The Arsenic Hour

There is a concept in parenting called the arsenic hour. Even if you have never heard of it if you think about it for a minute I bet you can guess when it is. When everyone arrives home after work, a parent is trying to get dinner on the table, the kids are tired, fussy, want attention and food, and everyone is just miserable. I’ve also seen it refer to a baby’s uncanny ability to melt down right when the parents are the most tired and frazzled, again, usually right before dinner. Like arsenic, it can poison the evening.

I have an internal arsenic hour, and yep, it is right before dinner. I am: Tired. Hungry. Fussy. Frantic even. My willpower and problem-solving skills are at their lowest point in the day. If I don’t have a plan, more often than not I am screwed. Pizza starts its siren song, not even because I am overly fond of pizza, but because the local pizza joint is fast, and the greasy food slides right down without much thought or effort on my part. If I am especially tired or blue, wine starts calling my name, too. And if I pour a glass of wine while I am trying to figure out how to feed myself and my family that evening? Oh, yeah. It seldom goes well.

I am figuring out that the time to combat the arsenic hour is NOT at 6:30 p.m. Too late. I have to start much earlier in the day.

I have to plan ahead. Just like I did when my daughter was a baby. I remember a time or two thinking: Well, yeah, she’s a wee bit over due for her nap, or a feeding, but I can just run into Target and quickly grab what I need. How often did that backfire? I had a wailing baby in my cart, and what seemed like a million judging eyes on me in the aisle. So I seldom did that. Because I knew it didn’t work, knew it wasn’t good for my baby or me, knew the value of planning and scheduling and routine.

But at night sometimes I am a big, cranky baby. I just can’t pull it together to make a good choice sometimes. I can’t even get mad at myself or judge myself for that. Well, I could, but that gets me no where. Look, we are all born with some challenge, right? I was born with a deficit of willpower, and a desire to eat when I have a bad day. I can rail at the gods about that. OR thank my lucky stars that this is my big challenge right now, one that I can overcome and DO something about.

So I have a big, late afternoon snack, and I have a plan for dinner, meaning the food is already at home and at least partially prepped. Once again, Heather at HSM has helped me take a look at my behavior, and craft a plan I can live with. Having chicken already cooked, veggies washed and ready to go, a salad at the ready (even if it is just my beloved  salad-in-a-bag), is almost the nicest thing imaginable at 5:30 p.m.

The snack is really more like a fourth meal. I’ll have a big salad with chicken. Or a big apple with some cheese. A Grande Nonfat Latte and a Quest bar. A half of a peanut butter and banana sandwich. Half a turkey sandwich. Almonds or Triscuits and string cheese. NOT a pointless, empty-calorie- laden “100 Calorie Pack.” Those things leave me hungry and bitter, desperately wanting more.

IF I have the snack. IF I plan. IF I prep. IF. Then I almost always stay within my calorie goals. The evening is more pleasant. I do not stand in the kitchen, feeling very very VERY sorry for myself that I have to cook, and I can’t have what I want, I am tired, poor me. That is pure arsenic to my weight loss efforts.

And seriously, to my soul.

I don’t want to do that to myself anymore. Just like the few disastrous ill-timed Target runs with my baby, I can’t say it will never happen (I am a slow learner) but I can tell you over the last year I have noticed that I have less and less arsenic hours.

I am learning my own personal formula for the antidote.

FEISTY

down 46.2 pounds so far

So, about that last blog post… I think I really needed to write what I wrote last week, to see it in black and white. I tend to ruminate and obsess, and getting it out of my head and onto paper (well, on the screen) helped me start to focus on how to get unstuck. I can see I have a constant barrage of negative feedback from the voice in my head that really REALLY wants me to stay stuck, to keep the status-quo. Just writing about that invited me to more awareness, and when I can notice the voice, I can talk back to it, put it in its place. So thank you for indulging my pity party.

Because this week I feel like I am in a totally different place. And guess what? I lost a pound.

A few weeks ago Alyse at Write To Glow challenged us to pick a word for the new year. A challenge, a mantra, an intention, a guiding star. I spent a lot of time thinking about this, and finally came up with my word:

I LOVE this word, but I am going to have to make it my own, since for some reason FEISTY often seems to be associated with women of small stature, or inexplicably, chihuahuas. If you met my rotten little cat Louie, you might call him FEISTY. See? The association can’t be helped.

But I am sticking with FEISTY.

