The Devil Wants Me Fat

Okay, so I took the title of this blog post directly from a book I saw at Half Price Books once. I was a teenager and my friend and I were just convulsed over the idea that there was this giant CONSPIRACY by the dark side to make us fat. (When you're a nerdy fourteen-year-old, that's the kind of thing you find funny. Blaming the devil --bwahahaha.)  (Oh, just hush.)

Anyway, what made me think of it is that I've been losing weight. I haven't been focused on it because I was more concerned with becoming healthy. But I've lost almost 30 pounds now, and, most important to me, I've gone down four sizes in clothing. I've been having flashes of feeling really strong and fit --when you think of where I was a mere two years ago, this just seems like the most incredible blessing. It feels like a miracle.

I was trying to find a photo of me when I was at my heaviest but I think I've deleted them all. This was the only one I could find and...well, I also look like maybe I have some mental issues. Y'all, I probably DID. Chronic pain will make you crazy. Anyway, here it is:

August 29, 2010

Something has shifted in my attitude, though. I look at this picture and I feel so bad for that woman.  I remember how unhappy she was, how pain robbed her of everything she prized.  I think of how filled she was with self-loathing and how every step was a reminder of how much she'd lost. I think about how she used food and alcohol to try to dull that pain.

I feel terrible for her.  And I feel so unbelievably blessed to be where I am today, speaking of her in the past tense.

It's an interesting thing, though, how much our brains hate change.  Someone told me that the part of our brain that processes change is located in the same area that perceives pain.  We perceive change--even GOOD change-- as pain.  I really believe that.

I think it's part of the reason people can't make themselves take the first step toward reclaiming their bodies and lives. I know that was the case with me. My mother tried to get me to go to yoga back in Texas, before we ever moved. My good friend Donna tried to get me to go to her acupuncturist for at least two years before I finally went.

I keep trying to figure out  what was it that made me take the first step. What made me go to that yoga class?  I don't know. I wish I did because if I could figure it out and share it with people, maybe it would help other people take that first step. I know I took action when I absolutely couldn't bear the pain of going on as I had been. Maybe there's a way not to have to sink to that depth. I don't know.

A long time ago, I read this book called "Bird By Bird" by Anne Lamott.  It's a book about writing, but I took away an important life lesson from it.

"...thirty years ago my older brother, who was ten years old at the time, was trying to get a report on birds written that he'd had three months to write, which was due the next day. We were out in our family cabin in Bolinas, and he was at the kitchen table close to tears, surrounded by binder papers and pencils and unopened books on birds, immobilized by the hugeness of the task ahead. Then my father sat down beside him, put his arm around my brother's shoulder, and said, "Bird by bird, buddy. Just take it bird by bird."

Take control over one tiny thing. One bird. That's all we have to do today. One bird.

Anyway, here I am, getting healthy and strong and almost pain free. I'm doing things with my body that I KNOW I couldn't do when I was young. It's fantastic!


Still, there's this part of my brain that's worried about all of this change. Yesterday, for example, I accidentally bought a pie. I'm normally very disciplined about what I eat, especially after seeing that video by Dr. Terry Wahls. (You didn't watch that video yet, did you? You should go watch it --you know what a bulldog I can be. Yes, I know it's almost 18 minutes. I KNOW. You deserve to spend 18 minutes watching a video that may change your life.)


ANYWAY: PIE


So, yesterday, I bought a pie.


I ate a tiny piece of it.


I liked it.


But something was very different. I didn't feel guilt. I didn't feel satisfied. I noticed that it tasted good but it wasn't, like, the best thing I've ever had. I'm over it. Maybe there's some key thing here that I've been missing about not attaching blame or joy to food. I noticed it, but I didn't really engage on an emotional level at all. I think "comfort food" is no longer a phrase I can use.


And then my husband came home and saw the pie. In all of the years we've been together, this may be the very first pie I've ever bought. We're just not a pie family --my kids don't like it. Anyway, he started to laugh. "SOMEONE around here is losing weight and it's making her body really nervous."


He was completely right. At first I didn't believe him but this morning, after I ate my very balanced, healthy breakfast, I got ready to leave for an appointment. "Maybe you need a few pita chips for the road, " said my unconscious. (I didn't have them.  I wasn't hungry.) Some part of me is NERVOUS.

May 10, 2012

I noted the impulse, though.  Clearly, the devil wants me fat.