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It Seems Like There Should At Least Be Confetti May 11, 2015

Posted by J. in Genius.
Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , ,
3 comments

I suppose a lack of fanfare is to be expected when one moves the finish line a couple of miles before the end of the race. Or decides that there’s really no finish line at all and to just stop running altogether.

Wait. That’s confusing. Let me start again.

I decided yesterday–somewhat tentatively, mind you–that I’m done losing weight. I have, for all intents and purposes, reached my goal weight.

Thank you, RuPaul. That's more like it.

Thank you, RuPaul. That’s more like it.

I say tentatively because every time I say it out loud, I feel like I’m cheating. I feel like I couldn’t get to my goal, so I just moved the goal. The last couple of miles were too hard, so I dropped out and declared myself the winner. I cannot achieve Thin, and have decided to settle instead for less Less Fat. It doesn’t feel like a victory to declare that 180 pounds is the best I can do; it is way more like a crushing defeat to me.

The truth of the matter is that I’ve been hovering within 5 pounds of 180 for more than 6 months now. I have dieted and exercised like an insane person, counting every bite of food that went into my mouth and only managed to get down to 177 pounds. But I’ve had weeks where I’ve not written down one thing, not counted one calorie, eaten more than a few “naughty foods” that I shouldn’t have, and only gone up to 186. And all I have to do to slip back down to 180 is have a couple of good days of smaller portions and better food choices.

The bottom line is that maintaining this weight isn’t that hard. My body seems to like it here. And the longer it goes on, the less it feels like a plateau and more like true stabilization.

What’s been eating at me is the fact that my body has stabilized about 40 pounds shy of the end goal. So I reevaluated my goal and said there’s nothing wrong with being 155 pounds instead of 140. If I could get to there, I would no longer be labeled as overweight. As it is, at 180 pounds, I’m still labeled as obese.

I DON’T WANT TO BE OBESE ANYMORE. I DON’T WANT TO BE OVERWEIGHT. I WANT TO BE NORMAL.

*sigh*

But the fact remains that my body has ideas of its own, and I have come to realize that it had those plans all along. It’s all well and good for me to pick a weight or pick a dress size, or get a mental image of what I’m going to look like, but when I was 360 pounds, I had no idea what was going to happen to my body as I lost weight. I didn’t know, and couldn’t know, what I was going to encounter along the way. It stands to reason that I should give myself permission to make adaptations to my expectations, as the reality unfolds.

I’ve had to reevaluate the labels that I put on myself, and that others put on me, and consider how realistic they actually are. For starters, I still think of myself as fat. Referring to myself as anything else seems like a weird lie. Even when I’m dressed and looking in the mirror for lumps and rolls and flab and not finding any, I’m not believing that they’re just not there. When I put on a size 12 dress and it fits, I assume it’s vanity sizing, or perhaps it’s just been mislabeled. Maybe it’s just the way it’s cut or a forgiving fabric or something.

I have had to convince myself that I am actually a size 12. It still seems weird to me. It doesn’t seem possible. And yet I have the tags to prove it. And here’s the thing: when I was 300 pounds, I remember saying more than once that I’d cut a bitch just to be a size 12.

And here I am, and I have no idea what to do with it.

I was saying as much to my mother at dinner last night. She said that she hoped I wasn’t trying to lose a whole lot more weight, because she felt I am on the verge of looking too thin. Particularly from the waist up and in my face. Granted, I still have an ample ass and thunder thighs, but she said I could thank Grammie Aline for those. My sister and I have long resigned ourselves to the fact that we could weigh 100 pounds and still have a fat ass. It is what it is, man.

I said I wanted to be a size 8 and that there is really no reason for me not to be a size 8. It’s not an unrealistic size.

She asked me why I wanted to be a size 8. “You can’t be much more than a 12 now.”

She looks at me and sees a size 12, tops. I look in the mirror and see a size 16 or an 18. Someone a whisper away from having to shop in the fat section of stores again. But I confirmed that yeah, I’m a size 12 or so.

“Well, what’s wrong with that?”

…Um…I don’t know…?

I’m still not sure I have an answer for that. Maybe because I still feel too big. I fear my mind has not caught up with my body. The progress has outpaced the process, as it were. I have been a fat girl for so long that my head can’t seem to see anything but a fat girl. It won’t acknowledge anything but a fat girl.

Sitting there at the bar, a little voice in my head said, “You know, that has to stop.”

Mind you, the little voice had been drinking bloody Mary’s, so I took the advice with a grain of salt, as one does when one’s inner voice is in its cups.

There is nothing wrong with being a size 12. It was a size I chose randomly as being a nice, smallish size, but not too small. Not eat-a-sandwich-for-the-love-of-Christ small. I’m not sure why at some point I decided that smaller was better. I suspect because at size 12, I still see a fat girl, but I’m thinking that there’s no way I’d consider a size 8 fat.

