Okay guys, here we go.
(This is Mace, by the way. He’s my trusty sidekick.) :)
I’m embarrassed to post this picture. I’m ashamed to post it. Not because I’m ashamed of how I look, but because I feel like I’m letting all of you down.
I’m so, so sorry. I’m sorry that this is what I look like. After nine months on the program, I’m sorry that my physical self does not represent my progress. I feel like I need to confess, ask for forgiveness, and repent.
I honest to God did not realize my shape had changed so much. I knew I had tapered off my workouts after mid-December (when I started at the golf course, way less focus, a lot less time), but I still do move around a lot lot lot. Three kids and two jobs, I very rarely am sitting at my desk. I have a lot MORE I could be doing as far as lifting and exercise, but I don’t think that’s the problem that’s caused the weight gain.
Thanks to Meg and WLR, I no longer feel ugly or bad about myself or my body. In fact, I feel so great about who and what I am, when I write and try to connect with my audience about “lacking self-worth,” I CANNOT WRITE IN PRESENT TENSE. I can’t even FAKE IT. I have worth. I know what I’m capable of. I have found my Greatness, and I know that I’m just now starting to tap into my potential. It feels pretty amazing, and even though I know I’ve got some weight to lose I don’t feel bad about ME.
My biggest and last obstacle with this program is the food. I do still eat poorly, and late at night when I’m supposed to be sleeping, and some foods still trigger binge-like behavior.
Before WLR, my self-hatred and anger kept me from getting too big. I’d eat, then get bigger, then feel bad, so I’d diet and exercise. Since I stopped with the self-hatred I have less leverage to change. I don’t CARE if I’m not skinny. I don’t care if I eat a cookie. I don’t feel bad for eating things that used to trigger Ana. I don’t feel bad for feeling happy that I’ve got a mouth full of cake.
EXCEPT “TOO FAR, ERIN.” I’m now so big that I’m not physically comfortable, and I know that at this size and shape, with this lifestyle, I’m not the healthiest I can be. I’m also not happy with how my clothes fit.
After I saw this back picture I felt sick. “WHAT THE HELL.” Not because I feel ugly or bad, but because I had no idea that’s what I looked like back there. (These pants are also not doing me any favors.) I knew i had gained some weight, but I did NOT know that I looked…
…well, in my eyes I look like someone else. I do not recognize myself.
I don’t like it.
If there’s no other reason to take progress pictures, “so I’m aware of what I look like from behind” is a good one. SOLD. Amber, I’ll take them every week.
I spent this afternoon working through what I see in this picture in my head, and trying to figure out what I want next. My original goal with the program was to not be miserable, and I’ve accomplished that. I’ve dug myself out of the hole I was in, and now I need to CLIMB. “Which mountain?” is my only question.
I need another goal. I need something to shoot for with my body and appearance, something that’s fitting with my life and progress and beliefs. Here’s what I’ve come up with:
1. These are my “fat pants.” They’re the biggest jeans in my drawer. At one point they would not stay up without a belt. I would like to get back to that point, and to be able to wear the smallest size jeans in my drawer. (Not the super small ones, I got rid of those. Just normal, “healthy-Erin size” jeans.)
2. I would like to NOT see cellulite when I flex my ass. This is not because I have a problem with cellulite, or because I think cellulite on my body is bad or gross. I just don’t like it, and other than during pregnancy I have never had it. I feel uncomfortable, and I don’t like how my pants fit.
I don’t care if my stomach isn’t flat. I don’t care if my arms are not ripped or toned. Those are not my goals. I do know that those things tend to happen when I’m at my best, but that’s not important to me anymore. (I can’t even begin to tell you how good it feels to be able to say that!)
3. To conquer the Bulimia Beast.
FOOD STILL KICKS MY ASS. I hate food. I hate eating. I hate that it’s dominated my life for so long, and that I’ve hurt myself with it for 30 years. I hate it so much that even though I’m not starving and binging anymore, I’m still THINKING ABOUT IT. I still eat junk, and late at night. Binging still wins, even when I’m not binging by definition. I’m still a victim to it, and I’m ready to be DONE. I don’t want to be a victim anymore. I don’t want to feel out of control anymore.
As of today I have committed to work with Obar Muscle. (All the cool kids in the Ambassador group are doing it!) We start next Tuesday. I’m going to shut off my brain, do what he says for 12 weeks, and relearn how to interact with food. It’ll be like a brain transplant. Or a “teach me how to fly this helicopter” Matrix upload, but with “how to think about nutrition.”
I’m nervous and excited. I’m scared that I won’t be able to do it.
I am scared that I do not WANT to do it.
