Tales of one woman stumbling her way through motherhood.
Not to brag or anything, but I’ve got a guest post up over at Diets in Review this week discussing the dreaded plateau and how to get past it.
And considering my history with plateaus, you know I’ve got some real-life, practical advice to share.
(I also love the image they selected to go with my post. They could have also used an image of a scale being thrown through a window. I’d have even volunteered to pose for that one.)
When I weighed 40+ pounds more than I do now, fashion usually meant disguising my body to hide all of the lumps and bumps. I didn’t like how I looked and so I never put a lot of thought into what I wore, other than does this hide as much as possible? Loose clothing, baggy t-shirts, stretch denim – the less skin visible, the better.
Now that I’m within 10 pounds of the “normal” BMI range (wow, does THAT feel weird to say!), I’m trying to re-evaluate what I wear. I know I need to dress better, in both home and work settings.
When I come to work during the day for meetings, I’m expected to wear business wear. I see my peers dressed in beautiful tops and either fitted pants or skirts, and I envy them for looking so good. I have yet to purchase a button-down top because I worry that when I sit down the buttons will bulge from my belly sticking out. And skirts are completely a no-go – I can’t imagine letting my coworkers see my bare tree-trunk legs.
Here’s the real problem: I still have a disconnect between my eyes and my brain. I look in the mirror and all I see is fat. A lifetime of criticism from those close to me has left me incapable of seeing myself as anything other than a fat girl. I keep telling myself that it’s not so bad and I used to be so much heavier, but my brain still interprets it as jiggly upper arms, big belly and thunder thighs.
I still feel my 5th grade teacher poking my belly and saying I’d better have a growth spurt soon with a belly that big. I still remember kids teasing me for my large thighs at the 8th grade pool party. I remember a family member telling me I should focus on losing weight rather than going to grad school, as losing weight was more likely to help me find a spouse someday.
I’m haunted by even darker moments from earlier in childhood, moments that remain buried deep in my memory, but I now realize were likely contributors to my desire to hide myself from the world with a layer of fat.
I’m working against a lifetime of psychological abuse. I’ve distanced myself from the worst offenders, but it was too late – my subconscious adopted the worst of their weapons and wages war on my psyche daily. I didn’t get fat because I lost track of how many doughnuts I was eating – I mean, I DO love food, but food addiction alone can’t explain why I’m unable to visualize myself at a healthy weight.
But progress comes in small doses, and I’ve already shown a lot of progress to lose nearly 50 pounds in a few years. The internal sabotage clearly isn’t as strong as it used to be, and while I may never be able to completely silence the negative self-talk, I can work on tuning it out.
Last weekend we attended ComFest, and while there I suddenly felt the urge to buy one of the dresses I saw so many others wearing. Aaron encouraged me, and so I did buy it and wear it around the festival all day. (Although with denim capris – I didn’t have any shorts with me, and it was too short to wear without something underneath.) This was one of those weekends that seems to go on forever, but then on Sunday you realize it’s nearly gone and you desperately try to hold onto the last moments of it before the work week creeps back in.
We spent the majority of our weekend at ComFest – a local community festival that has been a part of Columbus for many, many years. Some call it a big hippie-fest, others an excuse to spend the weekend drunk in a park while listening to indie music, but no matter your reason for being there, it’s always a very relaxed, happy atmosphere.
Yes, you can expect to see a lot of tie-dye. Yes, you see some naked breasts, too. (In Columbus it’s legal, and this is the one time of year when the more outgoing like to test their right to bare all.) You’ll also find a lot of cool, handmade goods for sale, local food, and lots of music.
Normally it’s insanely hot for ComFest, which often keeps us from staying too long. I hate hot weather, and Cordy visibly wilts in the sun. However, this year’s weather has been anything but normal, and we were gifted with a lovely, sunny, and not-too-hot day on Saturday.
