This morning, at my Weight Watchers meeting, the topic was centered on the words we say to ourselves. The leader asked us to write down the internal dialogue we have with ourselves when we're feeling stuck or discouraged. These were some of the responses that were shared:
I'll never be able to do this.
I'm not good enough.
I'll fail at this too.
I didn't lose enough this week.
Will I ever get this right?
I'm a failure.
I might as well give up.
It's validating to know I'm not the only one who thinks these things. I'm not the only one who has a discouraging inner dialogue going on in my head. We're in this together, and everyone feels discouraged at times.
The thing is, we'd never say these words to someone else. I would never say them to a friend, or even a stranger. And I wouldn't accept it if someone else said those words to me. So why do I allow myself to say them to me?
I think these types of words give me an excuse to not try anymore. When I say these words I want to give myself an out. All of those phrases are followed by the words, "so why bother trying" when I say them in my head.
After that, we wrote on another piece of paper the words that we would actually say if a friend was stuck and was feeling discouraged.
I wrote these words:
You have strength and resilience that you have not yet begun to tap. Believe in yourself as much as I do. You can do this.
I need to internalize those words and make them part of my daily self-talk, so that when I feel discouraged I can get busy with the work of lifting myself up, instead of putting myself down.
What words are you going to say to yourself today?
Saturday, August 30, 2014
Sunday, August 24, 2014
Finding My: Quitting Isn't an Option
I've been a Weight Watcher's member for a long time now. Off and on, for the past 10 years, with varying degrees of success. I know from my experience, that my success (and lack thereof) is completely, and absolutely 100% a product of where I am mentally.
People don't lose weight by chance.
Never have I have ever stepped on the scale and said, "Oh my, I lost 10 pounds this month. How did that happen?" I always know what has happened.
Weight loss is a mental game.
It's not about the food.
It's not about the exercise.
It's not about the grocery list that I ignore, or the trips to Quick Trip for a drink, or stopping by Sonic for an ice cream. It's about the mental state that I'm in when I do those things.
For a long time, I've felt that food has some sort of power over me. It has the power to make me happy, feel loved, soothe my hurt feelings, intoxicate me, placate me, entertain me, and so much more. I've really felt that it was the food doing that. But, I know it's not. It can't be. Food is just food. It just is. It doesn't love me like I love it. It doesn't sit around dreaming of me, like I do of it. It doesn't eagerly anticipate our next meeting, or hope that our time together will be a beautiful moment that we'll treasure forever. All of that, is me. Me and my mind, making something more out of food than it is.
It's just food.
I have to realize that it's just food. All the other stuff, the touchy-feely roller coaster of emotions that go along with eating - that's all me. Me, and my brain, making more out of food than it really is. It's just food.
Now, I realize that I can write this, as if I'm being very pragmatically impartial about the whole thing. As if I've gotten over it. Like food no longer has any sway over me.
Ha! That's not me at all.
The fact of the matter is, I still feel loved, soothed, placated, satiated, and entertained by food. I'm just starting to accept responsibility. It's ME that's causing these feelings. The food is just a conduit by which they arrive.
So, if food is still capable of being so much more to me than merely fuel, what do I do about that? That's been a question that I haven't been able to answer for a long time.
During Weight Watcher's meetings I'd sometimes hear people say something like, "You can try loosing weight for other people, but in the end, it needs to be about you. You have to do it for yourself."
I've tried losing weight for myself. Know what I found out? I'm a very forgiving person. Want to take a couple weeks off? No problem! Want to forget tracking all together? Sure, you go right on ahead and do that.
Trying to lose weight for me didn't work. I don't think it's because I don't love myself enough. I do love myself. It's just that losing weight for me isn't a big motivator.
And I think that's okay.
Other times I'd hear people say a phrase that completely baffled me at the time. These people would always be in the middle of losing weight. They weren't plateaued, they weren't playing around, they were committed, and the program was working for them. They'd say, "Quitting isn't an option."
Why? I'd think. Why wasn't quitting an option for them? It was for me. I quit often. Sometimes daily. What was it that had happened to them, or for them, that made it no longer an option?
