I feel I’ve been in a bit of blog slump this last year. I want to sit down and write, to be clever, to connect with my readers, to share parts of my life, and to document these times for myself and my family. And yet, more often than not, I struggle with the blank screen in front of me.
I don’t want my blog to be a negative place anymore than I want my life to be a negative place. The problem, however, is that I AM in a bit of a negative season right now. Short of all out faking it, I can’t bring myself to write a happy, cheerful post every day. And, as much as I don’t want to be negative, I don’t want to be fake either.
Don’t get me wrong. I love my life. I adore my husband. Most (haha) of my family is amazing. I’m blessed with FAR more than I deserve. I certainly don’t mope around all day, everyday. I am a fully (well, almost fully) functioning person.
There’s just this one thing.
One very big thing.
Me.
If you’ve read my blog at all in the past, you have no doubt read of my weight loss struggles. I’ve joined this program, or re-joined that one (more than once). I’ve gone to the gym, done certain training programs, walked many miles in the neighborhoods behind our apartment. All with little to no success. And yet, I keep starting over. Keep on blogging, pretending I haven’t failed over and over and over again.
I’ve struggled with how much of this to share. There is definitely a safety net of being on the internet…nobody can see the real you. In fact, to some extent…you can be whoever you want to be online. I’ve never intended to be anyone other than myself. But, let’s be honest….It’s much, much easier to just share the pretty.
And that is why I am writing these words today. I’m finding it harder and harder to share the pretty, cause I’m finding it more and more difficult to recognize it.
Like I mentioned before, I’ve not shied away from sharing or hinting at my weight struggles. But, I haven’t been fully honest about them either.
I don’t have a little weight to lose. I have a lot to lose. A lot.
The shame of this has all but paralyzed me.
I’ve always been a little chubby. After high school, I lost about 50 lbs and gained about 100 lbs of confidence. I was still a tiny bit overweight, but was the thinnest I’d ever been. I was never really lacking confidence before this, but I was busting at the seams with it after the weight loss.
It’s sometimes hard for me to imagine that girl. She seems like a totally different person. And, I guess, she is. The girl I am now is nothing like her. Or maybe, I’m everything like her…but trapped by all this weight.
Trapped.
That just about defines who I am right now. I feel like I’m stuck in a bad dream. A Ground Hog Day (remember that movie?) type dream. I can not think of one area of my life that my weight hasn’t affected. I want nothing more than to wake up with a new day ahead of me, and still, I feel stuck in this same nightmare.
Having children right now is out of the question. While I’ve not been medically advised not to, I’m 100% convinced it wouldn’t be a good decision…if, of course, I could even get pregnant. Those of you that struggle with weight and infertility can surely understand. Except for those few years of an exceptionally confident, slimmer Tricia, I’ve been overweight my whole life. I’ve been a fat kid, a fat teenager, the fat girl in the classroom, the fattest sibling, the fat bride and the fat adult. I REFUSE to be the fat mother. I’m 32, and the fact that I don’t have as many healthy child bearing years ahead of me as I do behind me scares me more than anything. I can’t imagine not being a mother.
Beyond the medical and obviously physical effects (the aches and pains, being uncomfortable, etc) brought on by being overweight, the insecurity I have felt is overwhelming.
I can’t help but think back on my twenties with such a sense of regret. I’ve missed out on SO much because of my insecurity. I didn’t apply myself in school, I didn’t reach out to new people in college. I didn’t seek the jobs I wanted. I didn’t stay in touch with people from school and work.
I swore that my thirties would bring about a change. And yet, a few weeks post 32nd birthday, I see that nothing, NOTHING has changed.
I shy away from family events. I all out refuse any event that involves a room full of strangers. I sabotage jobs and other great opportunities. I put off meeting up with great blog friends. I’ve even missed out on meeting up with really, really good friends who live out of town. All because of the shame of who I am. And the fear that others will think about me the way I do.
And that bothers me. It bothers me when other women have no confidence. I’ve always wanted to build others up. I can’t believe I have let myself get so knocked down. It makes me sad. And angry. Really, really, REALLY angry.
I don’t want this weight to define me anymore. I don’t want it to confine me. I don’t want it to rob me of another day of my life.
I know that half of the battle is physical. I’ve obviously got to lose the weight. I know if I was reading these words from someone else, I would think “well than, just lose the weight”. I so wish it was that easy. I suppose it would be if it weren’t for the second half of the battle.
The other half of the fight is mental. I’ve got to find me again. I’ve got to quit quitting when things get difficult or uncomfortable. I’ve got to stop running away from life (and start running …RUNNING…towards it). I’ve got to quit denying the facts, and I’ve got to quit lying to myself that I’ll start tomorrow. Or next week, or that the number on the scale doesn’t matter. It does. Maybe it isn’t everything. But, it matters. And it’s got to change.
NOW.
