“I don’t care. I’m eating creme brûlée.”
That’s how it started last December.
Who am I kidding? It started when I was four. I still remember seeing my picture and thinking man, I’m fat.
But this iteration of my addiction started last December 17.
Two and half years into a low carb lifestyle, solid size 10 and holding I went to Vegas with hubby for our anniversary.
On the flight there I told him I was eating creme brûlée. By the time we landed I’d decided to put my eating plan on hold.
Even though low carb loving me has a ton more energy, can maintain my weight, has the best blood work, has no arthritis pain, breathes better and rarely gets sick.
But, I told myself, it’s no big deal. It’s four days in Vegas. I can handle it.
And, I sort of did.
The thing is, after that, those “breaks” happened a little more often. A piece of chocolate here, mashed potatoes there, chips and hot sauce and queso. Tamales. Margaritas.
You know. Little celebrations where food became my go-to instead of my fuel.
And I mostly maintained. I gained 10 pounds over six months, but I could drop that in a month with dedication and exercise.
That’s what I told myself as I took out the size 13s and 14s.
And then my father-in-law’s terminal cancer turned into a dark, dreaded awfulness. The every two week trips became weekly back and forth from Ft. Worth to Lawton. DH stayed there mostly. Life was a waiting game and fast food and family and stories and shared desserts and visiting and mourning and trying to stay positive and knowing the inevitable end was here.
When my father-in-law passed away,) I vowed to get it together, get back on plan, take care of myself.
The 10 pounds had become 20. The 14s, 16s.
I banned sugar from my existence. I got my flu shot.
My voice disappeared for three weeks. The first week was a weird laryngitis. The next two weeks were filled with the kind of sickness where chicken noodle soup seems like the perfect answer. Adding a piece of carrot cake to that McCallister’s order was just medicine.
The 20 pounds became 30.
And of course, that weight destroyed my body. Arthritis reared its ugly head. My ankle impinged. I had to use a scooter to get around.
You’d think THAT would be my wake up call. It took about three weeks more for me to get my head straight.
My relationship with food is all kinds of messed up. It has been my entire life. I know that. My body chemistry is different from the norm. As my doctor says, I need to steer clear of white foods. 😊
It’s not “fair,” it’s a pain in the neck to eat with friends, it’s life without ice cream–and don’t even get me started on devil’s spawn Halo Top, that slippery slope to sugar hell.
I can wish all day that working out was the answer. It’s not enough for me. Neither is simple calorie reduction.
One thing works in a way that is healthy for me. No short cuts. No “time off.” No sushi.
I started this blog a bajillion years ago with the plan to focus on weight loss, writing and family. I have no idea how many pounds I’ve lost and gained, but let me tell you, I am expert level at both.
That’s got to stop.
I know it.
So here’s to me losing weight while getting healthy, again. If we’re friends in real life, I hope you won’t be offended when I turn down the M&Ms or your homemade cupcakes or those Christmas tamales. My body needs me to say no.