Life continues to be overwhelming.
I've really needed to talk to my dad recently about coming up with a better plan of action for caring for my mother, and also making sure he's getting some help and support around this. And I wanted to be clearer of the ways in which I am capable of helping and the ways that are just too painful for me. He's, understandably, avoiding the conversation, so I sent him some of my main thoughts and concerns to which he's not had really much of a response to yet. It kind of sucks to need your parent to be present with you through some tough stuff; but then to be faced with a parent who's stretched so thin they've got nothing left to give you. Is this what adulthood is? Are you an adult when you're on the same emotional level and need to support your parents as much as you need their support?
I feel frazzled. I'm finding it hard to juggle even the things that bring me joy. I'm finding it so difficult to really focus or work as quickly as I used to. I'm really enjoying a graduate class I'm taking (Advanced Physical Activity and Health...I'll talk more about it some other time) but it's hard for me to carve out the time I need to do the readings and writing assignments. And it's stressful to have to run directly from class twice a week to either go to or work at a Weight Watchers meeting--and the class ends just late enough to make me consistently a few minutes late to both, yet these are all things that bring me happiness. And I've just gotten a second position with Weight Watchers to put in another 5 or so hours a week helping members through the web or phone. And I'm really excited for that--I'm really excited to be helping members more directly and I love that Weight Watchers launched the extra support. If there's one thing I believe in, there can never be too much support in our lives. It's just starting to feel like a little much.
Karate has been tough.
(Long story, short version: the dojo I originally joined closed and a good handful of us moved to training with one of our Sensei's Senseis. It has been great and wonderful and fun and exciting and sad and frustrating and humbling and probably a lot of other things. Karate was something that came into my life when I was at a very low point, fearful of an abusive ex who had been harassing me; when I felt particularly weak and beaten up. I turned to karate in the hopes it would help build up my esteem (it did) and confidence (it did) and would just provide me with a beautiful and peaceful physical outlet for some of the rage held inside of me. What I didn't expect, but have treasured dearly, is that karate would also help me deal with a difficult world; to be able to face some scary things with a prepared and accepting attitude; and to always search for the positivity in everything and be grateful for lessons learned from our challenges. And to meet and love some pretty amazing people.)
Karate is a very emotional experience for me. It means a lot to me, and practicing it, especially practicing with my partners in the dojo, can really open me up emotionally. Sometimes, when I'm in a particularly difficult space, I find it nearly impossible to get to the dojo. Not because I don't want to be there, but because my deep sadness and rage is bubbling to the surface and I know going in there will unleash it completely. The nights I don't go are usually the nights where I'm not 100% certain I can get through the class without breaking out sobbing or losing my patience and temper altogether and walking right off the floor to prevent myself from screaming at someone (especially my Sensei!) In the emotional state I've been in recently, I've not trained for a little over a week, and am not certain I'll be making it in tonight, either. I'm keeping the option open, of course, but like I said, I'm feeling overwhelmed and have so much on my mind that I am allowing myself the option of not going for as long as I really need to not go, until I can re-regulate some of this stuff and be able to think clearly without 5+ different responsibilities rushing through my head. As much as is possible, I've decided to simplify my life until my reeling brain calms down from its trigger-mode; until I feel more in control of my emotions than struggling with them. I need to go back to the basics of my life and take on what I can, and put off some of the things that actually can wait a while. I hope that at some point, when I'm a little (or a lot) more advanced a student, I will be able to better contain these emotions and train no matter what my emotional state is, and use it as a way to refocus and reground and feel confident that there will always be one thing I am capable of doing that I value, which also builds me up in the process.