I can't answer that. I think that's something they'd have to answer for themselves. I know that when I try to do the program, track my food, and follow the WW plan, that whenever I do it just for myself, that quitting is ALWAYS an option. It's not a good option, but it's still an option.
However, with our recent trip to the pediatrician, and finding out what I'd allowed to happen to my children, I found a reason to finally say, "Quitting isn't an option." I can't quit, because I have to help my kids. I have model a healthy lifestyle for them. I have to ensure they live in a healthy environment. I have to be around long enough to see them become healthy adults. It's not an option to quit this time. It's not an option to fail, either.
I don't mean that to say that I can't have bumps in the road. I know there will be plenty of bumps. I had one just yesterday at my niece's birthday party. There was a vast array of different flavored cupcakes available, and a whole lot of leftovers. Had there been only one choice, I probably would have had only one cupcake. Maybe two.
I had four.
Peanut butter.
Pineapple upside down cake.
Apple pie.
And Oreo.
You would have eaten four also. You know you would have.
After I'd eaten them, I suddenly realized that I was trying REALLY HARD to stay in control. How was eating four cupcakes going to help me stay in control? That was a bump in the road. And later that day, tracking those four cupcakes was really hard. I didn't want to be honest about them. I didn't want to count all those points. But, I did. Because quitting isn't an option. They used up a good portion of my daily points, and I had to be very conscious about what I ate for dinner that night. So, I had a moment of momentary forgetfulness, where I forgot my reason for trying so hard. But the moment I remembered, I reigned myself back in and got right back on track.
Go, me.
I've tracked consistently, nearly every single day for the past 3 weeks. I don't think I've EVER been so faithful to tracking. I've heard over-and-over how tracking what you eat is the #1 success indicator of people who lose weight and keep it off. I don't know why I've bucked against it so much in the past. I'm hoping it becomes more and more second nature to me.
It seems to have helped, though. I lost another 2.2 lbs this week. That makes 8.6 pounds gone over the past three weeks, since our visit with the nutritionist and the kids' doctor. I am starting to see a few changes. I think I don't look quite as pregnant as before. Although my youngest was born more than two years ago, I've looked like I'm pregnant ever since. A few weeks ago, I'd say that I looked about 7 months pregnant. Now, I'd say I'm closer to 5 or 6 months. Hopefully, the fat baby will continue to shrink away. I'm ready to not look pregnant anymore.
If you're struggling, like I struggle. I hope you, too, can find your reason for why quitting isn't an option. It helps to have something to hold onto when your brain is telling you how good something will taste, or how marvelous it will make you feel. My kids are my anchor. What's yours?
People don't lose weight by chance.
Never have I have ever stepped on the scale and said, "Oh my, I lost 10 pounds this month. How did that happen?" I always know what has happened.
Weight loss is a mental game.
It's not about the food.
It's not about the exercise.
It's not about the grocery list that I ignore, or the trips to Quick Trip for a drink, or stopping by Sonic for an ice cream. It's about the mental state that I'm in when I do those things.
For a long time, I've felt that food has some sort of power over me. It has the power to make me happy, feel loved, soothe my hurt feelings, intoxicate me, placate me, entertain me, and so much more. I've really felt that it was the food doing that. But, I know it's not. It can't be. Food is just food. It just is. It doesn't love me like I love it. It doesn't sit around dreaming of me, like I do of it. It doesn't eagerly anticipate our next meeting, or hope that our time together will be a beautiful moment that we'll treasure forever. All of that, is me. Me and my mind, making something more out of food than it is.
It's just food.
I have to realize that it's just food. All the other stuff, the touchy-feely roller coaster of emotions that go along with eating - that's all me. Me, and my brain, making more out of food than it really is. It's just food.
Now, I realize that I can write this, as if I'm being very pragmatically impartial about the whole thing. As if I've gotten over it. Like food no longer has any sway over me.
Ha! That's not me at all.
The fact of the matter is, I still feel loved, soothed, placated, satiated, and entertained by food. I'm just starting to accept responsibility. It's ME that's causing these feelings. The food is just a conduit by which they arrive.
