The Number Which Shall Not Be Written

My day of reckoning had arrived. For nine weeks, I had been giving intuitive eating a try. I was hoping for improved eating habits which would lead to weight loss. I may have gotten rid of some of my hang-ups about food, but to say I am a successful intuitive eater would be a lie. It was time to hold my feet to the fire, so to speak.

I know; I said I wasn't going to weigh myself, but you know what? The tighter my jeans got, the more I couldn't deny that I don't really have a handle on intuitive eating. I kind of got stuck in the "rejecting diet mentality" phase, and I was living there. No dieting. I may have thrown all caution to the wind.

I stepped on the scales Monday. Two-oh-two. Point six. Sigh. That number is so shameful to me, I can't even write the digits numerically. 

I hadn't lost any weight. Over the last two months, I had managed to gain five more pounds, and push myself past the number I swore I would never see again. At this rate, I would weigh more than Chuck by Father's Day. 

Heaven, help me.

Disclaimer: I know weight is only a number. I know weight does not define me as a human being, but I also know that weight is one of the markers for health, and I will suffer consequences with back pain, shortness of breath, arthritis, and high blood pressure if it continues to climb. I also know that not everyone can relate to the numbers on the scale which please me or frighten me. Some people would be horrified to know what my healthy weight is, and some are horrified that I have admitted how much I weigh. And there are some shaking their heads, thinking "let's trade problems." This is MY weight I'm talking about, and MY feelings about it. I make no judgment on anyone else.

This week, I decided to own where I was, and be accountable, and weigh myself. My weight graph chart would be great if it were for projected income or market futures, but considering the graph was initiated to record weight loss, and the line is climbing upward, it is disheartening.

How did I get here, you may be asking yourself. Eating was a contributing factor, obviously, but what else is going on? 

Last month, I had an a-ha moment. Food has been my main source of comfort ever since I was a little girl. I have used food for emotional support all of my life. 

We've heard about the seven deadly sins. I know what mine is. Gluttony. When I am overwhelmed with life, I do not turn to God; I turn to food. When I am frustrated, sad, lonely, uncomfortable, or anxious, I do not pray for help. I go to the kitchen, and eat until those dreaded feelings go away; until I've numbed myself from the emotional pain or discomfort I'm trying to avoid. 

My altar has been my kitchen sink, where I tend to eat when I'm unhappy. Food has been my god; a false god, but definitely mine. What a waste of devotion.

The two weeks before my 56th birthday were hard ones. My birthday correlates with the fading of autumn, and the onset of winter. I love all of the seasons, but the transition from fall to winter is not one I'm always ready to accept. My emotional state took a nosedive. 

Red flags surfaced. My clean laundry began piling up in the clothes basket in front of the dryer. For a girl who loves doing laundry, this shift should not have gone unnoticed. I was taking two to three naps a day, and woke up wishing I could stay asleep. I cried. In public, even. I didn't get off the couch much, and I didn't go for walks. I procrastinated even simple things like grocery shopping and sweeping the floor. Food seemed to be my saving grace.

What am I going to do about this latest statistic about my health? They say to do the same thing over and over and expect different results is insanity, so I'm going to try something new. 

Allowing myself to seek comfort in food has been so foolish. I have been worshipping the wrong god, thinking that eating would take away my pain. I need to turn to the Comforter, and surrender myself to Him. Food will have to step down from the altar; I'm going to let God be my god from now on. I know; what a concept. 

When I am struggling, I will take my problems to God in prayer, and trust that He will comfort me. I will admit my weaknesses, confess my sins, and ask for His help in overcoming my bad habits.

By sharing this embarrassing turn of events with you, I'm making myself accountable to you, too. I'm just trying to keep things real, and in order to do that, I have to hold my feet to the fire every once in awhile.

Right now, I am promising to check in with you in a month, and tell you how it's going. Wish me luck, send positive energy, or say a little prayer for me. I can use all the help I can get.