Back to basics for me is something I'm going to concentrate on with my Weight Watchers journey as well; in fact, that's going to be my main focus for at least a couple of weeks. Pulling out the old books; double-checking pointsplus values of foods; taking a better look at the good health guidelines (water, healthy oils, fruits and veggies, lean proteins, whole grains) and weigh and measure out everything I think I know the measurements of. One thing I've already realized is that I was accidentally counting my daily cereal a point less than what it's worth! So, it's paying off already :)
Sometimes, eh lots of times, the healthy life journey feels totally overwhelming. There are so many ways to make our diets better and our workouts complicated. We have to decide what type of diet we want; then think about the best sources of our food; organic? inorganic? hormone free? free range? gluten free? low carb? high fiber? fresh or frozen? low fat? no fat? healthy fat? eating after 7pm? running in the morning or wait until the evening? high reps, low weight? or high weight, low reps? zumba or yoga? track my food on paper or my smartphone? workout in the morning, or get a full night's sleep instead? Sometimes it's nice to tackle all of the minutia of the entire healthy lifestyle, but if it starts to feel unmanageable then cut it back to the basics until you reset and get excited about the minutia again. Know what you're eating and how many calories/pointsplus values it is; track everything you eat and drink; get moving whenever you can, however you can; get to a meeting. This weekend I went back to my basic 30-minute cardio routine and 3 sets each of push-ups and crunches. It's not what I usually do, and it's not usually enough to make me feel great, but when you're totally flooded this is how you stay on the boat. Enough with the fancy stuff, take some of the pressure off and re-build.
Tuesday, October 14, 2014
Thursday, October 9, 2014
"The only thing more effective is regular exercise!"
I think it's funny that we're constantly looking for a pill to cure things that simple, free, side-effectless regular exercise can usually treat more effectively than any pharmaceuticals we've produced. Obviously this does not apply to all medications, but in the realm of medications for many mental health, cardiovascular, diabetes, attention deficit and similar conditions we're quick to go to the pharmacy, but is that the best way to treat all of these conditions?
(Skip to 4:50 http://en.seekcartoon.com/watch/26619-the-simpsons-season-11-episode-2-brothers-little-helper.html#.VDaottTF-qI)
Anxiety is a really, really uncomfortable thing. It just doesn't make you feel good. When it's got a particularly strong hold of me, everything feels frightening and depressing. I know cognitively that the uncomfortable feeling will pass, but it's still really difficult to deal with in the moment. It feels like no decision I make is "right" or "good enough" or "what I want." I can neither identify what it is I want to do or where it is I want to be or even the company, if any, I want to be in. I quite literally don't know what to do with myself. I feel trapped--I both want to run and stay perfectly still; my heart wants to be with my friends but my fear screams that I need to isolate and protect myself from whatever it is that's causing me anxiety; guess that's that fight-or-flight instinct. Self-soothing feels nearly impossible and sometimes, despite my best efforts, I'm unable to self-soothe at all and I dissociate from reality for relief from the discomfort, until the anxiety can come down enough on its own for me to manage again. Usually the dissociation is in smaller bursts and manageable. Friends often notice that I "space out" and I come across as an air head sometimes because of that, but the dissociation prevents me from being able to focus and allow new information into my brain. Sometimes I hear what's being said, but can't put the words together in a comprehensible way, or more often, it just takes me a while to sort them in my brain and I have quite delayed reactions. Kinda like my brain hasn't buffered yet. Usually, at least in social situations, it's actually kind of funny, but every once in a while it's more intense and I feel numb and empty.
After therapy last night, I found myself pretty dissociated. It sort of came over me slowly, then enveloped me. My mind was reeling from a very productive, but very painful therapy session. Different memories of my childhood with my mother kept flashing into my consciousness and I was remembering just how dysfunctional and inappropriate many of my experiences and early relationship with my mother was. I was feeling overwhelmed at the options I had in front of me to start taking steps with my dad and my brother (hopefully) to try to get a handle on this stuff, because none of us are dealing with this in a healthy way. And then all of a sudden it became too much and I found myself staring off into space. My partner came over last night and I just felt like I was in a dream or under water and emotionally numb. It felt like he was so far away and he felt almost like a stranger. We still had a nice evening, although it was a little quieter than usual. I let him know I was feeling out of it and we just sat and watched TV and I was grateful that he played some of the music he's been working on so we could talk about something light and safe and structured. I really appreciate his ability and willingness to just allow this stuff into our space when it happens without judgement, and with utter patience. And I appreciate his desire to be present with me when I am not, yet still secure in allowing me to be alone if that is what I need. He never holds it against me, which I know should be the norm, but to me it's a relief to have someone in my life that can allow me to just be when I need to, and not demand things of me when I'm incapable of providing anything.