So, if food is still capable of being so much more to me than merely fuel, what do I do about that? That's been a question that I haven't been able to answer for a long time.
During Weight Watcher's meetings I'd sometimes hear people say something like, "You can try loosing weight for other people, but in the end, it needs to be about you. You have to do it for yourself."
I've tried losing weight for myself. Know what I found out? I'm a very forgiving person. Want to take a couple weeks off? No problem! Want to forget tracking all together? Sure, you go right on ahead and do that.
Trying to lose weight for me didn't work. I don't think it's because I don't love myself enough. I do love myself. It's just that losing weight for me isn't a big motivator.
And I think that's okay.
Other times I'd hear people say a phrase that completely baffled me at the time. These people would always be in the middle of losing weight. They weren't plateaued, they weren't playing around, they were committed, and the program was working for them. They'd say, "Quitting isn't an option."
Why? I'd think. Why wasn't quitting an option for them? It was for me. I quit often. Sometimes daily. What was it that had happened to them, or for them, that made it no longer an option?
I can't answer that. I think that's something they'd have to answer for themselves. I know that when I try to do the program, track my food, and follow the WW plan, that whenever I do it just for myself, that quitting is ALWAYS an option. It's not a good option, but it's still an option.
However, with our recent trip to the pediatrician, and finding out what I'd allowed to happen to my children, I found a reason to finally say, "Quitting isn't an option." I can't quit, because I have to help my kids. I have model a healthy lifestyle for them. I have to ensure they live in a healthy environment. I have to be around long enough to see them become healthy adults. It's not an option to quit this time. It's not an option to fail, either.
I don't mean that to say that I can't have bumps in the road. I know there will be plenty of bumps. I had one just yesterday at my niece's birthday party. There was a vast array of different flavored cupcakes available, and a whole lot of leftovers. Had there been only one choice, I probably would have had only one cupcake. Maybe two.
I had four.
Peanut butter.
Pineapple upside down cake.
Apple pie.
And Oreo.
You would have eaten four also. You know you would have.
After I'd eaten them, I suddenly realized that I was trying REALLY HARD to stay in control. How was eating four cupcakes going to help me stay in control? That was a bump in the road. And later that day, tracking those four cupcakes was really hard. I didn't want to be honest about them. I didn't want to count all those points. But, I did. Because quitting isn't an option. They used up a good portion of my daily points, and I had to be very conscious about what I ate for dinner that night. So, I had a moment of momentary forgetfulness, where I forgot my reason for trying so hard. But the moment I remembered, I reigned myself back in and got right back on track.
Go, me.
I've tracked consistently, nearly every single day for the past 3 weeks. I don't think I've EVER been so faithful to tracking. I've heard over-and-over how tracking what you eat is the #1 success indicator of people who lose weight and keep it off. I don't know why I've bucked against it so much in the past. I'm hoping it becomes more and more second nature to me.
It seems to have helped, though. I lost another 2.2 lbs this week. That makes 8.6 pounds gone over the past three weeks, since our visit with the nutritionist and the kids' doctor. I am starting to see a few changes. I think I don't look quite as pregnant as before. Although my youngest was born more than two years ago, I've looked like I'm pregnant ever since. A few weeks ago, I'd say that I looked about 7 months pregnant. Now, I'd say I'm closer to 5 or 6 months. Hopefully, the fat baby will continue to shrink away. I'm ready to not look pregnant anymore.
If you're struggling, like I struggle. I hope you, too, can find your reason for why quitting isn't an option. It helps to have something to hold onto when your brain is telling you how good something will taste, or how marvelous it will make you feel. My kids are my anchor. What's yours?
Monday, August 18, 2014
The Power of Guilt
Ever since we found out that my kiddos' BMI is too high, we've been making some big changes in our house.
The kids' plates are filled 1/2 full with veggies. 1/4 with brown rice, or other starch. 1/4 with a lean meat. My plate looks exactly like theirs. That wasn't too big of a change. We just increased the amount of veggies, and decreased the amount of rice. So far, so good.
