A Psychology Degree Is Used

Know your weight, write it down, tell a friend. As the good dr. says “you can’t change what you don’t acknowledge.”

I have a Psychology degree with which I am qualified to do nothing but watch Dr. Phil and pretend to understand on a deeper level than most, what he is saying. So, I bought his book. This is not a testimonial for Dr. Phil, but for a process that began with some of his ideas.

He told me to get real. Step one then for me was to face my fat. I got the scale out again and saw . . . 198. It was a bit better than October, but still obese. In the past, my weight number was a carefully guarded secret, so secret that I would try to forget it once it was revealed to me. My faulty reasoning led me to believe that the number would make me different in my husband’s eyes. Who was I fooling? Everyone knew I was fat, and the number was not going to make me look any fatter, or the denial of the number was not making me look any thinner. I stood in front of the full length mirror completely naked. I surveyed the rolls on my back, and my front. I wiggled my shoulders and watched my body continue to shake well after I had stopped voluntary moving. I grabbed my flabby belly and wiggled it. I looked at my thighs, were those German sausages over stuffed into their transparent casings? I loved bratwurst, but I didn’t like them for legs. I was mesmerized.

Step two was to reveal the number to my husband. I remember where we were; In the kitchen, by my scale. (Yes, I tried the “put the scale by your fridge trick – didn’t work) I told him I was going to tell him the number. My face started to go red before I even told him. Ashamed that I just weighed 5 pounds less than my 6’3” husband I blurted it out. I opened my eyes to see a very loving and supportive man, who would become my partner in my goals. Telling him the number did not change my size.

That day for me was for me was my interpretation of Dr. Phil’s “get real” and “you can’t change what you don’t acknowledge” I started to exercise.

Before and After

My sister said before and after pictures are important. I believe that. I know that I love to have proof that the person was what they say. But it is really hard to publish my own. It is really close to my heart. I can remember all of the experiences and emotions that got me here.

Of course there is always the lovely side shot. That can be just as disturbing for us Apple bodies. This was a month before my bottom was shot.

I sometimes still look in the mirror and expect to see that. It always surprises me that I am different. Here I am after running my first 5K this past April. I took third.

Out in our yard last month. Look, my shirt is tucked in. I am wearing a BELT!!!

The Fats

In October I was fat. 205 fat. I looked up my weight on a weight chart and saw – obese.

I never meant to be 37 and obese. My dreams as a young adult didn’t include cellulite. I dreamed of a life as a stay at home mom, with 5 kids, being fit, and well dressed with cute hair. I got the 5 kids, and the stay at home part, I just didn’t understand that the other parts would be so hard. Life takes on a frantic pace, and in my Florence Nightingale heroics, I forgot to take care of myself (so cliché, but true) life got busy, I didn’t pay attention, stepped on my scale 15 years later and bam. . 205.

That month my sister called inviting my other sister and my mother to have a weight loss challenge. I lost 7 pounds, but the holidays took over, and I gave up.

January came. We had gone to Canada for the New Year. Some pictures were taken and I saw just how fat I had become. In resignation tinged with despair I bought a bag of dove chocolates for the ride home. I hid it in the pocket behind my seat. I would unwrap one, place it on my tongue and let it sit until it became molten creamy chocolate. In one swallow the chocolate would glide down my throat and bring a bit of peace. My son Colton saw my stash and looked at me hopefully. I snarled like an angry wolf, in my best son of satan voice: “These are Mine get your own!!!“ I sounded like an addict.