Activity can really help me with anxiety. Sometimes going for a lunch run break is the only thing that can regulate me enough to be able to be productive at work. We've evolved these physiological reactions to stress for good reason, only the stressors we face now are not the stressors our ancestors faced. The things that cause us anxiety and stress today aren't momentary threats to our lives where we can fend off or run away from a predator. They're chronic. And that's a lot of hormones to have running through your system on a consistent basis, without having the outlets to channel these hormones into a way that puts them to use and re-regulates them. The things that make me anxious today--memories of abuse; fear of men I do not know; the stress of caring for a very ill mom--none of those things can be solved by running away from them. Yet my hormones are screaming at me to run or fight. So, what can help me the most when I'm having a triggered episode or am utterly anxious or feel uncontrollably angry is a good workout. I have anxiety prescriptions; I have different cognitive and behavioral skills I can turn to to help manage the anxiety, but none of those (especially the pills) really do the trick. They take the edge off, but also make me exhausted and make it difficult to stay awake. A good physical outlet, however, helps a lot, especially when combined with the other tools I've been given.
We all know the many benefits of exercise in relation to overall health, fitness and weight management, but exercise is proving more and more to be the "magic pill" we're constantly trying to create to cure lots of conditions or alleviate unpleasant symptoms. Physical activity has humongous emotional and psychological benefits. Regular activity boosts the "feel-good" and "rewarding" neurochemicals in your brain. It gives you more physical energy. It calms you, leads to better sleep, prevents cognitive decline, allows psychiatric medications to actually work better as it oxygenates your brain. It makes you feel better about yourself; it makes you stronger so it's easier to live day-to-day and it can be SUPER fun. We talk a lot to our members at Weight Watchers about the importance of exercise. We find it common for our members to dread exercise and I definitely do get that. When I was at my heaviest I wasn't particularly excited about hitting the gym and being reminded of how hard it felt to move my body. It made me feel fat and ashamed and embarrassed of myself and my extreme un-fitness. But with time, I started to not really care anymore what others may or may not have thought about my fitness level and weight. WIth time, the workouts got easier. And with time, they got fun. And with more time, they became addictive. And after being particularly hit hard with PTSD, they became essential to my survival. I may have started exercising because I wanted to give my weight loss a jump start, but I've stayed with it because it makes such a dramatic difference in my confidence and mental health. I realized that I enjoyed the way it felt to take deep breaths during cardio, especially in comparison to the difficulty I have breathing when I'm very anxious. I love the way my muscles feel, warm and strong, as I'm using them to propel me. I love how it feels to run in the cold and be my own furnace to keep me warm in the winter. It makes me feel more empowered. And I think if we stopped focusing so much on exercise because "we should" or because "we have to" or because "it's the only way I'll lose weight/get to the size I want/look the way I want" and start focusing more on how wonderful exercise feels and how it impacts us on every level, emotionally, psychologically, physically, and engaged more in activities that are fun for us instead of some workout we dread, we'd all be more excited to move. It's actually a pretty fun, and unbelievably helpful thing to do.
I guess this post is more about viewing exercise in a different way. It's not just something that's good for you, it's something that significantly improves your quality of life in nearly every respect. It's our body's natural drug and if you can just find one thing that you love to do that also moves your body, you'll be hooked within 3 months. And you'll notice when you miss a workout and actually feel your body crave it. So try something you like, stick it out for a few months, then see how you feel. Try different things, but make sure you have fun in the process.
Happy moving <3
(Skip to 4:50 http://en.seekcartoon.com/watch/26619-the-simpsons-season-11-episode-2-brothers-little-helper.html#.VDaottTF-qI)
Anxiety is a really, really uncomfortable thing. It just doesn't make you feel good. When it's got a particularly strong hold of me, everything feels frightening and depressing. I know cognitively that the uncomfortable feeling will pass, but it's still really difficult to deal with in the moment. It feels like no decision I make is "right" or "good enough" or "what I want." I can neither identify what it is I want to do or where it is I want to be or even the company, if any, I want to be in. I quite literally don't know what to do with myself. I feel trapped--I both want to run and stay perfectly still; my heart wants to be with my friends but my fear screams that I need to isolate and protect myself from whatever it is that's causing me anxiety; guess that's that fight-or-flight instinct. Self-soothing feels nearly impossible and sometimes, despite my best efforts, I'm unable to self-soothe at all and I dissociate from reality for relief from the discomfort, until the anxiety can come down enough on its own for me to manage again. Usually the dissociation is in smaller bursts and manageable. Friends often notice that I "space out" and I come across as an air head sometimes because of that, but the dissociation prevents me from being able to focus and allow new information into my brain. Sometimes I hear what's being said, but can't put the words together in a comprehensible way, or more often, it just takes me a while to sort them in my brain and I have quite delayed reactions. Kinda like my brain hasn't buffered yet. Usually, at least in social situations, it's actually kind of funny, but every once in a while it's more intense and I feel numb and empty.
