This week I hit a milestone with weight loss. I've shed 50 pounds the 9 months since my diabetes diagnosis. People keep asking me to identify my secret. I always struggle to articulate it, because it's not just one thing. I've done a complete overhaul of how and what I eat. But the biggest change hasn't been counting carbs or making spinach my new BFF (best food forever). It's been my attitude toward my health, toward my self.
When I was growing up, my Mama worked hard to provide healthy meals. But we were poor, so that wasn't always easy. There was a lot of bread and pasta, because those items are cheap. The veggies she offered, well, I just rejected them. I mean, threw them up. Especially lettuce. I can't abide the stuff still. Mama tried, is what I'm saying.
But when I moved out and left her care, entering married life and college, I made a lot of bad decisions foodwise. Not all of this was my fault. My husband worked at a bread factory, so we got a lot of free bread. And NO FAT was the diet fad, so I ate carbs to my heart's content. My weight ballooned out of control, and I couldn't figure out why. I was exercising. I was expanding.
After college I got diagnosed with PCOS (polycystic ovary syndrome), which explained a lot things. But the relevant part is that PCOS means my body doesn't metabolize carbs correctly. For x amount of carbs that makes a normal person gain 1 pound, I would gain up to 5 pounds from that same x carbs.
Another problem was that I'd started using food as a coping skill. If I felt deprived in any area of my life, I'd take myself out to a restaurant to prove I wasn't still in poverty. The spending and being waited on made me feel like I'd made something of myself.
And if I was upset, I'd scarf down carbs, especially Co'-Cola. I used to drink about 7 12-oz. cans a day.
Throughout high school I'd weighed about 110 pounds. By the time I was 22, I weighed 248 pounds. That was my record high. I have yo-yo dieted for years. I finally made peace with being overweight. With, let me just say it, being FAT. I learned to love my body and feel sexy even in plus size clothes.
A few years ago, my grandpa got diabetes, and my own fear of developing it (I had a number of risk factors, so it seemed inevitable) motivated me to join Weight Watchers. I did well on that program, up to a certain point. Then I went to grad school and put health on the back burner, then lost sight of it completely. I started eating my feelings again and went from 5 days a week at the gym to no exercise at all.
Fast forward a bit to February 2015. I had diabetes. It made me feel like I was at death's door. Once my blood sugar levels finally normalized, I felt like a new woman. And I never wanted to feel that bad again. I made a commitment -- again -- to eat right. I threw myself into patient education, going to classes at three different agencies. I had an iron will. Every time I wanted to cheat, I'd ask myself if that piece of pizza was worth losing my eyesight, losing a limb, etc. So fear was a big factor in the beginning.
Aside from learning about new eating habits, I had to learn and put into practice new coping skills. Music has saved me. If I'm upset and want to reach for a bag of chips, I practice guitar instead until the feeling passes. If I want to guzzle down a Coke, I look up lyrics and try to memorize them. I must be honest and say that I do still indulge (rarely) in chips and Coke and cake. But I plan for these splurges, and I measure how much I have. It's never in reaction to anything. Eating is not an emotional Band-Aid for me anymore.
Another thing that really helped me was my very short-lived job in child welfare. While I was in training and learning about all the maltreatments, ways you can abuse or neglect a child, I started thinking about how I love myself. Or how I show it. Or don't. I've always wanted children, but that's never been in the cards for me. And learning about child abuse made it impossible not to consider how I would raise a child.
Somewhere along the way, it dawned on me that while I can't (at this point in my life at least) pour that love and nurturing out on a child, I can pour it on myself. Because if I could make a living protecting children, couldn't I also make a life of protecting myself? Wasn't I worthy of an advocate?
In some creative writing exercises years ago, I named aspects of myself for journaling purposes. My inner child is named Suzie. My inner wise woman is named Tara. My inner bitch is Harley. Anyway, I revisited the idea of focusing on these aspects. What I decided was that it was Tara's job to take care of Suzie, who's diabetic. Suzie's in need of good nutrition. Tara loves Suzie with all her being and makes choices based on what's good for Suzie's health and doesn't give in to Suzie's tantrums and fits about wanting a doughnut. She does give Suzie treats. In moderation. So Suzie isn't totally deprived. And Harley, well, her job is to make me exercise. She reminds Healthy Hope that discipline is necessary. That I will feel better after I walk a mile and a half. Healthy Hope then dons her super hero cape and heads out the door ready to fight for her life. Her quality of life, at least.
I get that it's weird to be so elaborate with head games to make myself do what I should. But it works for me.
The big secret is I love myself now more than I ever have before. And I protect those I love and do what I can to make them happy. Health is essential to happiness, so I base my decisions on that as opposed to going for the instant gratification these days.
Every single time I reach for food or drink, I reflect on whether Suzie will benefit or end up in the hospital. Or maybe she's had a crappy day and could use a Snickers Bar. Or half of one maybe. Just this one time, because she's been so good for a month.
The scale moves in fits and starts. I'll drop 7 pounds in a week. Then be stuck for a few weeks. When I get stuck, I re-evaluate, tighten up where I've been slacking. If necessary, I enact more restrictions.
As far as the food stuff goes, there are a million things I've changed. Well, it seems like a million, though I'm sure that's not quite accurate.
I want to lose 50 more pounds. It will be hard, just as it has been so far. I haven't been at a healthy weight since I was 16. I look in the mirror now, and I see my bone structure in my face. It's proof that my self-love is paying off. I can reach down to tie my shoes without contorting my body or getting out of breath. That motivates me too.
Sure, I get discouraged. And when I was battling depression and anxiety, it was nearly impossible to make good choices all the time. But even then, I noticed that I didn't revert 100 percent back to the old, unhealthy Hope. I had faith that I would pull through. And that I didn't want to land myself in the hospital with blood sugar of 356 again.
I'm still in the process of learning how certain foods affect my sugar levels. I'm still trying new recipes. I'm still trying new products at the grocery store. There is a lot of trial and error.
But through it all is pride that I am capable of taking care of myself. That I am in fact a competent adult. That I would be a good mom if I ever get that opportunity, because I can do a good job of loving and protecting myself.
So I know I will reach that goal weight of 129 pounds. I'm giving myself a year to lose the next 50. I deserve to be healthy and happy. And I'm going to give myself my best chance at being Healthy Hope. And when I get there, I imagine I will feel like a super hero for real. I may even make myself a costume and take pictures to commemorate it. Because fiction selves make sense for me. They help me get through the days.
So if you want to match my success, I suggest you find a part of yourself that deserves your compassion. Then fiercely commit to taking care of that "person," no matter what it takes. Make it your responsibility to take care of that "person," who happens to be 100 percent dependent on you for his/her well-being.
Love yourself. Radically.
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