I just got back from visiting my family in Chicago. I ate sooooooooooo much. I have a food hangover and my jeans are tight. I had to lie down in the hall to zip them up. My hall is merely a platform of choices, Door #1, #2, or #3? It’s hardly the place for the “jean squeezing” process. I can’t make a habit of this. I have nieces and nephews that keep me well versed in the current slang. What I am dealing with here would be, in no uncertain terms, a “muffin top”. I myself used to love muffin tops…now they have a bad rap by association. There is a Seinfeld episode where they gave all the bottoms to a nearby shelter…which then resulted in a mutiny over the muffin top! We deserve the tops too! Tops too!!! Tops too!!! Well people, I am ready and willing to sequester mine at any time.
This was a very last minute family get together. Since my family handles any and all feelings with food, it was the usual belt busting buffet. I was not aware how many different kinds of pretzels there are….sticks, rings, twists, Bavarian big ones, jalapeño cheese ones, and rods. These salty wonders coupled with the dehydrating aspects of air travel have left me feeling quite “poochy” which, by the way, is not one of those slang words. Unless it begins sweeping the nation, no one will know what you are talking about. It is my word for when I am experiencing that feeling of poochiness and I most certainly am. Pronounced -Poo-chee, and just like it sounds….. it means jello-ee and mushy. You can push it in, but it always pops back out. I am sure I have gained a few pounds. Exactly how much I don’t know, because I do not own a scale. This is my number one dieting tip. Get rid of the scale.
My best friend would highly disagree with me here. Her scale is right inside the bathroom door, and because her bathroom is so small, you practically trip over it. She weighs herself everyday. She has her reasons, which make as much sense to her as mine do to me. Don’t tell her, but I can totally see her point. Don’t tell her, but I think her way might be more “normal”. We both want the other one to concede and say “yah, you’re right” However the truth is that what works for me, may not, and apparently does not, work for her. She is doing just fine. We do not need to validate our individual truth by proving the other wrong. She pisses me off though because she would never say that my way makes any sense at all, but that is one of the things I like about her.
The most important thing is to trust oneself. My therapist has reminded me on numerous occasions, “trust yourself” He cannot say this to just anyone you know. There are those select few for which he cannot recommend this idea. I am not one of them. I have that going for me. Cool. Ok, so anyway, my best friend totally disagrees with me and that’s ok. What a relief!!! We can still be friends!!! I have not weighed myself in years. Where my girlfriend feels that it gives her some control, keeps her “in check”, it makes me a crazy person. This is not for everybody, but letting go of my scale was the single most effective action I took towards freedom. Just like burning your bra in the 70's, I tossed my scale. It was a major turning point towards the end of those yo-yo brain, up down, diet circle cycle days.
Diet by Numbers doesn’t work for me. My weight fluctuates too much. It may go up or down independent of what I have or haven’t eaten on any given day. The numbers are only real in the bigger picture, not the day to day snapshot. If the number was up a pound or 2, I would feel discouraged or even depressed. If the number was down, I might feel elated, only to comedown harder another day. Any or all of these feelings would cause me to head for the Haagen Daaz or starve myself. I allowed the number to direct how I felt and what I did, like some new fangled model of the talking scale. My mom used to have this bright pink pig in the frig. When you opened the door, the pig would oink. She always had a weekly calendar to count calories hanging on the door. Egg-70 but that doesn’t seem right.
Getting on the scale gave me the illusion of control, ironically the scale ended up controlling me. It sounds like some freaky Stephen King movie where the scale comes to life and ends up eating the whole village. I became obsessed with knowing how much I weighed, fearing if I didn’t know, I would lose control. It was awful. Many years ago, I was going on a trip with my famous rock n’ roll boyfriend. And yes, this is all true. The names have been changed to protect the innocent. I was in a conundrum. How was I going to weigh myself everyday…..what if I couldn’t get to a scale?? How would I know what to do, how to feel? I packed the scale in my suitcase. As luck would have it, my boyfriend decided we should carry our bags on instead of checking them. We went through security and of course they opened my suitcase….probably wondering what the heck that huge metal thing was. I waited as they opened it. Keep in mind; I am with someone that people are already looking at. The airport guy looks at me holding up the scale and says in a voice that would carry all the way to our destination “OH, IT’S SCALE” It was like everything turned to slow motion. He zipped it back in and we went on our way. My boyfriend turned to me and said, “a bathroom scale?” Holy Cats! I wish I had a picture of his face. He was completely puzzled for a second. I just looked at him and without a word we kept walking towards the gate. There is much more to say about that particular boyfriend era, but that’s another story, for another day.
Let me say this here, I just got off a plane. I did not have a scale in my suitcase. I do not know how much I weigh. I do not want to know. I’m just going to be sensible for the next few days. If I eat less and move more, I will more than likely feel better. My best friend is really cool, but her way doesn’t work for me. We can co-exist. We can Honor Our Truth!
Debra Hadraba
Honor Your Truth
Inspiration+Action
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