Mind numbing

It's amazing to me, how the mind game involved in this process is so much like a roller coaster. 

One day I'm in tears, the next I'm fired up and ready to go. I feel like a teenaged girl with all these emotions. 

I've released the stigma on food. The food I eat is not the problem. Carbs are not evil. There is no sugar addiction. Fat is okay to eat. Protein is amazing. I can eat all of them. That part has made me so happy. Free from crazy (stupid) food rules. Even James thinks that I'm happier.  He's been lifting with me three times a week, which is awesome. He is an amazing man who is so supportive. So thankful for him. 

Between all the colds and flus in February I'm behind on my mileage. I'm not too upset about it. I can't go back and try to full while squirting from both ends. It's nice to have no guilt about listening to my body. 

And now I think I'm ready to introduce a deficit back into my calories. Hopefully that will get things moving in the right direction again. 

The last two months have been so hard, yet so rewarding in different ways. 

It's been ages

Wow. So it's been a few huh?

Here's the low down. My family and I have spent a good portion of 2014 sick. Cold after cold, the stomach flu twice , it has been bonkers. I barely have time to think some days. 

All of that to say I have not been as faithful on here as I had hoped to be. 

It's strange. Since I have admitted being bulimic things have not gone as I imagined. I sort of thought I would feel this imaginary weight off my shoulder and be able to finally heal. But no, that's not the case so far. Funny, a few of the people who I have told have even blown me off. One going so far as to say I couldn't have an eating disorder. I was still fat. Fat people are clearly never broken in the food department. What?  

I have good days, and bad days still, but I think I am healing. It is equally a relief and frightening to not be concerned with a scale number. I know I'm gaining. I have to be. And I feel awful about it, but at the same time my eating actually feels what I imagine a normal person does. 

Trust the process and all that. I'm trying. 

It's hard.

It's hard to sign on myfitnesspal everyday and see everyone else losing weight. Part of me wants to run and jump on my scale to see what's going on. Then I want to knock out a few more calories to see it happen FASTER. But then I remind myself that doing things that way gave me an eating disorder. Eating in secret. Puking after every meal. Binging nearly every day. I don't want that anymore. In my mind I remember what the scale, what the numbers do to me. And everyday I struggle with that. 

What I can do is continue to lift heavy things and run. I have to focus on those to keep sane. 

I know it's working. Just today my inlaws commented on how good I looked. Things are changing, and not just my body you know? 

I hate admitting these things to the blog world, yet at the same time it is sort of freeing. 

Crazy

Coming off of an eating disorder is a crazy thing. I'm so much more aware of things. It doesn't make anything easier, but it's knowledge. And knowing is half the battle. 

I have been "off" the scale for weeks now. I am attempting to remove the feeling that the number on the scale is associated with my worth. I randomly decided to hop on yesterday afternoon. I'm not even sure what I was thinking. My clothes have been fitting, not getting tighter or really looser that I can tell. But the urge just overtook me. The worst thing, was that it was a late evening after I just ate dinner and had a big glass of water. Plus I was fully dressed. So, as you might imagine the number was higher than I wanted to see. I thought I could handle that. I thought I could walk away and use my brain. But no. I can't. I'm tied up in the numbers still. Without my even realizing it I binged. Number on the scale too high? Let's eat crap! And lots of it!  

In a minor victory, I recognized what was happening. And now I know a bit more about how to prevent it. Right now, for me, that means no more scale. I hid it away. 

My Body.

I can't deny that I have been avoiding posting on here. I'm not sure why, really. Perhaps for once in my life I have nothing to say. 

Recently I have been thinking about MY body. It's not what society thinks it should be. I will never wear a size zero, be well tanned, or opt for a bikini. It's just not going to happen. 

But my body is amazing. My body survived cancer. My body endured 8 surgeries, 2 broken bones, and grew 3 perfect tiny humans. My body gives the best hugs, and makes THE BEST  chocolate chip cookies. It runs, walks, and climbs. It comforts my kids, and plays games with them. It hula hoops! My body fights, and survives. My body defies expectations (hello year 13 cancer free). It's mine. No one else has it. And that makes it pretty special if you ask me. 

Not too shabby.

So my running goal, 600 miles in one year is well under way. I didn't start until January 3, took nearly an entire week off for broken arms and sickness but I will still come out at about 45 miles. I realize that is five short (600\12=50 miles a month) but good considering. 

I have been stress eating a bit this past week, but one thing has been different; I haven't eaten beyond normal satiety. Weird. My choices were wonky, but I stayed within normal calorie limits for my tdee (total daily energy expenditure). Now I just have to get back down to a slight deficit. And go back to losing again. 

I pray that happens soon. I struggle to remain calm about it. 

I'm trying.

I am trying so hard to not be angry that I have put on so much weight. I haven't weighed in a few weeks, and I know that's healthier than weighing each day. But I'm so frustrated that 20 pounds just came flying on so easily. Why do I feel my worth is so tied up with that stupid number. It's crazy. 

I'm doing my best to keep on keeping on. I'm behind on my miles still, thanks to my arm injury. But I am still working on catching back up little by little. 

The other day my daughter told me how big my muscles were. I said thank you, but inside I was struggling. I wish I could see me the way my kids do. Beautiful and strong. I realize my daughter sees herself that way too. When do we lose that?