DISCLAIMER: This is NOT a fat shaming post. No…this goes far beyond something skin deep. Using the term “fat” for myself is acceptable for ME because I can accept the consequences of that word. That word does NOT mean I am not beautiful, worthy, or loved any less by God. I also do not believe in sugar-coating any truth in order to make myself feel a lesser amount of guilt for my actions. The ‘f’ word does not make me less valuable, and it above all does not make me a failure. May you take no offense from here on out.
I never had one real solid moment of clarity…I’ve just kind of always known. I grew up with a dad who battled, binged, and yo-yo-ed through weight for all the time I knew him as ‘dad’. Born with his very distinct body type, I think I just accepted that his battle would be mine too. It’s just how our bodies were.
He liked meat, alot…and alot of it. He also liked (still likes) salty chips, french fries, and burgers. So did I.
He would eat whenever he wanted, and not wait for something healthy to be made by my mom. Well…I guess our bodies just need to eat when they need it, I figured. So I never waited either…what a terrible fate I sealed for myself following his lead.
That is where most of my struggle came from all these years. Not being patient, eating when I had emotional highs or lows, and convenience food. I’m sorry, Mom…I wish I hadn’t known till now how your homecooked food and a little self-control could have changed the whole course of my life. I’m sorry for all those times I went along with Dad and the boys and ordered pizza. Stupid, stupid pizza.
Since August 2013, like 7 months now, I’ve been slowly undoing all the wrong habits, one by one, 21 of them are gone. What an agonizing and rewarding journey it has been. I’ve done it all out of refusing my fate to be sealed by blaming my body type and giving into laziness. I can’t live like that, and I won’t.
Self-control has been the hardest lesson learned so far. It’s taken so much mental thought (and prayer!) to overcome that obstacle. I have eaten plates of food that were completely sufficient, and still wanted to taste more and more of what I was eating. I’ve literally looked at my empty plate, heard my stomach say “we need more” and said to myself “No…you’ve had enough, you just don’t know that yet.” In the past I have shoveled down plates of food faster than my husband, as if it is a race. Now, when I am up at work, I am the last to finish my food. I have tried to put my focus at meal times on social interaction with others rather than putting the food on a pedestal.
Exercise…although I’ve always loved it, it’s never been this scheduled part of my life. Learning the determination and discipline to get up go even though I don’t feel like it, has been the second hardest battle. I can remember my dad going for bike rides with us…but I haven’t seen him truly exercise since then. Maybe lifted weights once.
I wish I could show him this gift of self-control…an invaluable reward to hold onto for the rest of life. Fruit of the Holy Spirit.
Today, when I go for a run, at 2 AM…I’ll think about the same thing I always think about when I’m running.
That I wish my dad ran too.
Never give up on your routine.