I can’t believe I’m going to share this on the Internet. It’s freaking scary to be this transparent about something so personal. But I’m going to do it anyway.
I haven’t posted anything since I wrote about anxiety back in January because editing jobs and the prayer ministry class I’m in took priority. And I think I needed the break.
2016 has been all about discipline for me. It’s my One Little Word if you’re into things like that. When I was working on a post about my New Year’s resolutions, I realized something. All the goals I was setting for myself were safe and easy. They were all about how many books I would read, how many pages I would write, how often I would try a new recipe. All things I would do even if I didn’t have a resolution to do them. Probably not to the extent that the resolution required, but honestly, I probably wouldn’t meet those expectations anyway.
One Sunday morning, when I was standing in front of the bathroom mirror and lamenting my appearance yet again, something struck me. Shouldn’t my resolution/goal/word/whatever for the year be about something that really mattered? Something I was struggling with? Something that bothered me EVERY SINGLE DAY? My weight.
I had lost 30 pounds in my last year of high school and started college as a cute little 122-pound size six. I hadn’t even been trying to lose weight, but the stress of that year just took it out of me. Everyone told me I’d gain it back. And I swore I wouldn’t.
But I did. Plus, um, a lot. College brought me back up around 150 pounds. I was a size 10 the day I got married.
Being happily married and comfortable brought me up around 170 within a few years.
And then, when I started taking anxiety medication in 2014, the number on the scale and the size of my pants just kept going up. 180. 190. 198. I stopped using the scale because I couldn’t bear seeing 200. In the first week of January, I sucked it up and pulled out the scale, wanting to mentally prepare myself for my upcoming physical. 217. A size 16 just barely fit. Everything I was buying was at least an XL. I felt sick. Something had to change.
(Can I pause here for a moment? I know that 217 is a low number for some people who struggle with their weight. But I knew it was a really unhealthy number for my 5’3″ frame. Gaining about 100 pounds and 10 sizes over the course of 10 years was not okay. And with a family history of diabetes and high cholesterol, I couldn’t just let it go and blame it on the meds, which is what I had been doing.)
At the recommendation of my doctor, I started Weight Watchers with a goal of losing 70 pounds. That was the middle of January. Around that same time, I started using Plant Nanny so I would start drinking more water. A few weeks ago, I bought a FitBit Alta to keep me moving.
Guys, it’s working. And honestly, I have selfish reasons for sharing this post. I’m proud of myself. And I know if I share it, it’ll keep me motivated to get all the way down to 147. (Maybe even lower!)
So far, I’ve lost 22.4 pounds. I’m getting a lot more exercise. My muscles hurt less. My acid reflux rarely shows up. I feel less stressed. This morning I made Jonathan feel my calf muscle because I can actually tell where it is! I can wear my wedding ring again (and I didn’t have to pay $150 to have it sized up AGAIN). Most of my pants are falling off. I’m wearing shirts I was embarrassed to wear. Having these little goals has made that 70 pound goal less daunting.
Next goal: A swimsuit I’m not embarrassed to wear when we go to Orlando in June.