Puddle Drowning

So 85 days later and no change. I'm not lazy. I just don't love myself enough. Pure and simple. EVERYTHING comes first.

Children
Husband
Work
PTA
housekeeping
money
friendships
extended family: I am a horrible granddaughter, niece, sister. (Why do I carry that guilt? Communication works both ways. I don't get it. Do my grandparents, aunt, or siblings carry the same guilt?)

I am obese. I have actually joined the group of overweight women who own a basic stretch bottom wardrobe, topped with large tops that "camouflage". Ugh. This self-loathing is horrific.

My recurring prayer is that He make my heart generous. I hope that asking that of Him, from this all else flows. Tithing, friendship, community generosity, good parenting... from a kind, open heart all blessings should flow. And I am blessed. Blessed beyond my dreams.

So why can't I love myself?

I don't remember my motivation, in the years past, for losing weight. In 1996, at age 30, I was heavy. At about 175, I worked three jobs, ate vegetarian, and my circle only included Mother and I.  I smoked, but didn't take any anti-depressants. I was new to Georgia weather and after five months I was thin again.

I do remember, however, HOW GREAT I FELT. I was adorable. I glowed with self-confidence. I remember what it felt like to wear fun clothes. Clothes were just the accessory to my great body. I could wear anything: guinea tees and jeans. And I kicked ass. I remember how great that felt.

In the movie, "Sex and the City", Kim Catrall's character, Samantha breaks up with Smith. "I love you. There's just someone I've been in love with longer: Me." AAgh! Can you even imagine saying that? Feeling that? ACTING on that? Nowhere in my fiber of being can I say that... 

I have beautiful, smart, strong children. My marriage is good. I have a job I like-ish. There's a roof over my head. WHY CAN I NOT LOVE ME?

Michael says he's tired of hearing me complain. So do I start to exercise so he doesn't have to hear it? Do I start moving so my girls don't have "one of those Moms"? Somewhere in my brain, I cannot find the justification to take the time for me.  I'm mortified that I am winded walking a flight of stairs. Or when I do yoga, I look like a fat caterpillar and get stuck in poses? So why should I start? I am ashamed. I used to "workout" in college dance class and dance for hours. I didn't mind sweating. Now I sweat driving a school bus in Georgia and its just plain miserable.

I want to create a five year plan.  At age fifty, I want to host a birthday party, a la strip tease. Maybe al a Moulin Rouge. Maybe like Gypsy Rose Lee. Or with a Sixties vibe, Playboy Bunny style. I wouldn't even mind a modern Shoe Show. The laundry list of self-improvements would all be achieved and I would reveal myself to the world. It would be all about my transformation. Me. Gorgeous Me.

The journey of a thousand miles begins with one step. Step one is cool. Step two and three is embarrassing. And step five, just plain humiliating. So by step six, I should just stop because this is ridiculous. And I look ridiculous. And really? Is this ever gonna help?

I understand the dynamic of instant gratification. I know the value of hard work. I can do anything. Learn a new skill, got it. Face the challenge of raising great kids? No problem. Money, marriage: bring it on. I appreciate working for something. I am known as a hard worker. I just can't apply it to me. Resurrecting my self-image seems so vain, so shallow, so unimportant.

I have two acquaintances I think of when I think of weight management. One is an athlete. She is tall and beautiful. She runs every morning, has a sun weathered complexion, and quietly goes through her day. The other woman is currently losing weight. Everyone knows it: she posts about Zumba classes, she brags about a three pound loss. She is more similar to my build. I admire both for their commitment to their well-being. But their motivation for exercising has got to be different. Me? I think I fall between both of these extremes.

The saddest of all? I know better. My mother was a wealth of knowledge regarding healthy food. I grew up sans TV, sans soda and white bread. I knew juice had too much sugar growing up 40 years ago. Mom was Whole Foods before it was. We exercised: on purpose and through everyday living. So why is it OK to be 80 pounds overweight now?

"So why don't you just do something about it, Daniele?"  I can come up with a thousand reasons, a thousand excuses of why I am so unimportant. I am one in six billion people. Really? My struggle isn't even a blip on God's screen. God's lot for me is hardly caring for my self-image. He has more spiritual matters in mind. I'm healthy: its not like I have any risk. My cholesterol and screenings have always been clean and normal.  So I can't get into a size 16; I'm sure they come in an XXL.

I knew a mother of a three year-old that drown in a puddle because his shoe was stuck and he couldn't break free. I feel like that little boy. I cannot get out of these four inches of muck and mire. I am stuck. My obesity has become stifling.