We've brought the kids' lunches/dinners/snacks when being babysat by family members, and have limited all artificially-flavored drinks and juices. Family members don't always get that, but so far, they've been respectful of our "water only" policy for the kids.
We have a few birthday events coming up, and even though they're not potlucks, we're still bringing our kids some veggies and fruit so they don't just eat pizza and junk. It may not be kosher to bring your own kids' food to a birthday party, but people are just going to have to be okay with it. I'm sure I'm more worried about hurting other people's feelings than they're concerned with us bringing in food.
I've been changing what I eat myself, too. It's so much a change in the WHAT, as it is in the HOW MUCH. Writing it all down, and logging it on my Weight Watchers tracker has really helped. I've lost 6.4 lbs. over the past 2 weeks.
I keep telling myself that I don't have the option anymore of not doing this the right way. I've given myself the option of quitting and giving up in the past, but now, it's just not even there as a choice. I HAVE to do this for my kids. I HAVE to do this for my girls' health. I HAVE to do this for our future. It's no longer an option to not try, or to be forgetful, or willfully inaccurate in my tracking. This is a MUST DO, and I don't get the option of allowing myself to fail anymore.
The kids' plates are filled 1/2 full with veggies. 1/4 with brown rice, or other starch. 1/4 with a lean meat. My plate looks exactly like theirs. That wasn't too big of a change. We just increased the amount of veggies, and decreased the amount of rice. So far, so good.
We've brought the kids' lunches/dinners/snacks when being babysat by family members, and have limited all artificially-flavored drinks and juices. Family members don't always get that, but so far, they've been respectful of our "water only" policy for the kids.
We have a few birthday events coming up, and even though they're not potlucks, we're still bringing our kids some veggies and fruit so they don't just eat pizza and junk. It may not be kosher to bring your own kids' food to a birthday party, but people are just going to have to be okay with it. I'm sure I'm more worried about hurting other people's feelings than they're concerned with us bringing in food.
I've been changing what I eat myself, too. It's so much a change in the WHAT, as it is in the HOW MUCH. Writing it all down, and logging it on my Weight Watchers tracker has really helped. I've lost 6.4 lbs. over the past 2 weeks.
I keep telling myself that I don't have the option anymore of not doing this the right way. I've given myself the option of quitting and giving up in the past, but now, it's just not even there as a choice. I HAVE to do this for my kids. I HAVE to do this for my girls' health. I HAVE to do this for our future. It's no longer an option to not try, or to be forgetful, or willfully inaccurate in my tracking. This is a MUST DO, and I don't get the option of allowing myself to fail anymore.
Monday, August 4, 2014
Guilty As Charged
Today's post is less with the funny, and more with the cold, hard truth. Fair warning.
It's not too hard to ignore what I've done to myself with my weight. If I work hard at it, I can ignore my thighs rubbing together, or how difficult it is to push myself up off the couch, and how uncomfortable my feet are after swelling up to twice their normal size after sitting for a few hours. I can push that stuff aside for the most part, and ignore what I've done to myself, and what future lies ahead for me if I continue living a life of gluttony.
One thing I can not ignore, though, is what I've done to my children, and the guilt that it invokes.
Last week, I took the munchkins to the doctor, and was told that my oldest's BMI was too high. The doctor recommended having her talk to the nutritionist. We made an appointment for today and my husband took the day off so that he could attend the meeting as well.
I've been dreading this meeting all week long.
See, I know who is to blame for my daughter's weight gain.
It's me.
I can't place the blame on the shoulders of a seven-year-old, nor can I place it on anyone else. I'm the one responsible for what she eats, even when she's not with me and is spending the day with family or at the babysitter's. It's ultimately up to me what goes into her mouth 95% of the time.
I've been wrestling with that guilt all week long.
I know what it's like to be a fat kid.
I don't want that for my own daughters.
I don't want to start them out battling their weight.
I want to give them healthy starts, at a normal weight.
And so, I feel the guilt. But, I'm happy to shoulder it. If it will help me to change my habits, so that I can change the habits that have gotten us to this point, then I say Pile on the guilt!
