This week's View is from Mari Farthing of Mari, Quite Contrary.
Mari wrote about a very personal issue for her.
I hope you will read and give her supportive comments.
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No More Self-Sabotage
A few years back, my doctor told me I had something called metabolic syndrome—meaning that I was a victim of my insulin, which was completely out of whack and I would need diet, exercise and medication to put my life back into order. More specifically, I would have to lose a significant amount of weight to get my insulin in control.
As a precursor to type 2 diabetes, this diagnosis scared me straight and I began a lifestyle overhaul, changing my diet and exercise habits and taking medication that made me fuzzy-headed and left a metallic taste in my mouth. I pulled deep for that reserve of myself that allows me to push through hard times.
I gave up sugar (mostly), bread (mostly), potatoes (mostly) and wine (shudder) added in things like quinoa, kale, berries and salmon. Food, once my recreation and my comfort, it now became my focus and just a necessity. It wasn’t pizza; it was a pile of carbs, fat, protein and calories. It was like a full-time job, seeking out foods that would nourish my body, and a little difficult for a foodie.
I stopped craving food that wasn’t healthy for me. I made insulin my bitch and grabbed control with both hands. I wanted off that medication. My actual work required concentration and focus and fuzzy-headed-ness is not conducive to concentration, so my goal was to get where I needed to be to get far away from the medication. And I did it.
It took a year and a half, but I painstakingly counted calories both consumed and burned and gave away clothes as the sizes dropped. I reached a weight and a size not previously seen on my body since the early 90s. And I got off the medication. I was a success story.
I told people my story. I heard their praise and it made me incredibly uncomfortable—if I look so good now, how bad did I look before? I wasn’t ready to be a success story. What happens if I fail? Will you hate me? Will I hate me?
Once off the medication, I had to prove to myself that I could do it. So naturally, I binged. I started eating all those things I wouldn’t have before, little by little, and stopped working out as much (or, you know, at all) thanks to bad weather and a knee injury. And all of a sudden, the number crept up again. Worse than that, my jeans were tight again. Oof.
I proved myself wrong! Yes! Wait—what? Am I that comfortable with failure that I purposely sabotaged myself? Because that’s sure what it feels like. No more.
Now, eight months post-medication, after gaining back almost half of what I’ve lost, I’m trying this again. Because I fell into old habits of “woe is me” and I’m climbing out of that pit. I refuse to be a victim of myself. I cut out the potatoes and the sugar and the bread again—unless it’s a few fries or some Hot Tamales or really good crusty bread because you should eat the things that make you happy—and started working out again, daily.
After a few fits and starts, it’s a groove again. Days when I don’t exercise, I get grumpy. Things are going back to where they should be.
Self-sabotage is stupid, and I need to be smarter than to mistreat myself. I’m nobody’s victim. Not even—especially—my own.
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Body issues, diet, exercise, health problems....all really big things to deal with in life!
It's hard, yo.
I really like Mari's take-charge attitude, don't you?
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