I know I just wrote a post days ago about how well following my hunger was going, but now I need to come here and be real with you.
I’ve been down on myself since my surgery last week because it meant having to stop exercising and then having to limit my exercise for a period of time.
I have been very hungry, and I have eaten…and not always the most nutritious foods. I got hooked on the scale a bit again, watched it jump up overnight, and panicked.
I jumped back into the gym before my doctor wanted me to, I pushed too hard, and I insulted myself internally when my body failed to perform.
I have felt out of control. I started fretting about calories again. I looked in the mirror over and over and over trying to see if I was bigger.
I am full of anxiety, panic, fear. Fear that I’m gaining fat. Fear that I am out of control and cannot regain it. Fear that I am no longer good at being hungry and not eating.
I do not want to live this way. This isn’t a way to live. And, I am so angry.
I’m angry that I can’t control my thoughts and fears. I’m angry that this…THIS…is what’s taking up all of my energy and brain space.
Do you know what happens when you die?
You leave your body behind.
Your thin body, your fat body, your firm body, your squishy body… it doesn’t matter how thin, fat, or muscular it is — your body stays behind, and it’s buried in the ground. And the body you leave behind is no comfort to those who love you, because it becomes vividly clear at the moment of death that you are not your body.
I have had the honor at being at both of my grandmothers’ passings, and I can tell you that there is a very distinct moment when a person becomes a body.
I know that is morbid — maybe too morbid for this medium. Well, I’m not sorry.
We (myself included) spend so much time, energy, effort, and money on the one part of ourselves that we ultimately leave behind. I’m not saying to completely ignore it; I’m just saying that what it looks like really does. not. matter. It just doesn’t. And I, personally, have invested a lifetime’s worth of anxiety into that bit.
So, here’s the deal.
I’m going to let myself get fat.
I’m going to keep eating when I am hungry.
I am going to keep having dessert and peppermint mochas and kettle-cooked potato chips with my white-bread sandwiches.
I’m going to keep lifting weights and running, because I love how it makes me feel. I am going to pursue a half marathon, a marathon, and who knows what else, because it excites me. But, I am also going to rest more when my body needs it.
And, I am going to let my body get fat if that is what doing all of this makes happen.
And, if you look at my fatter body and feel a little bit of smug pride in yourself for being thinner, then good! I am glad that I could in any way contribute to you feeling good about yourself for even a moment.
If you think I’ve gotten lazy, am making poor choices, am giving up, weak, or ruining something, then why are you still here? It sounds like we wouldn’t make great friends. I’m ok with that.
I don’t need you to approve of my body. I don’t always approve of it either, and I still get through the day.