seems out of my own control. I’m trying, though. I’m swimming my mile about two to six times a week depending on how much disruption there is to my schedule. My hopes for blogging while using my treadmill have been thwarted in the past couple of months by a bad knee which hurts if I walk on it too long, but I plan to get back to that as soon as I heal.
The struggle is frustrating, and I’m annoyed by the fact that it exists at all. It should not be this hard and it should not mean the myriad of things it seems to mean. When I wonder what’s wrong with me that I can’t just maintain the weight I should be, I remember that if someone like Oprah Winfrey who can afford to pay someone to do nothing but swat cookies out of her hand all day has the same problem, it’s not a simple problem, and I try not to hate myself for it. But it’s hard.
I look at my kids and their perfect little bodies and want them to not have to go through any of the ridiculous body image struggle I argue with myself about every day of my life. And when I say their bodies are perfect, I don’t mean that they are flawless, I mean that they are unique and strong and functional and I love every dimple and toe and freckle and there is nothing lacking or in need of change. Right now they seem to like the bodies they are in and I’m glad, because they are beautiful inside and out. Why is it so hard to see myself that way?
We try to head straight for the Y right after dropping the kids off at school, and there is just enough time before picking up Quinn from half day kindergarten for me to swim a mile and for Ian to get in a run on the treadmill and use the weight machines. In theory we should be getting out to exercise nearly every day, but things come up. There are early morning meetings with teachers, or one of the kids is sick, or there are dentist appointments, the frequent trips to Michigan aren’t helping…. There are a million reasons why getting in that little block of exercise time doesn’t happen because there just aren’t always enough hours in a day, but we’ve at least been able to make sure Ian can do some kind of exercise every day. He’s looking good and feeling better and I’m proud of him. He’s doing better than I am.
Aside from the exercise part of the equation there is food. I have more trouble than I’d like with food. Part of my struggle with watching what I eat is that I believe in family dinners. They are short, but they are nice, and I like that time together when we can share a meal and talk. But some days I shouldn’t have all the same things the kids are having. They don’t really seem to care or notice if I have vegetables on my spaghetti instead of meatballs, but I want to make it seem that we’re all sort of having the same thing. I don’t want to draw attention to the fact that Ian and I are eating differently. Not that I want to be deceptive, but girls in particular can develop body image issues so early anymore that I just don’t want it on their radar screen if it can be avoided. What they are eating is healthy and fine–for them. They can have a bagel. Most of the time, I shouldn’t.
So the other night we were having hamburgers and green beans and fruit and Ian and I decided we should have Boca Burgers for ourselves instead because the caloric content is significantly less. I was kind of hoping the kids wouldn’t notice, but Aden asked why dad’s burger looked different. He innocently said what for him was the truth, “I’d rather have what you’re having, but I’m eating this because I’m fat.”
I don’t normally think of myself as the kind of person who shoots her spouse a LOOK, but my head snapped toward him so fast he looked uncomfortable, and then I turned toward the girls and said, “We need to eat different things from you sometimes because we want to be healthy. You are still growing, but daddy and I aren’t, so sometimes we make other choices that are better for us.” Which seemed to work fine, and then the conversation turned to important things like lemurs and gym class and rice scooping work.
It’s funny the things you assume another person knows just because you are around each other. Simply because I’ve obsessed about a particular topic doesn’t mean it’s something my husband thinks about at all. How would he have any idea what my concerns for my kids and their potential body image issues are if I don’t discuss them? He wouldn’t.
It reminds me of a Women’s Studies class I took in college where on the first day we were asked to fill out a questionnaire that included the question: “What do you think about when you walk alone at night?” The few men in the class were completely mystified. They looked puzzled, and said, “What does this question mean? You think about whatever you think about.” And every woman in the class got wide-eyed and said, “You get to think about whatever you want?” We went on to explain that walking alone at night as a woman meant constantly monitoring who else was in the vicinity, which places were open that might be safe to run to, and being prepared to gouge someone in the eyes with our keys if necessary. Letting your mind completely wander meant putting yourself in danger. The men were stunned. But how would they know?
So for Ian, the word ‘fat’ is just a word. He certainly cares about being in good shape and thinks about the work it takes to get there and stay that way, but the word ‘fat’ is not used as a weapon in his world. It’s just a blunt description. For girls and women, it’s something else. Something as tricky to grapple with as walking alone at night. ‘Fat’ isn’t merely descriptive among women, it’s pejorative. It’s painful. It’s wrapped up more deeply than it has any right to be in our self-worth.
