So, I want to lose weight, as I mentioned in my last post. But it's not that simple (it never is), so I'm going to share a little of my background with you. It's not all pretty and this post has absolutely no funny dialog or pictures of Molly.
Longer than some of my longest relationships, longer than my relationship with Mike (nearly three-and-a-half years) or my relationship with Natalie (just about 14) I've had a relationship with my weight. Nothing—not success, love, education—has been more of a consistent contributing factor to my contentment in life than how much I have weighed at any given moment. I'm closer to normal—today—than I've ever been, but for years normal was a very foreign concept for me.
I was bulimic for about five years. Beginning the summer before my sophomore year in high school, lasting well into college. I'm comfortable talking about that time because it's not a life I still live, and that girl—I remember her well—desperately wanted to be liked and validated. The least I can do for her is not deny she existed. Even though I find myself much stronger and more secure now issues with my weight remain. Unfortunately, this makes me like millions of other women in the world—in our country especially.
Last summer I lost nearly 30 pounds in a way I'm proud of. I ate less. I lost weight. No crash diets, no wacky programs, no unhealthy habits resurfacing. But throughout the last year it's crept back on, pound by pound, slice of pizza by slice of pizza. I was not as thin as I would have liked to have been on my wedding day or on my honeymoon. And I do realize there's a good chance I've never been thin enough as my perception of myself, even today, has always been fairly critical and somewhat out-of-touch (again, making me like millions). My wedding day was the happiest day of my life, and the wedding pictures (all 8,000 of them) are quite amazing, but there are a few I cringe at.
Women are cruel to each other and even crueler to ourselves. We whisper about the pounds she's put on, while secretly remembering the cheesecake we inhaled by the kitchen sink at 2am, hating ourselves much more than we could ever hate her. But we tear her apart, don't we? So we can distract ourselves from self-loathing for at least a little while. I've learned how to be much kinder to myself over the past few years but I haven't learned how to maintain a healthy weight, a healthy body. I am struggling to figure out how to be my biggest fan without letting myself off the exercise hook time and time again. How do I occasionally eat fries while still recognizing myself in pictures? How do I cut back without falling into old ways?
It's tough to be honest about my thoughts on weight and dieting and health because those who know me tense up, I know, every time I bring up my past with bulimia in the same breath as I mention my current dissatisfaction with my weight. I joked, around the time of our wedding, I was going to starve myself in order to be a cute bride. I got a lot of nervous laughter from those who remember well. Even all this time later, those who stood witness to my time in hell can't bring themselves to laugh at jokes about eating disorders. Even if I can. I understand that. They worked just as hard at keeping me afloat as I worked at trying to drown. I also know it doesn't ease their worries that I don't believe you "recover" from an eating disorder. (This is my opinion, and it may not be yours if you have experience. I realize and respect that.) To me, you don't "recover" but instead you make a choice, every day. You learn to choose relationships and jobs and life experiences over dying. And even though it's pushed to the back of our hearts, minds, metaphorical closets, it's not pushed out the door. We keep it around, always as an option, because that's how we move on. It's easier to walk away from something we know will be waiting for us if we ever return. I have walked back occasionally, but there's always something that stops me from diving back in, head first. I don't know how to articulate what stops me any better than to say, I want more than that. I've felt happiness and I want more of it, and, for me, I can't have both.
Mike and I want a child. One day. Soonish. But I won't be a fraud. I won't turn to my potential daughter and impart lessons on security, on a healthy body image, on how to achieve balance while I continue to struggle with my own shit. Which brings me to the point of all of this: I'm on a journey to lose weight—again. But more than that, I'm on a journey to keep the weight off while learning how to stop obsessing about the weight. Quite the task to take on, I know.
For years I lied. To myself, my friends, my mother. I think with addictions, on any scale, you must lie to keep hold of them. It's hard to admit you were a liar but I was. I chose to lie for years. I've since chosen to stop. I spent years writing the truth (journaling) and not sharing a word of it with anyone. But, somewhere along the way, I found my voice. No matter who judges or scrutinizes the words I offer up, my voice is mine. And I celebrate that because for so long it wasn't. That's why I have this site, why I string words together in hopes they'll make some sense to someone, why I try. Although I sometimes shake uncontrollably after I hit publish, I have to use my voice. It's important I do this.
My real motivation this time around is my desire to enjoy being pregnant one day. One thing I can control is how much I weigh when I become pregnant. I want to be OK with my pregnancy weight gain, with the changes I will go through. I don't want to hate those nine months because I'm adding on to a number I hated to begin with. I want to look at every picture taken from the moment I become pregnant on, and I want to see myself. Not just my image, but the self I know.
This is going to be hard, as I've lost weight before but, obviously, it hasn't stayed off. So I know the work isn't over once the weight is gone. The work, truly, will have just begun. And although I do think I'm strong, I don't know if I'm strong enough. Just like everything in life, it will come down to a choice. I know this.
The difference? I now believe in my ability to choose.