The weekend never lasts long enough, does it?
Here’s what’s on my mind this morning:
1. On a strange level (and I hate to admit this), but I think, subconsciously, that I justified my binging because Chris tried to get back in contact with me and I wasn’t fully over emotions dealing with our divorce. I remember how much he hated my weight loss, my new way of life, how he felt left behind in all of it. He preferred the first Amy he’d met, in all my glory of 207 pounds. The girl who’d eat greasy chicken fingers and french fries with him. The girl wearing size 16 pants, having to shop for the first time at Lane Bryant. I played off the constant weight gain and hid anytime a camera came out. I couldn’t look myself in the mirror and couldn’t face that I let myself slip further. Parts of me miss him still and when I was inching my way (or weigh) back up, I felt like I was trying to be something he wanted, something he would appreciate and pay attention to again. Likewise, the reverse is true. I’m putting to rest the past with every pound I lose again. I don’t need to be that girl again.
2. Yesterday, Michael and I worked out together like we usually do on the weekends and afterwards, we made a stop by Costco for some produce. On our way out of the store, we stood in line to have our receipt checked off and the woman there mistook Michael for my husband. She mumbled something like “be careful not to smash into your husband,” referring to me driving the cart and he was walking ahead. After that, I started giggling uncontrollably. This is not the first time we’ve been mistaken for a married couple. It never gets old. We’re the teenage-acting couple you see acting like nuts in public, doing anything to make each other laugh. I jumped up onto the cart and had my feet on the undercarriage while Michael pulled me fast into the parking lot. This succeeds in getting me screaming and laughing like a 13 year old. He always makes me feel like that.
3. Finally figured out how to get Michael involved in the rest of this weight loss. Instead of patrolling what I do and don’t eat, I’ll just have him casually ask me how many calories I’ve had by the end of the day. It probably won’t work out for everyone, but it works in our situation. Thing is, I want him involved in this. I want him to see me through this. He’s been more than gracious and patient with me and I am so appreciative of that. With all of our workouts and meals together, we grow closer. The dude’s beginning to know more about me than all guys in my past, even most of my best friends. And he loves me regardless. He’s an active participant in every part of my life. Never had that before.
4. While I’m working my way back down to my size 4s, I refuse to buy more size 6 pants/tops/jackets. My mom and I are shopping together this afternoon and her intention is to buy me more jeans(since the seasons are changing), but I just won’t. Not in this size, anyway. For whatever reason, if I spend money on this current (transition) size, I’m saying it’s okay to stay where I am. I’m not confident here and I’m not done with my journey yet. So, I’m sticking to my several pairs of workout clothes, and 3 pairs of size 6 shorts for now. Inching my way back down… one day at a time. This is a process in learning to be patient with myself. It’s so easy to stop, stare, and make gross faces at the extra inches (and not pinch them). I love myself. I love who I am, and I’m a hell of a lot further towards my goal than a month ago.. than last week.. and yesterday.