Sunday, July 28, 2013

Some Days are Easy, Some Days are Really Really Hard!

In March of 2013, my husband and I officially signed the papers, selling our house. It was our first house. The house I spent hours decorating a nursery to make it JUST perfect for our son, after bringing him home from the hospital.  The house we lived in when we got married. Where my parents were our next door neighbors and I had a support system just a yell out the window, away. Where I spent months of sweat, blood, creativity and hard work remodeling all by myself. I guess what I'm trying to say, is that in a very short time, we had made a lot of memories there. I had turned that house into a home. Not just my home, but our family home. 

I knew it would be sad to leave, but I had NO clue how difficult it would actually be. 

I kept myself SO busy, finishing the last of my renovations, keeping up with my (then) 12 month old, who was mobile and into everything, planning a birthday party, vacation, vow renewal, keeping up with my workouts and personal training sessions, oh and of course selling our house and looking for a new one in Michigan. I didn't even take or have time to process what was actually happening until it was over. 

We spent a few weeks following the sale of our house living in hotel rooms, a cruise ship, more hotel rooms and then my in-laws house for a week. Do you know how difficult it is to not stress eat when that is all you've know your entire life?!? Then to not have the option of cooking a meal... It's like an explosion to your waistline!! 

We closed on our new house mid April. I looked for a gym and signed up the day after we closed. I was determined to NOT go backwards! 

I went to the gym for my first workout and hated it! I hated the equipment, the people were rude, the daycare didn't change my sons diaper. When I introduced Greyson and myself to the daycare "teacher" she didn't even tell me her name. That made me feel super welcome and comfortable... NOT!

I tried again the next week and it was worse. I was done. I was locked into a 12 month contract and HATED it!!

A few weeks passed and I finally got on the scale at home. I went into denial. My scale had obviously been damaged in the move. Then i went to get dressed and grabbed a pair of jeans that i had just purchased before vacation... i could button them. I started tearing up. 

I walked away to my closet and grabbed another pair of jeans one size bigger. So tight, i couldn't imagine wearing them in public. My tears grew stronger. I began bawling. Like that snot running down your face, hysterical crying. 

"How did I let this happen? How did I get back here?!" I couldn't rationalize anything at this point. According to my scale, I had gained nearly 30 pounds!!! I was back in the 190's. Seriously! 

The day I left for vacation, I was at 159 lbs!!! 

I threw on a sweatshirt, yoga pants, my go-to elastic band, comfy clothes. I went straight to the kitchen and did what i know how to do best. I binged. Chips, brownies, Doritos, chicken nuggets, diet cherry pepsi, anything I could find! 

I was so disappointed in my binging, that I just kept doing it. I was disciplining myself for being such an idiot. For allowing myself to get back to this dark place. It's completely irrational, but its the logic in my head at these moments. Like a voice inside my head sits there saying "you're not skinny, you're fat. You don't deserve to be healthy, skinny or pretty". 

I'm not exactly sure where these unhealthy thoughts come from. I have one memory specifically that I'm pretty sure will never leave me. 

I was about 11 years old. My mom and i had a tumultuous relationship back then. We were so close in age, we often fought like sisters, instead of like a child and parent. I vividly remember  getting into another screaming match with her, (probably about something ridiculous like cleaning my room) and as usual, it escalated to a completely different level. The next thing I remember is trying to walk away and her grabbing me. She turned  me around, looked me in the eyes and told me I was "a fat cow". 

Now, please understand that my mom is my absolute best friend today. She has dealt with a lot of her own demons, especially back then. She is one of my biggest supporters today!

With that being said, I'm obviously  a bit damaged. I've spent years working on it and I've come quite far. But it's really difficult. Some days are worse than others. I've never really felt supported in this journey. It's kind of like being on a tight rope and everyone around you is a gust of wind, ready to knock me off at any mention of food, dinner, breakfast, anything!!

I called my mom the night of my binge. I had cried on and off all day. I was sad, guilty, depressed, I felt completely lost and alone.

My mom immediately knew I had been crying. She asked what was wrong and I again broke down. She was completely supportive. She told me how proud she was for what I had done. She apologized for not teaching us healthier habits when we were kids. She told me that I was going to be ok and that I could do anything I wanted to. She also told me to remember that feeling that I had. Because I would feel it again, but
I didn't have to choose binging. Sigh.... She was right.  

What ive come to realize is that some days are easy, while some days are really, really hard. That doesnt mske me a failure. That foesnt mean i have to atart back at square one. I have to remind myself that its a learning process. The longer I do this, the easier it will get!!

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