After therapy last night, I found myself pretty dissociated. It sort of came over me slowly, then enveloped me. My mind was reeling from a very productive, but very painful therapy session. Different memories of my childhood with my mother kept flashing into my consciousness and I was remembering just how dysfunctional and inappropriate many of my experiences and early relationship with my mother was. I was feeling overwhelmed at the options I had in front of me to start taking steps with my dad and my brother (hopefully) to try to get a handle on this stuff, because none of us are dealing with this in a healthy way. And then all of a sudden it became too much and I found myself staring off into space. My partner came over last night and I just felt like I was in a dream or under water and emotionally numb. It felt like he was so far away and he felt almost like a stranger. We still had a nice evening, although it was a little quieter than usual. I let him know I was feeling out of it and we just sat and watched TV and I was grateful that he played some of the music he's been working on so we could talk about something light and safe and structured. I really appreciate his ability and willingness to just allow this stuff into our space when it happens without judgement, and with utter patience. And I appreciate his desire to be present with me when I am not, yet still secure in allowing me to be alone if that is what I need. He never holds it against me, which I know should be the norm, but to me it's a relief to have someone in my life that can allow me to just be when I need to, and not demand things of me when I'm incapable of providing anything.
Activity can really help me with anxiety. Sometimes going for a lunch run break is the only thing that can regulate me enough to be able to be productive at work. We've evolved these physiological reactions to stress for good reason, only the stressors we face now are not the stressors our ancestors faced. The things that cause us anxiety and stress today aren't momentary threats to our lives where we can fend off or run away from a predator. They're chronic. And that's a lot of hormones to have running through your system on a consistent basis, without having the outlets to channel these hormones into a way that puts them to use and re-regulates them. The things that make me anxious today--memories of abuse; fear of men I do not know; the stress of caring for a very ill mom--none of those things can be solved by running away from them. Yet my hormones are screaming at me to run or fight. So, what can help me the most when I'm having a triggered episode or am utterly anxious or feel uncontrollably angry is a good workout. I have anxiety prescriptions; I have different cognitive and behavioral skills I can turn to to help manage the anxiety, but none of those (especially the pills) really do the trick. They take the edge off, but also make me exhausted and make it difficult to stay awake. A good physical outlet, however, helps a lot, especially when combined with the other tools I've been given.
We all know the many benefits of exercise in relation to overall health, fitness and weight management, but exercise is proving more and more to be the "magic pill" we're constantly trying to create to cure lots of conditions or alleviate unpleasant symptoms. Physical activity has humongous emotional and psychological benefits. Regular activity boosts the "feel-good" and "rewarding" neurochemicals in your brain. It gives you more physical energy. It calms you, leads to better sleep, prevents cognitive decline, allows psychiatric medications to actually work better as it oxygenates your brain. It makes you feel better about yourself; it makes you stronger so it's easier to live day-to-day and it can be SUPER fun. We talk a lot to our members at Weight Watchers about the importance of exercise. We find it common for our members to dread exercise and I definitely do get that. When I was at my heaviest I wasn't particularly excited about hitting the gym and being reminded of how hard it felt to move my body. It made me feel fat and ashamed and embarrassed of myself and my extreme un-fitness. But with time, I started to not really care anymore what others may or may not have thought about my fitness level and weight. WIth time, the workouts got easier. And with time, they got fun. And with more time, they became addictive. And after being particularly hit hard with PTSD, they became essential to my survival. I may have started exercising because I wanted to give my weight loss a jump start, but I've stayed with it because it makes such a dramatic difference in my confidence and mental health. I realized that I enjoyed the way it felt to take deep breaths during cardio, especially in comparison to the difficulty I have breathing when I'm very anxious. I love the way my muscles feel, warm and strong, as I'm using them to propel me. I love how it feels to run in the cold and be my own furnace to keep me warm in the winter. It makes me feel more empowered. And I think if we stopped focusing so much on exercise because "we should" or because "we have to" or because "it's the only way I'll lose weight/get to the size I want/look the way I want" and start focusing more on how wonderful exercise feels and how it impacts us on every level, emotionally, psychologically, physically, and engaged more in activities that are fun for us instead of some workout we dread, we'd all be more excited to move. It's actually a pretty fun, and unbelievably helpful thing to do.
