Did it really sneak up from out of nowhere when it pounced on me with all its weight? Or on some familiar level was my penchant for denial masking the obvious? The telltale signs, which began several months ago were all there. Lying down on the bed in order to zip up the size eight jeans that I later retired, searching Amazon for one or two sizes larger, ignoring the discomfort of deep ridges being carved into my skin by bras, which were suddenly shrinking in the wash. And the biggest hint of all: My refusal to drag the scale back out, after that dark day when no matter where I placed it on the floor, it showed a five lb. weight gain.
Five years ago, when my daughter in law gifted me with a Fitbit, it opened the door to a few years of unrelenting successes. Through exercise, and charting my calorie intake, then comparing it to calories burned, I managed to shed forty-five lbs.; I walked 5 days a week, mostly inside my home because it was during the height of covid, tried to remain under 1,300 calories a day, and paid close attention to the weekly reports Fitbit provided in my email. It even monitored my sleep patterns. I finally had a system, not a person, holding me accountable. And for about 4 years it worked for me.
So, what happened? Here I am, standing in front of a full-length mirror, examining the shock-wave revelation that an amassed fifteen to twenty lbs. has bestowed on me, wondering how I got here, and how to fix it?
The fact that I am finally acknowledging it, limits those options that I’ve proven don’t work. Can’t embrace it. Can’t deny it.
Why, I wonder, have I never been able to apply what I’ve learned in my AA Twelve Step Program to my weight problem? Stored in the vault of my recovery is an enormous toolbox that not only keeps me sober but has given me a blueprint for living. Simple sayings like One day at a time, keep it simple, let go and let God, Progress not perfection, it works if you work it. Love that last one.
Then, of course, there are the principals:
Admitting the problem and accepting it.
Setting a goal but not planning the outcome.
Self-honesty.
And the biggie, sharing my concerns with a trusted friend or group.
Lots to ponder here.
On reflecting, my mind goes back to my dreaded relationship with the scale. And the role it played in my denial, and currently into my slip. In the beginning, I refused to get on it until I felt sure I would like what I saw. I based my imagined loss on how my clothes fit. I was so afraid that if it were a disappointing read out, I would give up. That mindset has been a constant throughout this life-long battle. Then once the lbs. began to drop and I liked what I saw, I made friends with the scale. Until, that is, when it registered a gain, and I quickly booted the burden of proof. Out of sight, out of mind, right?
Wrong.
I got back on the horse a couple of weeks ago. I’m once again exercising five days a week, and monitoring calories. Have even shared my dilemma with a couple of friends and am remaining cognizant of the tools I have at my disposal.
But the scale is still hiding in my pantry. Wish me luck.
Author Dallas H 