I was a ComFest for all of 5 minutes before I felt like I needed to change clothes. My t-shirt felt too plain, and I didn’t want to develop a farmer’s tan with BlogHer only a month away. I quickly found a shop and purchased a cute dress that totally fit in with the ComFest scene.
Aaron was still wearing his homemade Superman costume from our morning trip to the Origins Game Fair. (I have no photos of this. You’ll just have to take my word that he was dressed like Superman.)
Cordy and Mira remember only one thing about ComFest from years past: the kids’ art area. Mira kept referring to ComFest as the “arts festival” several times as a result. (No, Mira, the Arts Festival was in early June.) We took them to the kid art area, and they immediately began scouting for something to do.
I insisted that they get new shirts first, to keep their current shirts clean, so instead of tie-dying ComFest shirts like they’ve done in years past, they used fabric markers to color their shirts and then put them on as smocks. Any additional paint or marker on the shirts would add to the decoration.
Cordy wanted to paint the trees like she did the year before – giant pieces of paper are taped to the trees with paint jars and paintbrushes scattered around for kids to use for their masterpieces. Mira decided she wanted to join in as well. I don’t know how much of the tree she painted, but she did a good job painting herself.
After painting, chalk-drawing and musical-instrument playing, they were ready for a break. We met up with family and friends, grabbed some Jeni’s ice cream (best ice cream ever, of course!), and collapsed under a shady tree for a break.
Overall? A relaxing weekend, and a very good ComFest.
PS – Have you visited my review blog lately? I’m giving away a $100 Walgreens gift card and a Radio Shack weather preparedness kit this week!
I’m now 35 years old.
Sure, that may not be a big deal to some of you, but it’s going to take some getting used to for me. I can now no longer claim to be in my “early 30’s.” Should I ever consider having another baby, I’d be given the label “advanced maternal age.” And I’m even in a new consumer demographic for all of those marketing surveys: just call me a member of the 35-44 radio button.
Age is just a number – that’s true. Well, sort of true. Each half decade I hit is just another reminder that I need to take better care of myself. We feel invincible in our teens and early twenties because we partially are. While no one is immune to cancer, heart disease or other health problems, they’re less likely when we’re young. As we get older, our chances of being affected by chronic health problems only increase.
So with each birthday, I’m reminded that I can’t be as carefree with my health as I used to be. I worry more about my future. I want to be a healthy old woman someday. I want to see my kids grow up and have children of their own. I don’t want to die.
The good news is I’m probably in the best shape of my life. I’m still hovering at my lowest adult weight, I have muscle tone that I’ve never had before, and I’m making efforts to eat healthier foods. Compared to bad habits from my past, I’m in fantastic shape and my risks for common health issues are shrinking with my waistline.
But I still have plenty of work to do. Losing weight is still a priority, both for vanity and for health reasons. I’ve got at least another 10 pounds to go to even make the upper limits of a “healthy” BMI. Eating more nutritious, less processed foods and trying to work more exercise into my life are neverending goals that I have to keep focused on as well. Taking more time to relax, rest, and reduce my stress level couldn’t hurt, either.
I hope that when I turn 36 I can look back over this past year and again proclaim to be in the best shape of my life. If I continue getting healthier with each year, then maybe birthdays will still be something to get excited about!
As much as I’ve tried to be everything to everyone for years, I’ve finally reached the point where I’m mostly comfortable with who I am. No longer embarrassed by the parts of me that don’t fit the status quo, or apologetic for being unable to live up to someone’s expectations, but instead accepting of all my quirks and the experiences (both good and bad) that have shaped me into who I am.
Still not feeling grown up yet, but definitely feeling more comfortable in my own skin.
Happy birthday to me. If I could pick a gift for myself, I’d wish for at least another 35 years to enjoy who I am.
Tech geek, wife, mom of two, Disney fanatic, woman with ADD, and a complete domestic zero. I still don't know what I want to be when I grow up, but that's not so bad when you get to keep trying new things, right?
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