Insanity. Not the Work-Out.

I was washing the dishes and doing a lot of serious introspection (some people do yoga, get manicures, play ocean music; I clean to find that ‘zen’ moment and I realized something that I’m sure I realized about 20 posts ago and am sure I’ll re-realize 20 posts from now but, alas, here I go: my weight really always has been a symptom of another issue.

It seems like a “no shit” kind of thought, right? But we live in a world that consistently says “lose weight and life’s problems will be solved.” In fact, I found myself defensive on Facebook today when Bad Ass Vegan posted, “To my friends who are overweight: YOU CONTROL YOUR DESTINY, YOU ARE NOT OVERWEIGHT BECAUSE A GOD WANTED YOU TO BE, OR BECAUSE YOUR PARENTS WANTED YOU TO BE…” I didn’t know how much that assertion from this morning affected me until now. I mean, obviously, I commented right then and there to tell him that we should be framing the issue as a “health” one and not a “weight” one and that there are socioeconomic inequities in access to healthful food blah blah blah. What I really wanted to say was “dude – seriously? Weight is a freakin’ symptom of bigger problems here; and we’re not necessarily talkin’ laziness or self-victimization.”

It got me thinking. Am I an enabler? I’m really not one to give tough love. If someone I know is suffering with his or her weight I’m not going to say “it’s your choice to be fat!” Because I know very few people actually “choose” and/or “want” and/or “enjoy” being something that society considers aesthetically displeasing and a drain on the economy.

And? Well, I know me. I know that while I might appear to have it together physically – I exercise regularly and intensely and I eat a clean diet — I’m still struggling like that awkward 13-year-old doing 5 sit-ups in her mom’s bedroom after being called a heifer.

I’ve been thinking. I spend *so* much time thinking about what and how much I eat, how much I should exercise, calories in, calories out, why does my belly keep getting bigger, blah blah blah.

I need to spend that amount of energy and determination on figuring out why I am still after all of these years – at 280 pounds and even still at 135 – binging. And, I need to do something about it! Sure, eight years ago I’d binge on chicken fingers and hot cheetos and now I binge on tortillas and hummus. But it’s the same issue because food is really not that important to a binger. Sure, certain delicious foods can spark a binge, but when it comes to what is actually consumed – the food is more trivial than the act and quantity of what can be consumed.

And, while I am proud of how much I have matured over the years as a person – finally able to set realistic expectations for others and accept others as they are (this is huge and involved a lot of forgiveness) — the one person who I incessantly berate as failing to meet absurd and unrealistic expectations is myself. I feel like a broken record. I know that nearly two years ago I expressed, on here, that my new year’s resolution was to learn more self-acceptance. I don’t think I’ve improved an inch.

And, they say the mark of insanity is doing the same thing and expecting different results, so, frankly, I’m tired of being insane.

I’m not sure exactly what to do. It seems if I were to describe myself in metaphors I would say that, to me, the grass isn’t greener on the other side of the fence; rather, I see the grass as green and beautiful all around me – I am grateful and accepting of the wonderful things in my life — but I seem to be a perpetual self-effacing weed killer.

The Antijared recently said something that really struck a chord in me and it’s that even though we are “success stories” – meaning, yes, we have achieved weight loss and healthy bodies – we’re still fallible. We can be success stories and still be works in progress.

Friends – I am and always will be a work in progress. That is actually one thing I do love about myself: my continual enthusiasm to be a better me. But I think I sometimes confuse ‘evolving’ and ‘improving’ with a type of perfectionism that even I don’t see as desirable or meaningful.

I re-read my post “you have such a beautiful face,” which got passed around the Internet a lot, yet very few comments (why?) and four words that I wrote hit me like a ton of bricks: “I resent my body”…

Even after all that I have done to my body and all that my body bounced back from; all my body has done for me; all that my body is capable of and, willing, all that it can still bear – I still resent it?

And, considering the awful physical accidents that have transpired amongst my fellow bloggers Ashley and Kailey – I feel like such a shallow and ungrateful person. Talk about a wake up call.

I’m not sure what exactly I’m going to do to turn around this seemingly endless cycle of self-disrespect and the cycle of weight fluctuations that goes hand in hand with it. But I’ve heard the tinge of an alarm and I’m listening with open eyes, ears, arms and heart.

It makes me sad to write these sorts of posts because, even though I am known as The Cranky One, it’s always been my desire to be uplifting and to provide a positive voice to those who take the time to read these silly and tangential words I write.

But, I guess I would be doing a disservice to pretend that I’m “happy happy joy joy” and to evoke the illusion that it’s weight loss and physical health that somehow efface all of life’s worries and obstacles. We all know that ain’t the truth.

<3,

The Cranky One