The past 10 days have been some of the scariest of my life – and I am SO not being dramatic.
(Well, ok – maybe a little. But still. SCARY. Intimidating.)
I underestimated my insecurities and fear (in general) about coming here and starting all of this new stuff. I very seriously had to hit the ground running, though, and have had to quickly deal with the stress of those things (which was hugely exacerbated by having a largeish presentation to do for one of my SECOND classes) and have had to make choices about how to deal with all of it.
I think I’ve done an ok job. My husband is still married to me (maybe largely in part because he’s rarely here?), I think my friends and family know I exist, the dog is alive, and I’ve lost weight vs. gaining (translation – I didn’t eat to deal with the stress).
I hit a new number/weight low this morning – 182 (my previous lowest weight was 184.5).
I know I’ve said this before, but I don’t care about the number so much as I care about what it means. Maybe I shouldn’t have to weigh? Maybe I should be able to acknowledge and appreciate that I haven’t used food to cope without weighing each day? I don’t know. I like it – so I do it.
I gave myself permission to stop the food dwelling when I moved – and I’ve continued that – and it seems to be paying off.
I’ve somehow pulled off a situation where I’m not militantly counting/weighing/exercising and not overeating, either. I don’t know how the hell I did this during the most stressful couple of weeks I’ve had in a LONG time, but I did it.
I feel like I’m finally finding a routine, becoming somewhat comfortable in my program here, and realizing this week that I CAN DO THIS – so the fog is somewhat lifting. NOW, of course, I’m worried that I won’t be able to maintain the balance. My inclination is to go one way or the other, for sure, and while I don’t know HOW I pulled off the balance – I also sure as hell don’t know how to keep it.