I explained to him later that I am very careful not to use the word ‘fat’ in front of the kids. When I go exercise I tell them it’s because I want to be healthy and strong. Yes, it will be great if I can fit into a smaller size more appropriate for my height at some point, but I want my kids to know that I’m glad to have a body that works. It’s good body, and I like it, even if it’s flabby in places. I don’t want to convey that I think of my body as disgusting. I let my kids poke my belly if it makes them giggle and I try to laugh about it too. There are days I’m depressed about how I look and wish I could magically fix it, but I don’t want my kids to see that. They love me. If they see me being overly critical of my body they will very likely start looking at their own bodies in a harsher light. The longer they can be spared from that the better.
I wish I didn’t struggle with my own body image as much as I do. Most days I think I do pretty well, because I do appreciate my health and my overall endurance. I don’t want to look like someone else, I just want to be a better version of myself. But it’s hard not to feel like a failure when something that matters so much seems out of my own control. I’m trying, though. I’m swimming my mile about two to six times a week depending on how much disruption there is to my schedule. My hopes for blogging while using my treadmill have been thwarted in the past couple of months by a bad knee which hurts if I walk on it too long, but I plan to get back to that as soon as I heal.
The struggle is frustrating, and I’m annoyed by the fact that it exists at all. It should not be this hard and it should not mean the myriad of things it seems to mean. When I wonder what’s wrong with me that I can’t just maintain the weight I should be, I remember that if someone like Oprah Winfrey who can afford to pay someone to do nothing but swat cookies out of her hand all day has the same problem, it’s not a simple problem, and I try not to hate myself for it. But it’s hard.
I look at my kids and their perfect little bodies and want them to not have to go through any of the ridiculous body image struggle I argue with myself about every day of my life. And when I say their bodies are perfect, I don’t mean that they are flawless, I mean that they are unique and strong and functional and I love every dimple and toe and freckle and there is nothing lacking or in need of change. Right now they seem to like the bodies they are in and I’m glad, because they are beautiful inside and out. Why is it so hard to see myself that way?
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Weighting It Out (Babble)
I actually struggle about struggling with my weight. I need to lose
weight, but I don’t want my kids to really notice it. I do and I
don’t. I am careful not to criticize myself in front of them by using
words like ‘fat.’ We talk about exercising in terms of needing to be
healthy and strong, not in terms of weight. I want to be a good example
without somehow drawing attention the example I’m hoping to set. Body
image can be such a minefield, and I don’t want to contribute to
potential problems in that area for my kids.
I’ve never been particularly happy with my weight, but I have height on my side. According to various charts I’m technically obese, but I have lots of room to carry that weight on a five foot, ten inch frame, so I don’t look to most people like I’m that bad, but it’s not good. I gained a lot of weight after I had Aden because I was concentrating on the baby and I was home all the time. Aden was a very easy baby, and we did go for walks across the park when the weather was nice, but most of the time we were just in the house and there were long stretches of boredom.
After I organized everything I could think to organize I got into cooking. My mom’s recipes were all geared toward a family of five, so they work great for us now, but when it was just two of us and a breast feeding child, it was too much. I wasn’t looking at myself anymore because I was looking at the baby, plus breast feeding made me hungry. I’m sure it’s true for someone somewhere that breast feeding helps you lose the pregnancy weight, but it was the opposite for me. I was ravenous all the time when I was breast feeding. Under normal circumstances I’m in trouble because I don’t seem to have a working switch anywhere the tells me I’m full, but when I was hungry all the time it was hard not to keep eating.
When I took a good look at myself just after Aden turned one and breast feeding her was over, I was pretty horrified and got serious. I got into a routine of swimming and walking and kept track of what I ate. It was going pretty well, and apparently I was looking pretty good because I soon got pregnant with Mona. After having Mona I went right back into my exercise routine. Ian was home so I didn’t have to spend all my time in the kitchen. I could escape to the pool or Curves or anyplace that wasn’t the house. Even though I breast fed Mona for a year, I was careful about what I ate and lost over forty pounds. I was really happy about it, because I felt good and clothes fit nicely and I felt like I’d gotten control over something that had always bothered me.
Then came the double whammy of getting pregnant with Quinn and Ian getting deployed. I was really stuck at home in a way I’d never been before. I had two kids who needed to be fed regular meals, and between cooking and cleaning and dishes and even art projects, I felt like we never left the kitchen. The pregnancy put pressure on my sciatic nerve which made walking incredibly painful. After Quinn was born it was a little easier, but I was still trapped. Food was one of the few things that was fun and available and made me feel better. I liked baking with the girls and trying different recipes. It was cozy and simple and very fattening. I gained back all that weight that I’d worked so hard to lose. I was aware it was happening and just surrendered to it. There was so much stress in my life and I just couldn’t feel pressure about one more thing. I bought bigger pants and enjoyed the snickerdoodles.
