It’s an addiction. I know I have an addictive personality. I know I have to be careful. I know I think in black and white terms. And yet I still think about it. Dieting. Weight loss. The control. The restriction. The beauty of it all. I miss my spreadsheets. I miss the scale going down. I miss the feeling of being hungry and the pride that comes with saying no to myself. I miss ED. There, I said it, I miss ED. I didn’t miss him while we were TTC because I could then fixate on that. Now that I’m pregnant I don’t have anything to fixate on. I’m bored, so ED is rearing his ugly head.
It’s hard. Really hard. It’s my rabbit hole.
Now, don’t get me wrong – I love my current body. I don’t hate this body by any stretch of the imagination. I love watching it grow and change. I love feeling the baby grow and feeling her inside of me. I love my little bump. I love what’s happening. I think it’s amazing. I just…miss the control. My doctor’s scale has me at gaining 12lbs so far. I’ve stopped weighing in at home. It makes me count calories. It makes me want to restrict. It fuels my crazy. And no worries – I will not do ANYTHING to jeopardize my health or the baby’s health. I will not give into temptation.
The biggest thing I’m struggling with is the guilt I have when eating now. I feel like people are judging me. Before I felt like I was the fat girl dieting. Go be sad and eat your lettuce, fat lady. Now I feel the need to tell people I’m pregnant when I have something terribly slutty. I want to justify and explain why I feel like it’s okay to eat the shit I’m eating. That was a very subjective, anti Intuitive Eating sentence, and I know this. In non judgemental terms, I’m eating what I want to eat and currently it’s not very nutritious. That statement alone is nothing more than a fact, but re-reading it to myself I feel riddled with guilt for choosing non nutritious foods. Part of me wonders if I’m making up for the last 6 years of saying no by now saying yes to everything. Regardless, it perpetuates the cycle of guilt and the desire to restrict. The instant I cave to a craving I suddenly feel the desire to restrict.
I was a weight loss professional before my first miscarriage. Eat like an idiot around people and then restrict when alone. My spreadsheets were an obvious indicator of how “successful” that was. I’d spike every Monday between 5-7lbs, take it all off by Thursday and see a loss by Saturday morning. Saturday night and Sunday were my binge days, but I still worked out one of those days. None the wiser at what Mon-Fri looked like: 5-6am workout burning around 1,000kcal and only eat 1300’ish all day. Clearly it worked, I lost 125lbs. Just not in the healthiest of ways. And while I know that, I miss it. I actually miss it. How fucked up is that?
I feel out of control right now. I find myself day dreaming about my spreadsheets, workouts and meals after the baby is born. I find myself day dreaming about that sense of control again. Taking before pictures and being that after again. Training. Pushing my body to the limit and making it do what I want because I can. I went to lunch with friends yesterday and one is Tri Training. I instantly felt that rush. That need. That desire.
I want to run. No, I want to run hard. The kind of run that leaves you puking in the grass after. The kind of run that makes you feel alive. I want to ride. Climb the hills and feel the wind slap my face on my way down. Feel my thighs come alive as I push through my big gear. What I want to do, I currently cannot do. I’m walking and doing the “pregnancy safe” exercises, but it’s not what I crave. What I’m doing is boring. It’s not that heart racing, dry heaving, sore for days feeling that my body so desperately wants to feel again. And that’s hard.
I think don’t fat is bad, or unsexy or anything of the sort . I believe you can be fat and healthy – I am. My problem is that I have an ideal way I’d like my body to look and respond. I have a performance level I’d like my body at. My body is a machine. I have a pace I’d like to run and need a body that’ll do it. The only thing I know for sure is that I will get my body to that performance level before my daughter is old enough to remember anything else. I don’t want her to have the same demons I do. I don’t want her to see my struggle and think it’s acceptable. I don’t want her to ever look in the mirror and think she’s less than. My end game is to be a mother that doesn’t diet or criticize herself. My end game is to exude confidence so that my kid(s) believes that’s the only option for her. To exercise normally, not excessively. To eat 80/20 and it not even be a talking point.
And if that means I work my body to the bone and keep spreadsheets to achieve that all before she remembers, then so be it.
2016 will be a year of transformation.
I guess we’ll consider this the calm before the storm.