Lately, everyone seems to be noticing my weight loss. As of today, I'm down 48 pounds (see the 40 pound before/after's
here). Friends, coworkers and gym buddies have praised and encouraged me. They've said that I'm amazing, a machine, that I've motivated them to start (or restart) their fitness plan or weight loss. At least a dozen people have said that I'm an inspiration to them.
Me?
An inspiration?
Every time someone says that, some alarm bell goes off in my head and before I can stop myself, the words come pouring out of my mouth..."What? Me? No. Not me! I'm not an inspiration. I mean, I've lost some weight, but, no....I'm no inspiration."
And then, almost always, I remind them that I weighed 262.2 pounds
at my heaviest. I tell them I'm still 214 and a size 14/16. I admit I still need to lose 34 pounds to reach my ideal/goal weight of 180 or so. (*)
Which begs the question...WHY do I do that?
Because I don't feel like an inspiration. Deep down, I still feel like a big fat failure.
I've just admitted my weight at the top of this blog for the world to see and I've got a knot in my stomach as I type. It's humiliating to see it there, in black and white. 262.2?!?! I'm fighting the urge to go back and delete it from the blog out of embarrassment.
Being fat IS embarrassing. Let's get real about it. No one likes being fat. If someone tells you they enjoy being fat, they're lying. Being fat is easy, but it's not much fun. There's nothing fun about wearing black all the time, elastic waist bands and strategically cropping every photo to hide your belly, butt, arms or thighs.
For me, 262.2 not only represents failure, but sickness. The autoimmune disease that led to my weight gain also caused itchy skin, severe hives, hair loss, brittle nails, joint pain, depression, severe exhaustion and much more. For more than a year, I was
very sick. Doctor after doctor dismissed me as fat and lazy and told me to "...eat less and exercise more." When I was diagnosed with Hashimoto's, I was eating just 1,000 calories a day and still gaining weight each month. After gaining 50 pounds in under a year, it was clear to me. I was a failure, plain and simple.
My feelings of failure are like baggage I carried with me everyday. Over time, the feeling of failure became like a perfectly worn backpack.
I grew used to carrying it around each day - just like the excess weight on my body. I became familiar with it's heft, comfortable with the burden it imposed on me. I grew to know every inch of that backpack, the spots of weakness in the material, the stains, rips, patches. I know how to hide it around others, make self-deprecating jokes about it, and shove every bad feeling I've ever had about my weight and health into it. I was successful in every area of my life but a failure in one...my weight/health/fitness. So, day in and day out, I carried that backpack with me, filled with all my feelings of failure, laziness, and frustration.
And I never set it down...that's the funny thing about being fat. You can never escape it, not even for a moment. You're fat morning, noon and night. You're fat in pajamas, jeans or a ball gown.
I was diagnosed more than a year ago and after A LOT of trial and error, I've finally found a thyroid medication and dosage that works for me. I haven't skipped a workout in almost 7 months. I workout 6 or 7 days (or 6-10 hours) each week including running, swimming, biking, HIIT training, weights. I eat balanced, healthy foods high in fiber, lean protein, vegetables, fruit and whole grains. I've lost 48 pounds and 35.5 inches from my body. I'm working my tail off! Why am I uncomfortable with praise? Why do I blanch when someone says I inspire them?
Because I'm still carrying that baggage around. I've shed some of the excess weight, absolutely. But the problem with being a Big Fat Failure is that during your transformation, no one ever comes along and tells you it's okay to set down your baggage. I don't have Bob Harper or Jillian Michaels saying "Oh, you can put down that bag, Jules. You're not a failure anymore." I've kept it with me. And it's time to set it down, let it go and move on.
This is where I'm supposed to type a nice happy ending.
I've been drafting this blog for more than 2 weeks and I've been struggling with the ending. Like any writer, I want to tie up the loose ends of the story and be able to type "The End." I want to tell you that I've figured it all out, that I'm aware that the feelings of failure are no longer true (and actually never were). I want to tell you that I'm fixed...and mentally as healthy as I am physically! Ta-da! But dear readers, I can't do that.
I'm still carrying around those old feelings of failure and inadequacy. It still feels comfortable, that old backpack. It's familiar and a part of me. But for the first time in a long time, I ALSO feel fit, strong, healthy and proud. I frequently set that old pack down for a few minutes, or hours or days. And in those moments, I feel blissfully light... literally and figuratively.
One day, I know I'll just forget to pick up that old bag and I'll leave it there on the floor, forgotten and unclaimed. It won't belong to me anymore. But for now, it's part of me. I'm just going to keep stacking up achievements until my successes outweigh my failures.
This story doesn't have an end.
This is, ironically, The Beginning.
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*My target weight was determined by a hydrostatic body composition test, the most accurate measure of body fat percentage and overall composition. After determining my lean mass of 147 lbs (muscle, bone, organs), my target weight was calculated to be between 177-181. My composition may change as I gain or lose muscle, so that target may change.
