Despite posting back in Autumn about January being a horrible time to make changes (everyone is a bit fat, a bit skint and it's really fookin cold!) I was adamant that I was up to the challenge of overhauling my eating and exercise habits this month. No hanging about, I was ready.
It's worth mentioning (if you don't know already) that I've been a Slimming World member on/ off since 2010 and a Slimming World consultant since 2014. I know how to eat well and I actually enjoy eating the Slimming World way. I like vegetables (though this miracle only occurred in my thirties) and fruit, I enjoy cooking from scratch. It works for me! I don't actually crave bad food all that often. I prefer eating well.
If all of this sounds horribly smug or like an ad for SW, stay with me... Coz here's the thing. I am an emotional eater. I got to my target weight with a 2 stone weight loss within six months of giving birth to Hal and I maintained it easily (smug smug smugetty smug!) for over two years. And then I lost my dad.
Enter the emotional eating monster.
When I get sad or stressed or I'm flapping about because I have to be somewhere and I haven't left yet and "Where the shitting hell are my keys?" etc etc (this happens A LOT) all I want is sugar. Sweet stuff. Anything. And I want it NOW. Chewing is optional to be completely honest, I just inhale it.
I've often referred to the door pocket of my car as the Door Pocket of Shame because of all the wrappers that dwell there. If I was in my car, in my head, no one could see me and I could eat what I wanted. Often I didn't even want what I was eating, I just wanted the hit of sugar to distract me from whatever negative emotion was trying to swallow me at the time.
So I rejoined SW as a new member (again) on January 5th this year and a week later I weighed in with a 3lb weight loss. The following Friday I didn't go because I threw myself off the wagon and ran to the shop to buy sweets.
I mentioned the dynamite combo of Shreddies and a Krispy Kreme for dinner, yes? Dear me.
Here's the thing... I don't actually give a stuff what I weigh. I used to. I spent all of last year driving myself bananas trying to get under 10 stone (9st 13.5lbs would do!) until I realised that I actually didn't give a shit about the number on the scale. What I do give a shit about is how I feel and how my clothes fit.
Joe Wicks (The Body Coach) was on The Chris Moyles Show on Radio X a few weeks back and he was telling Chris off for weighing himself all the time. According to Joe, the best way to monitor progress is through pictures. Beginning and end of the month, take a full length pic and then compare the two. Despite agreeing with this wholeheartedly and despite discouraging my members from constantly weighing at home, I got on our scales last night. Bad idea. Ludicrous in fact as I'd been eating all day. All actual fucking day, I shit you not. Not even hungry for half of it, just ramming food in to my face. *sigh* So the numbers I saw were pretty horrific.
To look at me maybe you'd think I look okay. Maybe you'd think I was just allowing myself to be sucked in by media images of perfect women. It's not that. It's this... None of my clothes fit. Nowt. "Buy new clothes, you say?" Erm no. I don't really have a job at the mo and I have perfectly good clothes in my wardrobe. They just don't fucking fit!!
In the past few weeks I've been in super sabotage mode, gaining weight on purpose just to prove how much I suck at weight loss/ self care/ eating well. I told myself I had more important stuff to concentrate on. I told myself I couldn't keep going to SW as a member because I couldn't spare the £4.95. In truth, I'm ashamed. I do this for a living (not currently admittedly but..) and I know how to eat well. How frustrating to find yourself in a cycle of self destruction! How annoying to know exactly what you need to do to lose weight but to just not be able to get in the right head space to do it.
Today my food has been good and I walked five miles. Go me! I'm not asleep yet so there's still time for a chocolate binge but I'm feeling fairly confident that it won't happen. Tomorrow I aim to get up and do it again. If it falls apart, so be it. I can but try!
Size 10 jeans you WILL fit again... without leaving flesh wounds!
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