I guess this post is more about viewing exercise in a different way. It's not just something that's good for you, it's something that significantly improves your quality of life in nearly every respect. It's our body's natural drug and if you can just find one thing that you love to do that also moves your body, you'll be hooked within 3 months. And you'll notice when you miss a workout and actually feel your body crave it. So try something you like, stick it out for a few months, then see how you feel. Try different things, but make sure you have fun in the process.
Happy moving <3
Friday, October 3, 2014
When stress gets in the way
I'm so overdue for a post, and honestly don't really have the time now for one either, but if we don't carve out time for self-careish things like this, well, you know my take on that.
Since taking care of my mom while my dad was away, I've not been feeling so great. Actually, I've been kind of a mess. A contained and still functional mess, just an emotionally wrought one.
Some of my trauma history involves my mom. I mentioned that in addition to her physical disabilities, she also has quite a host of psychiatric ones as well. Her depression, anxiety, PTSD and bipolar disorder went untreated for most of my childhood (she did get into therapy and started getting some treatment when I was about 17, after self-medicating until that point with copious amounts of alcohol and a couple of suicide attempts, for which she was hospitalized.) She also had me at a very young age, (conceived me when she was 16), and the combination of her trying to survive her trauma and psychiatric conditions without treatment, while trying to raise a child while still being a child herself, and her abuse of alcohol in trying to cope with all of these things at once led to an inappropriate upbringing for me. I would often sit with a very drunk mother at a very, very young age and comfort her as she cried and related stories of her home and sexual abuse to me. I would try to be her therapist when I was as young as 5 or 6 years old; knew horrors about the world that shouldn't be exposed to a child that young; and was consistently caring for my mom in one way or another--getting her drinks, comforting her regularly, helping her when she was hungover. I grew up taking care of my mom, and that really took a toll on me. Thankfully my dad was also in the picture, but because my mom repeatedly told me to never tell him the things she shared with me in confidence, I never did, and held it inside for years and years.
I started seeing a therapist myself when I was about 17, and spent years grieving over the realization that my mother wasn't quite capable of being a mother. I spent a lot of time and energy healing from and accepting my strange childhood, accepting that my mom had very limited capacities and learned how to build some armor around myself and to deflect her traumatic stories and wallowing moods when she got into them, to protect myself from her pain. I had to learn to accept that there was nothing I could do to "fix" my mom, and that my continuous efforts to do so weren't helping her at all, and were instead just tearing me apart. I learned how to let go of many of the caretaking behaviors I had around her, and that was really helpful for me. It never got easy to have a mom with such chronic psychiatric conditions, but I had learned, at least, that I had to let go of what I had no control over; that I had to stop caretaking her and start taking care of myself.
And then she got sick.
I was talking to my partner last night about how it feels like some cruel cosmic joke's being played on me--to have spent so much time and worked so hard at extricating myself from this role of constantly doting on her and trying to comfort her and make her feel better, only to be faced now with the realization that I no longer have that luxury. Whereas before her back issues had crippled her, I could walk away and know she was capable of surviving on her own, she's kinda not now. She’s definitely not now. I don't feel that I can continue to turn my back on her and block her out emotionally when I see her in so much pain. I don't feel that I can leave all of the responsibilities of taking care of her and comforting her through her very painful days entirely to my dad and my brother. But the truth is, when I do dive in and help, especially when I'm on my own to do it, I get very triggered. I feel like I've been thrown back in time to being a little kid, hugging my crying mom and telling her it was going to be OK when I didn't really know if it would. Obviously it makes me very sad and angry, and it's difficult to cope with, but one of the things that frustrates me the most is that it throws me so far off plan when it comes to my efforts to lose weight. On those particularly stressful days, I throw back a glass or two of wine, calories I don't really need or want. It becomes harder to get out of bed in the morning because all of my energy is gone, and it becomes nearly impossible to work out, even though I know it is in these moments that I most need my exercise. And, there's some evidence out there that suggest that stress in and of itself can cause hormonal changes that can lead to weight gain (science!)
