I've posted a few times about my weight loss after having my youngest son, Jackson. I had been doing so well. Exercising 5-6 days a week on average, eating really well and it was showing, the pounds were coming right off. My skinny jeans fit again and I was contemplating buying the next size down to avoid saggy ass syndrome that was happening because I was getting skinner. I was doing all the right things and it was paying off and I was happy about it. Although, I wasn't happy enough because I'd catch a glimpse of myself and think "Hey, you still have 8 pounds to go to your goal, stop gloating" and then my self sabotage would make me all sad and depressed for a short amount of time but not so short that I didn't console myself with more food that I didn't need.
The weeks and months have gone by and I've been slowly gaining back some of the weight that I worked so hard to lose. I gained one pound in a week, then half a pound one week then four pounds and I just gave up and stopped caring. And then I injured my knee during a boot camp at my gym and was down for the count for several weeks. And then Derick came home and I wanted to spend more time with him. AND then I had a stupid toe nail removed and that? that shit HURTS. I couldn't wear regular lace up shoes for more than a week. If it wasn't one thing it was another, an endless list of "And Then".
So here I sit. I've gained 12 pounds in the last few months and I'm just feeling so stupid. How on earth did I let this happen? I was doing so well, I felt so good about how far I'd come and then I just stopped caring, stopped working hard, stopped taking care of myself. I let life get in the way, as it so often does and I have no one to blame but myself. I made excuses for myself, oh, it's only water weight, it's that time of the month, I'm only up 5 pounds I can lose that quickly, blah blah blah.
My skinny jeans now hang in my closet and my lose fitting work pants are pulling at the seams and I just want to cry. I know better. I KNOW BETTER. I take such pride in how well I treat my one and only body and then I go and fill it full of food it doesn't even need. It's not even "bad" foods for the most part, it's just too much of a good thing. I guess that really does exist, too much of a good thing.
Let me say that I eat fantastically well for breakfast and lunch. I go easy on the snacks and my dinner is usually something really healthy. It's after the sun goes down that I just can't help myself. I go back an forth between the sofa and the fridge. A bowl of cereal here, a piece of fruit there, maybe I'll have some dinner leftovers, it won't hurt to pop a bag of popcorn before bed. It's not because I'm even hungry. That's what kills me. I'm not even hungry for this stuff and yet I can't stop myself.
I know that I must be doing this to fill some void and I don't even want to admit what that void is. I know what it is, but I can't bring myself to say it. I'll just say that I put a brave face on for all to see but it sucks to spend the nights alone, watching recorded television shows with no one to laugh at them with. It's getting fucking old.
So I sit on my sofa and eat things I don't need to eat just because I can. And I gain 12 pounds and I wallow in self pity and it fucking sucks. I am so over this cycle I put myself through and I don't know how to get out of it once and for all.