It’s been a long time since I’ve considered writing a blog
that doesn’t tell the whole truth. I could tell you how great I’m doing. I could
tell you how awesome my workouts have been. I could tell you that I’m basking
in sunshine and glitter and baskets of kittens.
But I’d be lying.
The real truth is that I’m struggling. Big time. And I hate
to have to tell you that. But I wouldn’t have gotten this far if I hadn’t been
totally honest with you. So here goes.
Last week I told you about seeing the ghost of my former
self everywhere I look. She’s continuing to haunt me. And lately I just haven’t
been able to shake the mean reds, as Holly Golightly would say.
I hate writing entries like this. I always debate how much
to share and how much to keep to myself. But if I’ve learned nothing else from
this journey, it’s that sharing is what has truly saved my life. So share I
will.
A couple of weeks ago, I was crying myself to sleep for what
seemed like the billionth time. What was wrong with me? Why was I so sad? Then—maybe I was praying out loud, maybe just talking to myself—I said the words
that hit the nail on the head:
“I just feel so unlovable.”
And right there, that’s what this is all about. Not just my
sads of the moment, but the ones that have clouded me for most of my life. The
ones that began my issues with food in the first place. I’m not just talking
about romantic love, either.
I grew up in a great family and was deeply loved by both of
my parents. I always knew that. But somewhere along the way, for some reason, I
began to think myself unworthy of love or affection. I felt like I didn’t
deserve good things to happen to me. And I guess that hasn’t changed.
See, as I’ve lost weight, I’ve had little epiphanies along the
way. Most of them I’ve shared with you. But I think this is the biggest—the one
that started everything. Maybe when I get through this, I’ll be able to fully
succeed.
One of my favorite quotes, often attributed to Nelson
Mandela, is actually by a writer named Marianne Williamson. You’ve probably
read it before:
Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest
fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness
that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous,
talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of
God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened
about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all
meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God
that is within us. It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone. And as we let
our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the
same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically
liberates others.
This really rings true to me right now. Am I afraid of
succeeding? Am I afraid to really shine?
Two years ago, I was so miserable. I felt absolutely
unlovable then. Who could love someone like me? To think that I would ever be
at the place I am now—just 40 or so pounds away from my goal weight—was unthinkable.
And today, here I am. 127 pounds less than that other girl.
Yet, still struggling with those same feelings of unworthiness. What happens
when I hit that ultimate goal? When I really succeed? What happens when I feel
rejected or lonely? I won’t be able to blame it on my body anymore. And maybe
that’s what scares me.
Today I stepped on the scale at Weight Watchers and it
showed a gain for the second week in a row. It’s not a major gain--.6 last week
and .4 today. But it’s a gain. It made me realize I needed to talk about the
place where I am. To be honest with you—and most of all with myself.
I know I’m loved. I have a wonderful family, fantastic
friends and amazing co-workers—all of whom remind me of the good things about
me every day.
I just have to start believing them.