So, unsurprisingly and disappointingly, I’ve gained 1.6 lbs since my last weigh in. It’s very frustrating and can really make me feel at times that I’m not going to be able to get this weight entirely off, but then I also have to promptly remind myself that beating myself up about it and focusing on the feelings of defeat will only keep me in a vicious cycle of proving to myself that I can’t lose the weight. Attitude has so much to do with success (or lack thereof) and if I don’t believe I can lose weight, then how is it actually going to come off? If I lackadaisically “go through the motions” and allow my depressive symptoms be an excuse to spill a little extra wine than what I know is a serving size into my glass; to pop pieces of chocolate into my mouth; to comfort myself with food and thoughts that “oh, this little thing won’t matter” then beat up on myself when I get on the scale and realize they actually do, then I’ll just end up feeling like even though I’ve “tried” it isn’t coming off and therefore it never will and why do I try I should just give up now.
There have been many points in my life and my attempts at weight loss where I’ve felt exactly this way and I’ve given up completely, ordered a calzone and drowned myself in steak and cheesey goodness, only to feel like utter crap moments after doing it and wake up the next day with a food hangover and a bunch of self-deprecating thoughts. In the years I’ve spent as a Weight Watchers member, I’ve learned how crazy that mindset is. We’ve used analogies in meetings to emphasize how truly silly this train of thought is: “if you get a flat tire while you’re driving, do you pull over and puncture the remaining 3?” Nope. You pull over, patch the tire, change it, or call for help to fix it and keep going. Why should we do anything different when it comes to our weight loss journey? Why aren’t we worth patching up when we get punctured so we can keep moving forward?
So, even though I do feel like crap; even though I am tired and angry and triggered and depressed and discouraged; even though I am frustrated with having allowed my emotions to block my weight loss progress, I’m just going to pull over and patch up. I’m going to keep going because the alternative is to give up and risk gaining it all back and thensome; because the alternative would mean not trying at all and feeling physically and emotionally horrific about myself; because giving up would mean I’d lose the benefits of my lighter weight and fitter and healthier, happier body. And for me, that’s not an option. So, this week I’ll tighten some things up and go back to basics. I’ll pay closer attention to those moments I automatically reach out for a bite or taste of something without accounting for it nutritionally and either choose not to do it, or count it as part of my daily calorie intake. I’ll weigh and measure my foods and drinks before indulging as often as is physically possible. And I’ll do it because I want to feel good about myself and in control again. I’ll do it because what I need most right now is to take care of myself, after being drained from taking care of someone else for a while. And I’ll be really super-duper nice to myself while doing it.
Today’s Weight: 183.6
Since taking care of my mom while my dad was away, I've not been feeling so great. Actually, I've been kind of a mess. A contained and still functional mess, just an emotionally wrought one.
Some of my trauma history involves my mom. I mentioned that in addition to her physical disabilities, she also has quite a host of psychiatric ones as well. Her depression, anxiety, PTSD and bipolar disorder went untreated for most of my childhood (she did get into therapy and started getting some treatment when I was about 17, after self-medicating until that point with copious amounts of alcohol and a couple of suicide attempts, for which she was hospitalized.) She also had me at a very young age, (conceived me when she was 16), and the combination of her trying to survive her trauma and psychiatric conditions without treatment, while trying to raise a child while still being a child herself, and her abuse of alcohol in trying to cope with all of these things at once led to an inappropriate upbringing for me. I would often sit with a very drunk mother at a very, very young age and comfort her as she cried and related stories of her home and sexual abuse to me. I would try to be her therapist when I was as young as 5 or 6 years old; knew horrors about the world that shouldn't be exposed to a child that young; and was consistently caring for my mom in one way or another--getting her drinks, comforting her regularly, helping her when she was hungover. I grew up taking care of my mom, and that really took a toll on me. Thankfully my dad was also in the picture, but because my mom repeatedly told me to never tell him the things she shared with me in confidence, I never did, and held it inside for years and years.
