Monday, July 16, 2012

Empty Space

I went back to Weight Watchers yesterday.

I had planned on going back the week before, but Friday rolled around with my first paycheck since Baby Sister was born and it was gone before I could blink. I wanted to go back. It’s possible I could have made it work, but I was scared. So I stayed home.

Things happened last week. Big things. Little things. The Hubster and I had an argument. I ran into a friend at the grocery store. We scheduled family pictures. I made a huge decision about my future. I shaved my legs. Things.

And while those things were happening, I realized how unhappy I am with myself. I tried to reason away another month of excuses why I shouldn’t go back to Weight Watchers, but in the end, I went.

It was bad. I told myself I wasn’t going to look at the scale right away, but habit drew my gaze to the numbers on the counter. Three pounds away from the highest weight I’ve EVER been, pregnant or not. I swallowed and told myself that it’s a good thing I didn’t wait until next week to come back. Who knows what that number might have done to me?

Taking deep breaths now, because I’ve already taken the most important step. It was a doozy.

I’m trying to be new. Trying to re-teach myself all the things I’ve forgotten in the last 11 months. Sure, I know how it works, but I don’t know how it works, or I would have been doing it by myself. And I couldn’t. Wouldn’t. Didn’t.

When I logged into the online program, I discovered all of my saved foods and recipes. It’s nice to know that all of those things have been there, waiting for me to come back. For some reason this morning, I clicked on the Weight Tracker, expecting it to show my current weight and goal line. What I didn’t expect was this:

The angry progress of my weight loss after Little Brother was born. How I hated each of those hills before they shot down into valleys, creating empty space on an ugly graph. How I hate now the piercing incline that climbs steadily for almost a year.

I can’t see it. I can’t see the gentle, downward slope that passes one goal line, one milestone after another. Some of it, I’ve done before. But never this much. It’s SO. MUCH.

I feel lost and overwhelmed. Helpless. Hopeless. Failing before I’ve even begun.

 The word echoes in my mind, not caring that I don't want to hear it.

What I wouldn’t give for a little empty space.

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