As you can probably tell, the overarching theme of my life right now is "Healthier". Or at least, the prequel to "Healthier." Since coming to England, I've gained 30 pounds (well, that started a few months before getting here), joined weight watchers (again), lost 20, quit doing weight watchers because I hate counting, stalled in my weight loss, gotten really sick and lost 10 more pounds, then gained 20 back. The other week I was considering going back to weight watchers (for the... 4th time), because, well, it works. If you do it. But I HATE doing it. I hate counting. The restrictions wear on me. I know that. Diets in general don't work with me. I get really pumped up for it, or for the newest workout routine that I've decided will be the one to help me suck in the baby belly. Then a week or two later, it grows old, my motivation putters out, and I'm left with a box of dvd's (helloooo P90X) and several cookbooks sitting on my counter collecting dust. And though Weight Watchers and P90X both tote the Lifestyle Change motto, it just doesn't work. For me. My problem is not that I don't know what to do. It's that, deep down, I just don't want to. Do I want to lose the weight? Sure. Do I want my clothes to fit better (including the two bridesmaids dresses that are looming in my future)? You bet. But do I want to keep a food journal? Nope. Do I want to bust my butt for an hour a day to lose weight that will bounce its way right back to my butt as soon as I stop? Nope.
My problem is not lack of knowledge. It goes deeper. The book that I mentioned in the previous post goes into why you eat, not what you eat. It's been eye-opening. She goes on about reaching a healthy weight, one you can maintain without feeling destined for failure if you ever let up and relax. One that you can feel happy about, feel happy in. How losing 50 pounds is not going to make you happier, more relaxed, more patient. It will just make you a thinner person who is still sad, still angry, still impatient and still searching. I absolutely know that I did not gain weight because I ate fries. I gained weight because I ate fries when I wasn't hungry. Just the other day, the kids were going nuts, which meant that I was going nuts. I turned on a show for them, stomped into the kitchen, grabbed a box of crackers and a chunk of cheese and went to town. As I was cutting and topping and stuffing, I was thinking to myself "Laura, you aren't hungry. Put the box down." And that was the followed quickly by "SHUT THE HELL UP! DON'T YOU KNOW IT'S QUIET TIME!" and another cracker.
My problem isn't food. It's why I eat it.
For the last week, I've been trying to be really conscious of why I eat. If I am not hungry, I don't eat. Even if it's that time when I usually have a snack. Or even lunch. If I'm not hungry, I'll skip lunch and eat a smaller meal later on. And when I do sit down, I try to pay close attention to when my hand starts moving on auto-pilot. That's usually a sign that I am full. Of course, I don't have the luxury of eating slowly, but that doesn't mean that I need to gorge myself. I just eat half, clean up the kids lunches, getting them settled, then revisit. Do I need to finish this? And if the answer is yes... then I do. I eat it all. The whole thing. Because if you trust your body, it will gently guide you to your weight. No rules, no timelines. Just trust.
Five pounds down. Plenty more to go. But hopefully I will shed more than just pounds on this journey. Hopefully I will also lose some baggage that I wasn't even aware I was holding on to. Hopefully I will lose the need to quiet the storm in my house with a few (large) mouth-fulls of food.
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