It’s been an obnoxiously long time since I’ve written anything. With school and the church activities, the only moments when I’m not really doing anything is dedicated to sleep. Now, however, I’ve got a couple of days to do what I want. Believe me, it is SO freeing!
I had a mini (ok.. horrible) reaction to some sudden weight gain earlier on in the week. I hadn’t weighed myself for around five days, and was away at a woman’s conference for two of those days. When I finally got on the scale, I had gained 10 lbs. Holy freak-out, crying, had to take a sleeping pill to go to bed, mind racing, calling myself a failure, etc. Of course, I wasn’t paying much attention on what my body was telling me because I was so focused on the number on the scale.
My hands and feet were swollen… badly. I was more tired than usual, so much that I kept taking naps. My brain felt fuzzy, and I couldn’t understand some of the simplest things. A couple days later, I actually noticed those symptoms… and I got my monthly visitor. After speaking with a nurse at my doctor’s practice about the hands and feet, she said I was retaining water and gave me a suggestion for brand and type of water pills that I could take. And made sure I knew to only take them if I was feeling bloated. Oh, the relief that gave me. And I stepped on the scale this morning… I was back at the weight I was before all this.
The thing to address, however, is the fact that I had SUCH a bad reaction to the weight gain. When I started gaining on the one med I had been taking, I rarely touched the scale and didn’t care. Now, it’s like a complete tragedy. I’m thinking it has to do with me being terrified to gain the weight back that I’ve lost. It’s like, going backwards is me telling myself that I won’t look decent anymore… that I’ll get to the point where I was when I never went out, and if I did, it was in pj’s. I never got dressed. The only “pants” I wore were leggings (totally not bashing leggings here… got a couple of new pairs that actually fit and are adorable). I refused to even try to find jeans to fit me because I knew that looking at a very high number would make me cry. I was SO depressed.
I often say weight doesn’t matter. It doesn’t… for everyone else. I’d absolutely never judge a person because of their weight (unless it was clear that it was causing health problems, like, with blood work and stuff). I don’t care what people look like. My friends are my friends because we love each other, not because we’re comparing waistlines. Yet… I am super critical of myself. Guess this is a topic for my next therapy appointment.