dianaschnuth

There’s not much to say that I haven’t already said, as far as my weight loss journey is concerned. My weight is creeping up and up and I don’t like it. It’s mostly attributable to evening snacking, although I’m sure other factors come into play, too (like my waning workout habits).

I’ll be in the right headspace for a few days, then I’ll eat something that triggers me to binge, and then it takes me a few days to find any fucks to give — and by then, even more damage has been done.

Because it’s worked before, I’m going to photojournal my meals for a while. I’m not sure where I’ll post them, or at what frequency — daily on Facebook, weekly on my blog, or daily on Twitter (which feels like talking out loud to no one in particular at a loud party), but I need to post it publicly for added accountability.

Here’s today’s meals — and yes, I’m seeing a distinct lack of fruits and veggies here. While I’m trying to ramp up my protein intake, that doesn’t mean I should ignore plants. I’ll work on that.

I need to get and stay in a healthy headspace. I’m starting to feel extra frumpy and puffy and not at all awesome, and I miss that awesome feeling and I want it back.

This sucks.

Just having one of those evenings where nothing I’d planned to do sounds good. I had a whole to-do list figured out: balance my checkbook, post a blog entry from some notes I’d typed out earlier, epilate my legs, some other stuff. Instead, all I want to do is play on my phone and stuff my face.

Last week was weird. My son was home from pre-k with a fever, so I worked from home on Tuesday, took a personal day Wednesday, then worked from home again on Friday, with my husband rocking “Daddy Days” with Connor for the remainder of the week. I didn’t plan my meals well, didn’t get much activity or even any time outside. At today’s Weight Watchers weigh-in, I’d gained just over a pound in two weeks.

I told my leader I wasn’t that worried. That was kind of a lie, since I continue to be worried about my lack of judgement and self-control in the moment. Tired, cranky, depressed, thrown off, worried, stressed — all those lead to food.

When I’m in the right mental space, I know what to do. When I’m feeling shitty, I still know what I should do, but I sincerely don’t care in that moment. It’s not All Or Nothing thinking — I don’t go down a crazy rabbit hole all night or all week because I screwed up — but it is self-sabotage of a sort.

I don’t fit in my clothes right anymore. I feel jiggly and frumpy and blah, even though I currently weigh 32 pounds less than when I started Weight Watchers, and over 70 pounds less than when I got married 14 years ago.

I had reached the point of feeling a certain kind of awesome, back before I gained this ten pounds back over a year and a half, and I need to recapture that awesomeness somehow. It’s not going to happen during this week of birthday cakes and fancy dinners (and I’m fine with that — birthdays only come once a year), but I think my present to myself for my 41st birthday will be to Treat Myself Right.

Every month since October 2016, my average monthly weight has crept up by at least one pound. What I once blamed on a blip during the holidays has become an upward trend that I need to stop.

Something had to change.

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