Because for me to lose weight it has to be at the forefront of my mind all the time. It’s tedious and dull. There are so many more interesting things to think about, and I hate wasting my attention on it, but I’ve reached a sort of crisis point again where I have to do something. I write down everything I eat so I can keep track. I don’t deny myself anything in particular, I just make conscious choices about if the cookie is worth it at that moment (it usually isn’t). I’m making time for the treadmill at night after the girls are in bed. About ten pounds from now when I’m ready to put on my bathing suit again I’ll start taking Quinn with me to the Y in the mornings while the girls are in school. I’ve done this before so I know I can do it again, and this time I won’t get sidetracked by pregnancy, so that’s something.
The trickiest thing is eating with the kids. I still want to sit down to the table with them at meals, but their needs are different from mine. I had a revelation a few years ago about why it’s so easy for stay at home parents to gain weight. I think of it as the ‘juice box factor.’ I was reading an article in National Geographic about how much portion sizes have changed in the US, and they made the point that if you simply added one juice box a day to a normally healthy routine, by the end of the year you would have gained ten pounds.
The hardest part about feeding kids while trying to lose weight is embracing waste. The left over fish stick? The last bite of mac and cheese? There’s the juice box. It’s hard to throw those last bits of food out, but I do it. At dinner I do my best not to prepare more food than we need at a meal, but that is far from an exact science with three kids. I’ve taken to not really planning to feed myself at mealtimes. I help myself to whatever vegetables or fruit we’re having as we sit together and eat, but I only have whatever rice or fish or anything else from what they leave. If they eat it all, great. It’s easy enough for me to make myself something else afterward.
I know one of the up sides for Ian about being at Fort Polk is being out of the kitchen. He struggles with his weight when he’s the one home with the kids, too, and he has the added burden of the Army weighing him periodically. He’s in better shape now in Louisiana than he was before he left because he’s able to make reasonable food choices and he can go exercise without having to arrange for child care. I promised him when he comes home from Iraq we will hammer out a better routine for both of us this time. The problem is neither of us actually likes to exercise, so it’s easy to talk each other out of it. Maybe when all the kids are in school and we can do it together we can make it fun. (Or at least less boring.)
So I think I’m on the right track again. And with a little luck I won’t feel like writing another blog post about my weight, even thought it’s too much in my thoughts. I’m hoping by writing my good intentions in a public forum that it will help keep me honest about it, but even I’m bored by my own weight loss struggles. I can’t imagine it’s interesting for anyone else, so forgive me for putting it out there.
But as a parent, I do think about my kids and how their own feelings about their bodies will evolve. I marvel at my children’s perfect little legs and arms and tummies and wonder when they may develop dissatisfaction with them. I hope never, but that’s not realistic. Aden did have a boy tell her once in kindergarten that she was fat. When she told me about it, I asked what she did, and she replied, “I told him I was just right!” And she is. I was proud she knew it. Chances are there will come a day when such a ridiculous comment from a boy may not roll off her so easily. It makes me sad. I wish they could always see themselves the way I see them and know with certainty how amazing they are.
And as a result, I’m kinder to my own self image. I’m someone’s child, too, and it would pain my parents if I were not happy. It’s a disservice to them and myself not to appreciate the body I have. I’m not at the weight I want to be, but I can aim for something better without hating where I am. Wish me luck.
I’ve never been particularly happy with my weight, but I have height on my side. According to various charts I’m technically obese, but I have lots of room to carry that weight on a five foot, ten inch frame, so I don’t look to most people like I’m that bad, but it’s not good. I gained a lot of weight after I had Aden because I was concentrating on the baby and I was home all the time. Aden was a very easy baby, and we did go for walks across the park when the weather was nice, but most of the time we were just in the house and there were long stretches of boredom.
After I organized everything I could think to organize I got into cooking. My mom’s recipes were all geared toward a family of five, so they work great for us now, but when it was just two of us and a breast feeding child, it was too much. I wasn’t looking at myself anymore because I was looking at the baby, plus breast feeding made me hungry. I’m sure it’s true for someone somewhere that breast feeding helps you lose the pregnancy weight, but it was the opposite for me. I was ravenous all the time when I was breast feeding. Under normal circumstances I’m in trouble because I don’t seem to have a working switch anywhere the tells me I’m full, but when I was hungry all the time it was hard not to keep eating.
