After having recently completed the very huge goal of finishing a client writing project that took me over 2 1/2 years, I thought about what I wanted to focus on next in my life. Of course, the first thing that came to mind is putting all my professional energy into finishing my own memoir, and getting it published -- presumably with a nice, fat advance thrown into the bargain. And the second big goal is finding us a new place to live and organizing the household moving project, something that is a must-do, as our house is (to all intents and purposes) sold and we need to be out no later than end of June.
But I also gave some thought to whether there were any personal goals I wanted or needed to work on. I've got the perfect man in my life (Georges, do NOT protest my use of the word "perfect"!) and a family. I'm more settled in Paris, although integration and improving my language skills will no doubt be a life-long process. It even appears as if we may have found a nice adoptive home for Clachat (more on that in a few more days, when we find out if it's certain or not). So for all intents and purposes, my daily life is running very nicely. And I'm really happy with it.
Except for one thing. One small, tiny, hugely significant monkey-on-my-back since I was 15 years old. This monkey has grown to such proportions, I've decided he needs a name; I call him "Bernie". He is my nemesis, the thing I am constantly struggling with in one form or another. The thing where, if I could pay someone to magically make him disappear forever, I would beg, borrow or steal the money to make it happen, and NO amount of money would feel like "too much".
Meet the monkey: my weight.
I don't normally write much about my struggles with my weight, mainly because I'm embarrassed about it and rather sensitive. I don't like to draw attention to myself over this. I don't want anyone's pity, or anyone's advice, or anyone's commentary -- no matter how good the intentions. I grew up with a loving and well-intentioned but hyper-critical mother who cannot seem to understand that her "helpful remarks" are decidedly NOT helpful, and they only make me feel like shit. Even to this day, she inevitably picks the wrong thing to say: when I told her I lost 6 lbs last week after five days of a horrible stomach bug, her immediate reaction was to say "Keep it going!" like she thinks she's cheering me on (and like I want to keep a stomach bug going, just to lose weight? How insane would THAT be?) As a result of wanting to avoid all such confrontations, I have gotten into a pattern of simply NOT talking about it. With anyone. Even my husband, who loves me exactly as I am and knows me better than anyone, with my love handles and sagging tummy and all, may not know the full extent of how screwed up I am around this issue, because I won't talk about it.
But while I may not talk about it much, I think about it CONSTANTLY. I've read where the average male thinks about sex every 21 seconds. I figure I think about my weight, my body, and my general dissatisfaction with both, even more than a man thinks about sex; THAT'S how obsessed I've become. My weight, and my irritation with myself every time I look in the mirror, consumes so much of my mental energy that it amazes even me. And I've spent DECADES dealing with this from all possible angles. I've done psychotherapy. I've read all the books about emotional eating, and how not to do it. I've even had moderate to good results on different weight loss programs over the years... only to eventually fall off the wagon. So it's not that I am unaware of who I am, of what is going on in my head about this, of what motivates me to overeat or to make less-than-optimal food choices when I know I "shouldn't". It's not that I have no self-control, because clearly I DO have it, when I really WANT to have it. I know "how" to lose weight. And intellectually at least, I even know how to keep it off.
And yet... and yet... I have not been fully willing to make the commitment and do the work. This is the one area of my life where I continue to make bullshit excuses to myself about what's good for me and about what it means to act like a mature adult -- i.e., putting my health and well-being at the top of my priority list, instead of "treating myself" to goodies every time anything good or bad or uncomfortable happens.
I have to be candid: it bugs the shit out of me that, as successful as I have been in accomplishing EVERY SINGLE THING in my life that I REALLY wanted to accomplish, this ONE area of mastery continues to elude me. I am no Type-A personality, and I'm very non-competitive when it comes to other people, but I know what success feels like. I can look back in my own history and find many examples of me having set my sights on something, and eventually achieving it. The very fact that I am in Paris is one such prime example I can point to, if I need evidence.
And in the months leading up to me coming here in 2006, I even managed to shave off 30 lbs. I wasn't anywhere near my optimal healthy weight, but I was heathiER, and that was good enough. I still felt and looked like a stuffed sausage next to all those anorexic Parisiennes, but I felt I could move more easily and walk all over town without being out of breath. My early months here were filled with walking, so despite my early inclination to pop into the nearest patisserie for a "snack", I managed to maintain that 30 lb. loss for the first year.
Then what? I fell in love. Initially, I still did well at maintaining that weight, as Georges does a lot of the cooking which meant I was actually eating a decent meal at dinnertime instead of grabbing whatever was quick and handy in my kitchen. (I've never been someone who enjoys cooking, especially when it's just for myself. I've TRIED to like cooking, I've TRIED to change my mindset about this, but so far I just can't stand it and I have no imagination when it comes to cooking.)
Since our wedding, however, things have changed for me. I've spent more time in the house and less time out and about in the city, the way I used to be. So I'm less physically active (on top of which my work is of a sedentary nature). Also, being IN the house on my own, isolated, I tend to eat for amusement, entertainment or comfort when I'm stressed out about anything. I blame no one but myself for my choices, but there it is: the truth. And as a result, I gained something like 18 or 20 lbs since our marriage, pushing me to a weight that is WELL past my comfort zone, a weight that had me gasping for breath if I walked quickly down the street or had to climb too many steps in the metro (dropping that 6 lbs did help ease my discomfort, at least).
All of which made me focus even MORE energy on being fat, and how much I hate it. There, I said it: FAT. I am a fat person. To be at an optimal healthy weight for my age and height, I would need to shed a bare minimum of 80 lbs, and 90-100 lbs would really be closer to optimal. And I do not exaggerate about this, either.
Those who know me personally know that I subscribe to a personal philosophy that maintains that whatever we focus our energy on, we create or attract to us: the Law of Attraction, or what some have called The Secret in recent years. So I DO realize that the more I focus on how much I hate being fat, the more I create the conditions to REMAIN fat, or to get even fatter. The trick is to find the right balance between NOT focusing on hating what IS, while I also do the practical work of changing habits and taking actions to create what I really DO want. This is no small feat; if it was easy, I'd be a size 6 by now.
Today, I took the first step in this direction. I signed up for Weight Watchers Online. No annoying group meetings or weigh-ins (which I always detested); just online tools for tracking what I'm eating, so that I move through my daily life -- where food and my health is concerned -- more AWARE of my choices. I know myself well enough to know that if I continue to live my life unconsciously, I will continue to get what I do not want.
So the 3rd area of focus in my life now is A Healthier Me. I don't think I will ever really feel like a success at anything else in my life if I can't take control of my life in this area. I don't want to live unconsciously any more. And I don't want to feel so un-healthy. I have such a wonderful husband, that I want to be healthier at 50 than I am now at 48-almost-49. I want to live a LONG time so I can enjoy every single, precious day possible with him. And to do that, I need less physical bulk and more energy. The only way to do that is to change my habits, once and for all. NO EXCUSES!
Which is why I'm going public in this way. I'm not sure how often I'll post about my progress, because it's difficult to un-do years of being secretive. But the reality is, anyone who has met me can take one look at me and see that I've got "issues" with my weight... because I'm so noticably fat. So who do I think I'm kidding by "hiding"? Right, exactly. So my thought is that by blogging about it all -- both my struggles and my successes -- I make it harder to hide out. I face it head-on, this way. I focus on creating something healthier, and over time, it happens.
That being said, I think I'll take a look at what I want to make for lunch. A little advance meal planning is another new skill I need to acquire, and there is no time like now to get started.
