The Wagon Rolled Away

I may have fallen off the wagon.

I think I had managed to hoist one chubby thigh up on the back of the wagon three weeks ago. From my first post and maybe even the second post you can see that I was "motivatedmotivatedmotivated." However, the thigh has since fallen off, the wagon continued on its trail leaving me to eat prairie dust.

I've had a few emotional upsets since my first couple of posts and so of course I instantly run to my food shelter. McDonald's cheeseburgers covering me up like an old friend. Comfort food. Baah!

In my mind I took a look back at all of my foodscursions and visualized a hand taking away the cheeseburgers and fries and finally removing every sweet thing I have eaten in the last three weeks. If that were a reality then I might possibly be down by six pounds by now.

Part of the problem is my lack of planning. Weight Watchers is an organization that has many mottos. One of the mottos is plan to succeed (or something like that). I realize that in my quest to become a better person in addition to becoming a thinner person... I did not think to plan. My meals are left to the wind. Therefore, my instant gratification and eating whims are much better filled by the "no-plan" plan.

I need a plan. Man.

Starting tomorrow (because today is shot to hell already) I will plan to succeed! Hello weekly menus ...goodbye Dollar Menu!

Though I must ask... can you really fall off the proverbial wagon if you were not fully on to begin with? Words to ponder on..

Until Next Time,

The Angry Fat Woman

Having an I Feel *Fat* Day

I feel fat today. To that you might say, “Well, that’s because you are fat and as they say…” I don’t really know what *they* say, hence the … just thought I’d add it in for a dramatic effect.

I would like to squelch a misconceived notion about myself right now. For one thing, not everyday is an “I feel fat” day. Some days, I actually leave my house feeling good about myself. We all have those days when the bounce is in our step. It is on those days that everything seems to go right. Every stitch of hair is in place, great outfit, perfect makeup, teeth look a little brighter than normal and I swear, on those days we all feel 20 pounds lighter!

Today, however, is not one of those days. I am having an “I feel fat” day. I am bloated, my hair is in a messy ponytail and I am wearing an ill-fitting outfit complete with tight jeans and bloated stomach. My rolls are spilling over my pants, I have cramps and quite frankly I am not all that cute today. I’m just a just a blob in a purple shirt and TIGHT maternity pants. Yeah, I said maternity pants. Wanna make something of it?

It is on these days where I feel I need to wear a t-shirt that says, “Don’t fuck wit me. I’m having a “fat day”.

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Get Over It

I was talking to my mom the other day and we happened upon a subject about life paths and the way my brother and I deal with certain things. She said, “I don’t know why you and your brother are so hard on yourselves. You both are too damn hard on yourselves.” I immediately answered, “Well, that’s because you were critical of us and hard on us.” Her response, “Maybe so, but you’re just going to have to get over it.”

I don’t think parents fully realize the damage their harsh words have on kids. I know that if I ever say something harsh to Owen, I see the pain flash in his eyes and remember well, feeling like that when I was younger. In those instances with my son, I retract and apologize to him. I feel that there is no shame in admitting you were wrong to your child.

I can remember instances in my life where my mom would say things like, "Fine eat that. You are going to end up to be as a big as a house." Or "You need to go on a diet. Why don't you do things like x, y, z?" Or "You have a pretty face, you just need to lose about 50 lbs." Or "Once you lose weight, you'll feel better." She always made losing weight sound like it was the answer to all of my problems.

I remember once I was in tears over a comment she made. I had had a particularly bad day at school and she said something harsh in regards to my weight. I told her, "If my own mother doesn't even accept me for the way I am, how do you expect me to accept me or how do you expect other kids to begin to accept me for who I am?" Her words were always counter productive to me because she came off angry. She was always angry.

With Owen, I try building him up rather than tearing him down. My mom and dad were great motivators, but at the same time, they also were great self-esteem destroyers. They will never admit to wrong-doing when it comes to their parenting style. They would argue that we turned out to be good people with our heads on straight. In their defense, I would have to agree. We did turn out to be good people. We have not gone postal to the point of shooting up a Target store nor have we unleashed our anger on a school campus of some kind. However, we do have our problems.

For starters, my brother has panic attacks whenever anything in his life changes. He has a hard time handling emotional upheaval and as a result is on medication for it. He and I have the same need for constant approval. When we don’t get it, then our “vices” start to take hold. My brother doesn’t have a vice really, so that’s probably why he gets the panic attacks. He has nothing to pacify his emotional upheaval moments.

My brother is also handsome, caring, athletic and intelligent. I don’t want or intend to give the wrong impression of him.

Me. Well, we all know what is wrong with me. Food is my vice. I’m a “foodie”. I use food to pacify my own emotional upheavals. I get excited at the prospect of going out to dinner or going anywhere that food is involved. To me, Food=Fun. In my current frame of mind, I don’t have fun without food. Not to mention, I love to eat good food.

Something we both share is that my brother and I have an inherent need for other people's approval. I will 2nd and 3rd guess my decisions just because i'm not sure that everyone will agree with me. I think the critical nature in which my mother has treated us was passed down from her dad and mom. My grandma is quite critical but so was my grandpa.

When my mom tells me that my brother and I just need to “get over it”. I realize that she’s right in the sense that in order for my brother and I to heal and learn to deal with things in a manner that does not cause us to use our vices, we need to fix the inside first. We need to face the things that happened to us in the past and understand them before we can fully begin to greet the future in a healthier state of mind.

So, here I sit, “getting over it”.