When I took a good look at myself just after Aden turned one and breast feeding her was over, I was pretty horrified and got serious. I got into a routine of swimming and walking and kept track of what I ate. It was going pretty well, and apparently I was looking pretty good because I soon got pregnant with Mona. After having Mona I went right back into my exercise routine. Ian was home so I didn’t have to spend all my time in the kitchen. I could escape to the pool or Curves or anyplace that wasn’t the house. Even though I breast fed Mona for a year, I was careful about what I ate and lost over forty pounds. I was really happy about it, because I felt good and clothes fit nicely and I felt like I’d gotten control over something that had always bothered me.
Then came the double whammy of getting pregnant with Quinn and Ian getting deployed. I was really stuck at home in a way I’d never been before. I had two kids who needed to be fed regular meals, and between cooking and cleaning and dishes and even art projects, I felt like we never left the kitchen. The pregnancy put pressure on my sciatic nerve which made walking incredibly painful. After Quinn was born it was a little easier, but I was still trapped. Food was one of the few things that was fun and available and made me feel better. I liked baking with the girls and trying different recipes. It was cozy and simple and very fattening. I gained back all that weight that I’d worked so hard to lose. I was aware it was happening and just surrendered to it. There was so much stress in my life and I just couldn’t feel pressure about one more thing. I bought bigger pants and enjoyed the snickerdoodles.
Because for me to lose weight it has to be at the forefront of my mind all the time. It’s tedious and dull. There are so many more interesting things to think about, and I hate wasting my attention on it, but I’ve reached a sort of crisis point again where I have to do something. I write down everything I eat so I can keep track. I don’t deny myself anything in particular, I just make conscious choices about if the cookie is worth it at that moment (it usually isn’t). I’m making time for the treadmill at night after the girls are in bed. About ten pounds from now when I’m ready to put on my bathing suit again I’ll start taking Quinn with me to the Y in the mornings while the girls are in school. I’ve done this before so I know I can do it again, and this time I won’t get sidetracked by pregnancy, so that’s something.
The trickiest thing is eating with the kids. I still want to sit down to the table with them at meals, but their needs are different from mine. I had a revelation a few years ago about why it’s so easy for stay at home parents to gain weight. I think of it as the ‘juice box factor.’ I was reading an article in National Geographic about how much portion sizes have changed in the US, and they made the point that if you simply added one juice box a day to a normally healthy routine, by the end of the year you would have gained ten pounds.
The hardest part about feeding kids while trying to lose weight is embracing waste. The left over fish stick? The last bite of mac and cheese? There’s the juice box. It’s hard to throw those last bits of food out, but I do it. At dinner I do my best not to prepare more food than we need at a meal, but that is far from an exact science with three kids. I’ve taken to not really planning to feed myself at mealtimes. I help myself to whatever vegetables or fruit we’re having as we sit together and eat, but I only have whatever rice or fish or anything else from what they leave. If they eat it all, great. It’s easy enough for me to make myself something else afterward.
I know one of the up sides for Ian about being at Fort Polk is being out of the kitchen. He struggles with his weight when he’s the one home with the kids, too, and he has the added burden of the Army weighing him periodically. He’s in better shape now in Louisiana than he was before he left because he’s able to make reasonable food choices and he can go exercise without having to arrange for child care. I promised him when he comes home from Iraq we will hammer out a better routine for both of us this time. The problem is neither of us actually likes to exercise, so it’s easy to talk each other out of it. Maybe when all the kids are in school and we can do it together we can make it fun. (Or at least less boring.)
So I think I’m on the right track again. And with a little luck I won’t feel like writing another blog post about my weight, even thought it’s too much in my thoughts. I’m hoping by writing my good intentions in a public forum that it will help keep me honest about it, but even I’m bored by my own weight loss struggles. I can’t imagine it’s interesting for anyone else, so forgive me for putting it out there.
But as a parent, I do think about my kids and how their own feelings about their bodies will evolve. I marvel at my children’s perfect little legs and arms and tummies and wonder when they may develop dissatisfaction with them. I hope never, but that’s not realistic. Aden did have a boy tell her once in kindergarten that she was fat. When she told me about it, I asked what she did, and she replied, “I told him I was just right!” And she is. I was proud she knew it. Chances are there will come a day when such a ridiculous comment from a boy may not roll off her so easily. It makes me sad. I wish they could always see themselves the way I see them and know with certainty how amazing they are.
And as a result, I’m kinder to my own self image. I’m someone’s child, too, and it would pain my parents if I were not happy. It’s a disservice to them and myself not to appreciate the body I have. I’m not at the weight I want to be, but I can aim for something better without hating where I am. Wish me luck.
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