I can’t even say with any certainty that would be the case.

I suspect a lot of it has to do with those damned labels. I am still obese; ergo, I am still a fat girl. So it stands to reason that I must not be a nice, normal size 12, but I must be fatter than that. If I could maybe get to 170 and just be overweight? Damn it, why can’t I just get to 155?

This makes me pout. I occasionally stomp my feet and shake my fists towards heaven.

Fucking labels.

I know that logically, part of the reason I’m still overweight and will be for the foreseeable future is that I have a bunch more skin that the average body. Like, a whole bunch more. The people who came up with the weight charts used a normal body as a baseline. Two arms, two legs, a head, regular sized organs, average muscle tone, and the necessary amount of skin.

Bodybuilders don’t fret about being overweight in the least. The charts don’t allow for a metric fuckton of solid muscle. Doesn’t make them unhealthy. Doesn’t make them fat.

Dear God, it's disgusting. I'm sorry. I should have put a trigger warning on that.

Dear God, it’s disgusting. I’m sorry. I should have put a trigger warning on that.

The charts don’t allow for what could be anywhere from 15 to 30 pounds of extra skin, either.

But when I remove math from the picture, and think in terms of intangibles, it becomes easier. Consider: if I lost both my legs in an accident tomorrow, I’d lose a shitload of weight right there. Would I then be dangerously underweight? Well, of course not. The charts would no longer apply to me.

lightbulb

Is it possible, then, that I set goals for myself at 360 pounds that have proven to be unrealistic?

I didn’t know 180 pounds ago what body was under here. What I pictured and what emerged didn’t reconcile, and embracing what has come out has been a huge struggle. And it’s a struggle fueled by the idea that I’m just not there yet.

But what if I am there? What if there is now here?

dawn

What if I crossed the finish line 6 months ago and didn’t even know it? And what if it’s because I fell into the mental trap of thinking there was actually a finish line, when there are merely new stages of development and progress emerging and unfolding all the time? What if I kept fighting and struggling towards goals that were unattainable because I was unable to see that they were unrealistic?

Explosion_mushroom_shaped

I am declaring to myself and anyone who cares to listen that there doesn’t need to be any end point, or goal weight to be achieved. For now, 180 pounds is fine. The extra weight I carry isn’t fat, and it isn’t causing me any health issues. I am healthy by all measurable standards. Even my size 12 “not-too-skinny-but-just-right” size is affected by the surplus of skin. And if and when the day comes I can bid that skin farewell, I’m going to drop a few more sizes and a few more pounds. And what is realistic will change again.

And since I am now under the thumb of my own declaration of independence from labels and charts, I’m working on coming to terms with the fact that changing my goals and expectations of myself based on new information is not quitting. The part of me that has learned to be goal-oriented and driven to see results and refuses to say “can’t” is going to have to adjust to focusing on things that are harder to quantify. I’ve never had to maintain weight loss before and I’m in uncharted waters again.

I feel I have quite a bit of work ahead of me before I’ll be ready for any skin surgery. Part of me feels that even if a big, fat bag of money was to drop into my lap right now, surgery would not only fail to resolve my body image issues, but might make it worse. If I can’t see now that I’m not a big as I think, I could wind up in dangerous territory in a smaller body. Ultimately, I’d like to get to the point where I am able to reconcile what I see with my eyes with what my brain perceives, so that when I have the surgery, it’s more of a finishing touch and less of a hurriedly applied bandage.

And I want some time to work on new ways of dealing with food. I haven’t touched my food journal in over two weeks, and my weight has stayed put. I know what healthy portions look like, and I know good food from bad. Much like slacking up on the reins when it comes to pounds and inches, loosening my grip on the calories has caused my brain to think more in terms of intangibles as well. A good day is one where I’ve practiced good eating habits and made good choices. It’s a good day if I go out to eat, enjoy my meal, and don’t make myself a nervous wreck thinking that I blew the whole week because I ate too much, or ate the wrong thing. It’s a good day when I run 4 miles because I felt like it, and not because it burns a lot of calories and pleaseohplease let that show up as a loss on the scale.

I know I couldn’t have lost the weight being this relaxed about the process. At the same time, I don’t think I could be as relaxed about it now if I hadn’t worked so hard on mastering the process all along. I may have achieved my weight loss goal some months back, but it’s only now that I’m ready to accept myself as I am now, and let this phase of things unfold as it will.

I always thought of a goal as the end, but now that I’m here, if feels much more like a beginning. I had to make new habits and establish new thought pathways to come this far, and it’s time to do that all over again. Honestly, I have no more idea what I’m doing now than I did two and a half years ago.

But I reckon I’ll figure it out.