Up five. FIVE. It's not undeserved, but it's frustrating. The toughest thing, besides fighting the urge to binge, is fighting the urge to say to myself you're a failure, you deserve this.
To try and keep myself on track, I've tried bribing myself with money, with gadgets, with clothes. I've tried yelling at myself, tried scolding myself. Tried reminding myself that if I drop dead of a heart attack, my son will be alone. And I still struggle. I still stumble.
Thinking about my sweet little boy should pick me up, but sometimes, it plunges me deeper into my depressed pit: I say I love my son more than anything, but I still binge. I still take a step back for every step or two forward towards getting healthy. I know he needs me, and he needs me to be healthy, and still, I soothe myself in these unhealthy ways. That negative voice in the back of my head ... you don't love him, you don't love anyone - you're selfish, you only love yourself and food. You're a terrible mother. He deserves a better parent.
It reminds me a lot of the issues I've had with my dad in the past, to be honest. I remember being pregnant, and just sobbing, wondering if he would live to see his grandson be born. Angry that he used unhealthy food to define "quality of life," that his children (and soon, grandchildren) loving him and needing him weren't enough to motivate him to take charge with his health.
And now, here I am. Guilty of the exact same actions.
I posted this image this morning, and I believe it. Results are the product of consistency. I'm great at Day Ones, I'm awesome at little bursts of momentum. But it seems that every few weeks or so, something floors me. Just socks me right in the gut. And I forget my goals, I forget my motivation. All I want is comfort, or at least numbness. I want to be upset about something other than the bigger things on my mind, and a stomachache provides that kind of distraction.
This was a week like that.
This week was emotional. Some weeks, it hits me hard. I try not to talk too much about my separation/divorce on here because it isn't necessarily weight-loss related, but some days, it's my entire mind. And this week was like that. Instead of going to the gym, I'd lay in bed all day. One day, I didn't eat or drink anything all day until after 5 PM. I just wasn't interested. My mind was elsewhere.
I reached out to Matt and told him one day, I miss you today. It happens sometimes. It's really depressing. And he agreed. I'm sorry. I know, it hits me occasionally too.
Sometimes he texts me a joke, or a memory from when we were together in Chicago. And sometimes I'll send him a picture from Timehop - that time we went to X, that time you did Y. And it's so flippin' hard. It's not decades, but there's history, and it hurts. It's hard to remember why sometimes, but I loved him once. I married him. I wanted a life with him. A family. And when I grieve, I'm not just grieving the end of what was, but this huge feeling of loss for what will never be. The anniversaries. The holidays, the family trips. The siblings I wanted to give our son.
I get lonely a lot here. I am doing what I can to meet people, make new friends, find my niche. But there's this large empty space, much bigger than church buddies and moms groups. It's the space where my co-parent and life partner is supposed to be. And some days, it feels as big as the universe, and the condition feels terminal.
The heaviest thing on my heart about all this is "am I making the right choice?" And even though I know I am, it's still one of the biggest decisions I've ever had to make, so my mind lingers. I forget where I read it, but the best thing I've seen about all this is the idea that there is no such thing as a right or wrong decisions. You aren't rewarded for one path or punished for another. There are only decisions, and the universe works around the decision you make. I'm trying to accept that idea, but some days are still difficult. And they'll be this way for a while, possibly a very long time.
I don't know where I'm going with this rambling. Just clearing my mind, I guess. Releasing it here (and through the tears streaking down my face) rather than swallowing it now and eventually trying to bury it under something unhealthy.
I still believe I can do this - that I can work through my issues and be healthy again. That I can be a good mom. That someday, I'll be with a partner who respects me, honors me, cares for me, supports me, loves me. That none of this is as terminal as it feels.
This is a new week. Today is a new day. I say this to myself ... well, every day. Because I still believe it.