We've already made some changes around out house. We eat very clean inside our house: lots of fruit and veggies, whole grains, lean meats, very little sweets - but it's when we're not home that has been hard for us to control. Eating out, trips to the gas station to get a drink for mom and a slushie for her, family events where the only vegetable is potato salad - these are the things we're going to be more careful of and change.
Fast food is being cut to as little as possible.
Taking a sack lunch when being babysat at someone else's house.
No more than 1/2 cup of 100% juice in a day.
No more side trips to get a drink, even if Mommy is really thirsty.
Bringing veggies, fruit, or a healthy dessert to family get-togethers...even if it wasn't requested.
These are some changes we're going to make in our house. Or rather, when we're not in our house.
Even my parents are on board. I talked with them about checking the nutritional label with her, when she's reaching for a snack and being careful to dole out only one serving. They're all for it, and for not stopping by and picking up a Happy Meal. They're even willing to stop bringing chips to family get-togethers, so she won't have to face that temptation.
I was so proud of them, and how incredibly supportive they're being.
So, I think the guilt is good. I'm not wallowing in it, but I'm going to allow it be the catalyst for some changes. Beginning with me.
It's not too hard to ignore what I've done to myself with my weight. If I work hard at it, I can ignore my thighs rubbing together, or how difficult it is to push myself up off the couch, and how uncomfortable my feet are after swelling up to twice their normal size after sitting for a few hours. I can push that stuff aside for the most part, and ignore what I've done to myself, and what future lies ahead for me if I continue living a life of gluttony.
One thing I can not ignore, though, is what I've done to my children, and the guilt that it invokes.
Last week, I took the munchkins to the doctor, and was told that my oldest's BMI was too high. The doctor recommended having her talk to the nutritionist. We made an appointment for today and my husband took the day off so that he could attend the meeting as well.
I've been dreading this meeting all week long.
See, I know who is to blame for my daughter's weight gain.
It's me.
I can't place the blame on the shoulders of a seven-year-old, nor can I place it on anyone else. I'm the one responsible for what she eats, even when she's not with me and is spending the day with family or at the babysitter's. It's ultimately up to me what goes into her mouth 95% of the time.
I've been wrestling with that guilt all week long.
I know what it's like to be a fat kid.
I don't want that for my own daughters.
I don't want to start them out battling their weight.
I want to give them healthy starts, at a normal weight.
And so, I feel the guilt. But, I'm happy to shoulder it. If it will help me to change my habits, so that I can change the habits that have gotten us to this point, then I say Pile on the guilt!
We've already made some changes around out house. We eat very clean inside our house: lots of fruit and veggies, whole grains, lean meats, very little sweets - but it's when we're not home that has been hard for us to control. Eating out, trips to the gas station to get a drink for mom and a slushie for her, family events where the only vegetable is potato salad - these are the things we're going to be more careful of and change.
Fast food is being cut to as little as possible.
Taking a sack lunch when being babysat at someone else's house.
No more than 1/2 cup of 100% juice in a day.
No more side trips to get a drink, even if Mommy is really thirsty.
Bringing veggies, fruit, or a healthy dessert to family get-togethers...even if it wasn't requested.
These are some changes we're going to make in our house. Or rather, when we're not in our house.
Even my parents are on board. I talked with them about checking the nutritional label with her, when she's reaching for a snack and being careful to dole out only one serving. They're all for it, and for not stopping by and picking up a Happy Meal. They're even willing to stop bringing chips to family get-togethers, so she won't have to face that temptation.
I was so proud of them, and how incredibly supportive they're being.
So, I think the guilt is good. I'm not wallowing in it, but I'm going to allow it be the catalyst for some changes. Beginning with me.
Saturday, August 2, 2014
Marks of Accomplishment
It's Saturday.
I could have slept in.
I wanted to sleep in. Really, really wanted to sleep in.
But, I didn't.
My good friend, Audra, was waiting for me to get out of bed, get dressed, and head out to the park to walk at 6:30 this morning.
I hate her.
Alright, that's not really true at all. I love her dearly. Really, who else is willing to get up early on a Saturday and walk three miles with me. I don't see a lot of other volunteers raising their hands. She's a peach, and I love her. Just not at 6:30 in the morning.