Like addicts that try to kick addiction, even when they stop the addictive behavior they still want the bad things. I still want to do bad things to myself with food, and I’m afraid that the want-to-do-bad feelings will win. I don’t know that I’m strong enough to stop. I don’t know that after 30 years I’ve got it IN ME to stop. (and I must have hit a nerve with this part, because now I’m crying. push through, erin. not going to stop unloading this. just keep going.)
4. To TRY. All in, 100%, to put in the effort.
Over the last six months on the program, I have come to realize that I hit “the genetic lottery,” more or less. I’m not trying to be arrogant, I mean this in the most humble way, but really. I’ve got it pretty great. Sure, my hands and feet could be a size smaller, my waist could be a little longer, my boobs ….well, I could HAVE SOME. Other than that, though, I have had a very, very easy time staying fit. Without trying, I look lean and appear to be athletic. I never have been overweight. Right now (not counting pregnancy) is the heaviest I’ve ever been, and I’m still only 154 lbs.
Now that I don’t hate myself and I’m able to see myself objectively, I am realizing that I really am blessed . I feel like a shitheel for complaining about my thick waist and size 10 pants when some ladies are working their asses off (literally) to be below a size 15.
I feel like I owe it to them, and to myself, to reach my potential with physical fitness. I have to confess (and it’s apparent if you look at the pictures), I still haven’t TRIED. I’ve made a lot of mental changes, but when it comes time to put in the physical work for exercise and mental work to conquer the Bulimia Beast, I don’t TRY. I half-ass it. I haven’t made the emotional or physical commitment like I know I could, not like I should have. Not 100%.
Just like I’m testing my potential with my own work, rescuing the family business, writing a book, raising kids, I owe it to the ladies actually putting in the work, to The Meg, to the other Ambassadors, to The Mister and my kids, to you guys, and to myself to TRY.
THIS LAST PART IS THE PART THAT REALLY FREAKS ME OUT. I am afraid to try. I am afraid that I’ll try and fail, or that I’ll try and it won’t get me anywhere. I’ve never TRIED to be physically fit or physically attractive before. I’ve fought it my whole life, actually. I am not “the pretty one.” That’s my sister. I was TOLD that as a kid, and in defiance to everyone that said it I never TRIED.
“She’s pretty, and I’m too hard to love. FINE. WATCH THIS. FUCK THEM ALL.”
**eats sixteen cookies**
(more crying. going to keep going.)
You guys, I’m afraid.
After years and years of telling people and myself that “I’m not afraid of anything,” I’m ready to admit that I’m totally petrified. Just this morning I was thinking to myself, “YAY, I think I’m finally HONESTLY living my life outside of fear. WOOHOO!!”
Then I took this picture, and committed to make some changes.
I cheered too soon, I think.
I AM afraid.
I’m afraid that I really am the ugly one.
I’m afraid that people will SEE THAT.
I’m afraid The Mister, when he looks at me, will see what I see in my head and want to leave.
I’m afraid that the kids will despise me for my lack of will.
I’m afraid I’ll try to stop overeating and not be able to do it.
I’m afraid I WILL stop, I’ll find success, and then I’ll fuck it up and start binging again.
I’m afraid I’ll be a victim to my desires for the rest of my life.
I’m afraid I’ll be fat and angry and bitter like my mother.
I’m afraid that I will try to lose weight and it won’t come off.
I’m afraid that I will try to lose weight and I WILL, and I won’t know how to shut it off.
I’m afraid that I won’t be able to shut off the progress, and I’ll be right back where I was nine months ago. Miserable, starving, binging, exhausted.
Yep, that’s the big one. I’m afraid I’ll mess up all this mental progress.
I guess being afraid is okay. It has to be, because WE ALL ARE. About something.
I have three kids. My second child, my oldest son, is the most nervous and fearful child I’ve ever met, He cries about EVERYTHING. He is afraid of almost everything. He overthinks (like his mom), worries about “what if,” and freezes up when he gets scared. He has no “fight” response. He was the kid that caused me to hover over the phone during the first week of school, because I was SURE I’d have to go talk him down off the top of a bookshelf or something.
He knows he’s afraid. He knows it’s hard for him to fight, and it’s hard for him to feel brave. He was worried that he wasn’t brave enough, and he was afraid that he was weak for feeling fear. This is what I told him, and I think I need to remind myself of this:
Fear is not bad. Being afraid is not bad. Being afraid does not make you weak. Being brave means you’re afraid, but you do what needs to be done anyways.
Time to do what needs to be done.
Thanks as always for reading. To learn more about Depth, be sure to check out previous posts on the subject, opt in to my newsletter, and subscribe to RSS feed.