I may have mentioned before that I am fat.  It’s not much of a secret.   I don’t like to use that term, hate it in fact, but it is a medical reality. And I am struggling once again in attempt to fight it.

My inspiration is simple: I don’t want to be this big. I hate it. I sometimes hate me because of it. And that is not a good example to be setting for my kids.

When I went to a doctor recently because I seem to struggle with losing weight – even when I eat the right things, I was put through a battery of tests that basically said there isn’t a darn thing wrong with me. The dietician looked at food logs I presented, then back at me, perplexed.

Yep, you are eating what you should.

Well, I do. Most of the time. But I am an emotional eater.  Eating feelings has been a way of life.   I am also frequently emotional, and nights are the worst.  I get through dinner, barely, try not to get bitter watching my family eat other stuff, (it doesn’t always work: while my husband was standing in front of the pantry yesterday downing peanuts I think I actually growled at him) but have found if I go sit down and watch TV or hang out in the vicinity of the kitchen at all, I start to slowly drift.  Even cleaning up the dishes can be sketchy as I am tempted to finish the toddler’s food.

(Yes, that last bit is embarrassing, I admit it.  But it is hard to see the stuff go to waste when I worked so hard making it!)

So new strategy: hiding from the food. I am getting the hell away, going for a walk (and taking the kid/s), hiding in my room, reading or blogging on my iPhone listening to my stomach growl.

It needs to growl a bit.

I need to start thinking of the sound as music.

But I am just done being fat. I am committed, and not playing games.  Right now I am doing it the hard way: I would prefer a little real food to fake, and have other ways I would prefer to spend my money.  If I end up having to try Optifast or surgery down the line, so be it.  My kids are moving way too quickly for me not to be able to keep up.  The weight has to come off.  I can’t afford a personal trainer or chef.

So if I have to spend the next 6 months hiding under the covers, I will simply use the time constructively and teach S. – Age 3.8 the fun of building tents and cuddling with mama – and the importance of not being afraid to look stupid if it means accomplishing a goal.