Three miles. Did you catch that? We walked three miles this morning, quite possibly before you had even rolled yourself out of bed. And though I hate exercising (really, really, really hate it - I think I've been over that enough by now, so I'll move on), it was a good feeling when we were done. Let me clarify. My body wasn't feeling good. My body was feeling sore and achy, quite possibly very angry at me. But, knowing that I had accomplished something to help me be a healthier person, that was a good feeling.
So, when I got home this morning after my three mile walk (I think I may rub that in for awhile longer), I jumped out of my walking clothes and into the shower, but not before...
THE EXAMINATION.
Yep, the examination. It happens every time after I walk. As I peel the layers of clothes off of me, I inspect each piece for marks of accomplishment.
I turn every individual piece of clothing around and around, under the light, and look for the tell-tale badge of honor: sweat marks.
First my t-shirt. Ah, moist sweat marks on the back. Good. Good. Even a little on the front. I must have been really sweaty this morning, then. Signs that I have worked hard and accomplished much.
Next, my pants. Navy blue sweats can be difficult on initial inspection, but after a few moments, I notice a darker shade of blue, and there it is: crotch sweat. Ooh, and some butt sweat, too. I must have been walking up a storm.
Then, my bra. Yes, there it is. Undeniable proof of boob sweatage. Work has been done here, people!
Finally, my panties. These are the most difficult of all to inspect critically, especially if they're granny panties in white. Sometimes they're too loose to collect any evidence. I'm lucky today, because I wore my gray panties. Evidence of my hard work is easy to see. In fact, they're nearly so sweaty that I could wring them out in the sink. Gross? Yes. Impressive? Absolutely!
Surely it can't just be me that goes through this ritual after exercising. Let me know I'm not alone here. Let me know if you collect marks of accomplishment, too.
I could have slept in.
I wanted to sleep in. Really, really wanted to sleep in.
But, I didn't.
My good friend, Audra, was waiting for me to get out of bed, get dressed, and head out to the park to walk at 6:30 this morning.
I hate her.
Alright, that's not really true at all. I love her dearly. Really, who else is willing to get up early on a Saturday and walk three miles with me. I don't see a lot of other volunteers raising their hands. She's a peach, and I love her. Just not at 6:30 in the morning.
Three miles. Did you catch that? We walked three miles this morning, quite possibly before you had even rolled yourself out of bed. And though I hate exercising (really, really, really hate it - I think I've been over that enough by now, so I'll move on), it was a good feeling when we were done. Let me clarify. My body wasn't feeling good. My body was feeling sore and achy, quite possibly very angry at me. But, knowing that I had accomplished something to help me be a healthier person, that was a good feeling.
So, when I got home this morning after my three mile walk (I think I may rub that in for awhile longer), I jumped out of my walking clothes and into the shower, but not before...
THE EXAMINATION.
Yep, the examination. It happens every time after I walk. As I peel the layers of clothes off of me, I inspect each piece for marks of accomplishment.
I turn every individual piece of clothing around and around, under the light, and look for the tell-tale badge of honor: sweat marks.
First my t-shirt. Ah, moist sweat marks on the back. Good. Good. Even a little on the front. I must have been really sweaty this morning, then. Signs that I have worked hard and accomplished much.
Next, my pants. Navy blue sweats can be difficult on initial inspection, but after a few moments, I notice a darker shade of blue, and there it is: crotch sweat. Ooh, and some butt sweat, too. I must have been walking up a storm.
Then, my bra. Yes, there it is. Undeniable proof of boob sweatage. Work has been done here, people!
Finally, my panties. These are the most difficult of all to inspect critically, especially if they're granny panties in white. Sometimes they're too loose to collect any evidence. I'm lucky today, because I wore my gray panties. Evidence of my hard work is easy to see. In fact, they're nearly so sweaty that I could wring them out in the sink. Gross? Yes. Impressive? Absolutely!
Surely it can't just be me that goes through this ritual after exercising. Let me know I'm not alone here. Let me know if you collect marks of accomplishment, too.
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