You know I don’t give advice, but there’s this one area of life I have so mastered so fully (SARCASM MOTHERFUCKERS) I feel it would be a disservice to humanity to not share.
And that area is: LOSING WEIGHT.
Look, I don’t want to discuss feminism or women’s bodies or getting comfortable with my fatness or whatever the fuck else we all sit around discussing. I KNOW there are fat yogis balancing on their heads, powerful as hell. I KNOW there are women super okay with the rolls of their belly but I also know that those women are not me.
I am neither a fat yogi nor a woman comfortable with her belly.
I feel like shit. My back hurts. I look at myself naked and sorta want to puke. I KNOW I HAVE INTERNALIZED BODY SHAMING NARRATIVES OF SELF HATRED.
I’m not proud. I’m merely stating the facts: I am overfuckingweight and I don’t like it. I’m overweight because I eat too much and believe in the futility of eating one’s feelings yet do it anyway because THAT’S FUN.
Also, I don’t exercise enough.
I wasn’t always overweight. While they were trying to find what was wrong with me (during my active alcoholism), they gave me a bunch of psychiatric diagnoses and put me on 7 to 11 different psychotropic drugs at the same time. I gained 70 pounds in 3 months.
And I’ve never quite been able to regain control. But I can’t blame that completely. Sure, that’s how it started, but once it happened I began the spiral into Fuck It All I’m Already Fat and started eating with wild abandon.
I’m not particularly unhealthy. My blood pressure is low. My blood sugar normal.
But I feel like shit.
This is just me. This is not a statement on all fat women in the world, or America. Or even my town. Or even one single other person.
I’m sure if I were a better, more enlightened human, I would
A. get okay with my body as it is; or,
B. do something about it.
I’m working on B.
But I kinda suck at it.
Once, a few years ago, when I was about this weight, I got super pissed off and done with not changing and I lost 40 pounds over a year or so and felt amazing.
Then I got pregnant again and gained it all back that was nearly 2 years ago the end.
Nice story, right?
I hate that story. That story can lick donkey balls.
Sorry. I should be more feminine.
I should stop apologizing.
I AM A FAT APOLOGIZING WOMAN FULL OF ANTI-FEMINIST GUILT AND BAD LANGUAGE.
Okay here’s the deal: I’m trying to lose weight to feel stronger and more able-bodied and in less pain AND to feel more comfortable in my body and clothes.
Here’s how it’s going:
4am: Wake up but against my will. Nurse tiny creature next to me and beg him (in silence of course) to go back to fucking sleep
5am: Breathe a sigh of relief that tiny human fell back asleep, roll over to do the same
5:15am: Wonder why I’m not asleep yet
5:30am: Wonder why I’m not asleep yet
5:45am: Meditate with the vigor of a thousand warriors because JESUS FUCK I NEED SLEEP
6am: Fall asleep
6:30am: Hear alarm go off, want to die
6:36: Get out of bed after looking at phone for 6 minutes even though I know that’s a super bad way to start the day
6:40: Do 7-minute workout thing (dude it’s an app and it rocks and I’ve actually been doing it!)
7am: Eat a healthy breakfast because today is going to be a good clean eating day!
7-10am: Drink 47,000 gallons of coffee but without sugar
10:30am: Healthy snack
1pm: healthy lunch
3pm: Drive around 12 small nations to pick up kids
3:15pm: Realize I’m fucking starving
4pm: Realize I’m dizzy from healthy snack deficiency
4:30pm: Get home. Open fridge. Eat something healthy but wish there was something more filling and also healthy
5pm: Start making dinner
6:30pm: GIVE UP BECAUSE IF FOOD DOESN’T GET IN MY MOTHERFUCKING BELLY RIGHT NOW I MAY DIE OR KILL YOU AND I’M SO TIRED AND I CAN’T EAT A DAMN GRILLED CHICKEN BREAST AND SALAD AGAIN BECAUSE BORING AND FOOD IS COMFORT (NO IT ISN’T) BUT IT KIND OF SEEMS LIKE IT IS SO…
6:45pm: EAT IT ALL,REGRET IT
7pm: Realize I basically negated all my day’s efforts because it’s the night calories that REALLY matter and ohmygodJanelle you suck and you’ll always be fat and nobody likes you.
8pm: Get upset with myself for fat shaming body shaming self bashing and blatant lack of self love.
10pm: Resolve to do better tomorrow.
11pm: Go the fuck to sleep
Then, DUDE CHECK THIS SHIT OUT: I do slightly better tomorrow.
That is actually happening and it’s real. I’ve been making tiny changes and little nudges here and there and I’ve lost 10 pounds over the past 6 weeks. What?
Every day, I’m trying to be a little healthier than the last, and if I eat everything in a 5 mile radius during one meal, I try to get back on track for the next without mentally assaulting myself until I’m lying lifeless on a cold stone floor.
And I see now that a big part of this is realizing that I deserve health and attention and wellness and compassion (lord I sound like a fucking life coach), and tiny changes ultimately result in a new place entirely.
And that feels damn good.
So yeah, success. Or something. Fucking rock it.
Slightly more than yesterday.