When I went to Tracy’s over spring break the week of April 5th I came home at 141.5 pounds. I had exercised and was careful about what I put in my mouth. I was totally conscious and conscientious. Some time during the following week I gained six pounds! In a two-day period I somehow gave myself permission to eat like a maniac and temporarily forget about everything that’s important to me in order to be physically healthy.
This pattern of reaching a goal only to destroy it a short while later is making me crazy! I admit I’m totally nuts over this whole thing. I’m obsessive and grumpy and agitated and consumed!
I can feel wonderful about myself and my life when I weigh 140-141.
When I start to inch up a little I start to panic and get frustrated and that makes, lets, causes me to eat even more unhealthy or, more commonly, too much food. Before I know it I’m struggling at 145 or 147 and I become emotionally exhausted, angry, uncommitted, disappointed and discouraged.
When am I going to figure out that I’m more than a number? When can I say to myself that I am worthy of love and appreciation no matter what the scale says? I am valuable because I know who I am. I know I’m so much more than my weight. My value is not fluctuating with my size.
I’m left wondering, really pleading to know and understand, is it like this for anyone else? Does anyone else in the entire world feel like such a totally and complete failure in every part of their life just because of ten pounds or twenty? I see people everywhere I go that don’t seem to be crazed with self-doubt and even self-hatred just because they are in a, say, size 16 or 18.
What is this really about?
Today I’m at 141. I love myself. I feel like a winner. I feel like a super-hero, and yet I’m far from it. Why is everything inside of me telling me I’m great?
Long story short, I taught in Relief Society today. I prepared thoroughly and made visual aids. I took darling crafts displaying LOVE and HOME and FAMILY in coordinating fashion. The little runner was the perfect color. I had practiced my lessons and assigned parts to sisters to contribute. I had arranged for two sweet Primary girls to sing a song in the lesson, arranged for an accompanist. Everything was perfect. I loaded the car and attempted to pray on the way, asking for extra help and care and guidance.
When I got to the church and was getting my things out of the car, a huge wind came up and blew my lesson and papers across the parking lot. My carefully done hair was suddenly a mop. My new skirt was up around my shoulders and while I tried to hold it down as the missionaries came out of the church, I dropped my cute new craft. The parts I had copied and fixed for others to read were never to be seen again. With help I got into the door and hurried into a little classroom and cried and prayed.
The lesson did go OK. I had many compliments and comments.
But wow. Was I ever humbled. I realized over and over during the lesson and the two later meetings that it didn’t matter a w.h.i.t what I wore or looked like or weighted! No one cared that I was 141 this morning. No one mentioned it. No one said I looked fabulous! No one said I looked anything! No one but me is distracted and crippled, demented, unhinged, and disabled, really, by my weight.
Oh my good heck. I have got to get to the core of this weirdness.
What does it mean? When did it start? How do I go anywhere from here? How do I get to Normal? How do I hurry up and figure this out so that I can live my life? Why is this a struggle? Why is it even an issue in my life? Why is it becoming a bigger issue?
Searching for answers. If you’re there, God, please write back.