I started seeing a therapist myself when I was about 17, and spent years grieving over the realization that my mother wasn't quite capable of being a mother. I spent a lot of time and energy healing from and accepting my strange childhood, accepting that my mom had very limited capacities and learned how to build some armor around myself and to deflect her traumatic stories and wallowing moods when she got into them, to protect myself from her pain. I had to learn to accept that there was nothing I could do to "fix" my mom, and that my continuous efforts to do so weren't helping her at all, and were instead just tearing me apart. I learned how to let go of many of the caretaking behaviors I had around her, and that was really helpful for me. It never got easy to have a mom with such chronic psychiatric conditions, but I had learned, at least, that I had to let go of what I had no control over; that I had to stop caretaking her and start taking care of myself.
And then she got sick.
I was talking to my partner last night about how it feels like some cruel cosmic joke's being played on me--to have spent so much time and worked so hard at extricating myself from this role of constantly doting on her and trying to comfort her and make her feel better, only to be faced now with the realization that I no longer have that luxury. Whereas before her back issues had crippled her, I could walk away and know she was capable of surviving on her own, she's kinda not now. She’s definitely not now. I don't feel that I can continue to turn my back on her and block her out emotionally when I see her in so much pain. I don't feel that I can leave all of the responsibilities of taking care of her and comforting her through her very painful days entirely to my dad and my brother. But the truth is, when I do dive in and help, especially when I'm on my own to do it, I get very triggered. I feel like I've been thrown back in time to being a little kid, hugging my crying mom and telling her it was going to be OK when I didn't really know if it would. Obviously it makes me very sad and angry, and it's difficult to cope with, but one of the things that frustrates me the most is that it throws me so far off plan when it comes to my efforts to lose weight. On those particularly stressful days, I throw back a glass or two of wine, calories I don't really need or want. It becomes harder to get out of bed in the morning because all of my energy is gone, and it becomes nearly impossible to work out, even though I know it is in these moments that I most need my exercise. And, there's some evidence out there that suggest that stress in and of itself can cause hormonal changes that can lead to weight gain (science!)
So, unsurprisingly and disappointingly, I’ve gained 1.6 lbs since my last weigh in. It’s very frustrating and can really make me feel at times that I’m not going to be able to get this weight entirely off, but then I also have to promptly remind myself that beating myself up about it and focusing on the feelings of defeat will only keep me in a vicious cycle of proving to myself that I can’t lose the weight. Attitude has so much to do with success (or lack thereof) and if I don’t believe I can lose weight, then how is it actually going to come off? If I lackadaisically “go through the motions” and allow my depressive symptoms be an excuse to spill a little extra wine than what I know is a serving size into my glass; to pop pieces of chocolate into my mouth; to comfort myself with food and thoughts that “oh, this little thing won’t matter” then beat up on myself when I get on the scale and realize they actually do, then I’ll just end up feeling like even though I’ve “tried” it isn’t coming off and therefore it never will and why do I try I should just give up now.
There have been many points in my life and my attempts at weight loss where I’ve felt exactly this way and I’ve given up completely, ordered a calzone and drowned myself in steak and cheesey goodness, only to feel like utter crap moments after doing it and wake up the next day with a food hangover and a bunch of self-deprecating thoughts. In the years I’ve spent as a Weight Watchers member, I’ve learned how crazy that mindset is. We’ve used analogies in meetings to emphasize how truly silly this train of thought is: “if you get a flat tire while you’re driving, do you pull over and puncture the remaining 3?” Nope. You pull over, patch the tire, change it, or call for help to fix it and keep going. Why should we do anything different when it comes to our weight loss journey? Why aren’t we worth patching up when we get punctured so we can keep moving forward?
So, even though I do feel like crap; even though I am tired and angry and triggered and depressed and discouraged; even though I am frustrated with having allowed my emotions to block my weight loss progress, I’m just going to pull over and patch up. I’m going to keep going because the alternative is to give up and risk gaining it all back and thensome; because the alternative would mean not trying at all and feeling physically and emotionally horrific about myself; because giving up would mean I’d lose the benefits of my lighter weight and fitter and healthier, happier body. And for me, that’s not an option. So, this week I’ll tighten some things up and go back to basics. I’ll pay closer attention to those moments I automatically reach out for a bite or taste of something without accounting for it nutritionally and either choose not to do it, or count it as part of my daily calorie intake. I’ll weigh and measure my foods and drinks before indulging as often as is physically possible. And I’ll do it because I want to feel good about myself and in control again. I’ll do it because what I need most right now is to take care of myself, after being drained from taking care of someone else for a while. And I’ll be really super-duper nice to myself while doing it.
Today’s Weight: 183.6
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