I am going to need a fighting spirit going into this next year. I feel like at times I have lived my life placid as a cow, matronly even, the opposite of FEISTY. But in the past year I have seen myself changing, and I like my new energy.

So armed with my renewed fighting spirit I have begun talking back to the negative, damaging voice in my head.

That voice says: You’re too old to change. I respond: Hey, I have friends in their 70s and 80s that are doing pretty well all things considered, so it isn’t too late. My mom is 84 and my dad is 90 and they’re still kicking, so I might have some longevity genes going on. All I am guaranteed is today, anyway. And eating healthy and exercising makes me feel good and proud today.

And my old age will SUCK if I don’t keep progressing.

That voice says: I am too tired to cook, to go to the gym. I respond: If I do these things I will have more energy, and besides…this means I may need to let something go so that I have more time to take care of myself. This is my one precious life. Is looking at Facebook, or keep current with the laundry, or saying yes when I want to say no more important than MY life? Sure, work needs to be done, the kid needs to be tended, but other than that I can pick and choose how to manage my time.

That voice says: What the hell, I’ll just eat this one thing, it won’t matter. I respond: Yes, I can have that. But I will get to enjoy my new life sooner if I plan for this, instead of just scarfing it down compulsively.

The voice says: You screwed up…might as well just blow the rest of the day, and start again tomorrow. I respond: I deserve care right this minute, not tomorrow.

The voice in my head that might be the hardest to tackle is the one that says, “Oh, no! I’m feeling anxious! I better eat over it!” But I have a lifetime of experimenting with pushing down anxiety with food, and I know it doesn’t work, not in the long run. It just makes it worse, and I have better coping skills now, so that voice really just needs to be bitch-slapped.

I feel like this is my next challenge. That inner voice is so so afraid of change. I am figuring out what to say to her so I can keep progressing, keep making my life better, keep working on some self-discipline, not in a punishing way but in a consistent way.

I am capable of loving discipline. For example,  I have been disciplined in taking care of my daughter: I changed her diaper and fed her whether I felt like it or not. I drive her to school even when I would rather sleep. I take care of her when she is sick, even if it is scary or exhausting.

That sort of self-discipline is love. I deserve the same kind of love. From me.

I feel strong and determined right this minute. I wish I could bottle this feeling to drink up when I need it. But I know with awareness I can access it again and again. I am capable, even excited, about the inner work and habit changes that I will need to keep focusing on this year.

I’m feeling FEISTY.

Resistance and a possible cure

45.2 pounds lost so far

I am stuck, rebelling, resistant.

Something happens at about this point. 40-50 pounds down, and then… what? I start saying, “the heck with it” (well, I say something filthier; my brain has quite the potty mouth) and I start eating “whatever I want.” I put that in quotes because although a piece of cake is nice, I don’t think food is REALLY what I want at all, at least not this time around. OK, it’s complicated… I do want the food, I DO. But I want the feeling that stuffing myself leads to even more.

I think menopause plays into this, and not so much in a negative way. I am entering into really, the last stage of my life. It is a long stage, to be sure, and I am just at the beginning, but this is my last time to take a stand for myself. To accomplish my hopes and dreams. And I am blocking myself from that. What happened to the momentum I had over the summer? I felt powerful, exhilarated. I put my needs first. I felt bad-ass. I thought about my goals, and what I could accomplish. It was so much more than just weight-loss related. I was taking care of me. I was contemplating going back to work. I was thinking of long-haul bike trips, and working up to running in a 5-K. I was writing every day, and feeling good about what I was creating.

What’s going on now feels awful. But familiar. I am worrying about the house. I am bickering with my husband about little things, but really, I am sick to death of negotiating everything. Even buying a stupid chair feels fraught because I just want to go pick out a chair, get what I want, and not negotiate with my sweet husband or dither over my decisions. I feel like a petulant child. Or a woman on the cusp of freedom. I am not sure who I am channeling when I say: I want to do what I want to do!!

My daughter is a great kid, but there is a reason women tend to breed earlier in life. I didn’t have her until I was 39 years old. Something is happening as she and I are both growing older. She needs more independence, but isn’t quite ready to launch. I am at the age where many women have sent their children off into the world and are re-negotiating this new phase of their life, and I am still negotiating with a teen-age girl who is testing her wings, and a husband who is confident and has strong opinions. I want to add that they are just being themselves, doing their thing, and they are lovely. I don’t for a minute think this is about them.

I think about my friends who don’t have kids, or who have always had a career outside the home, and I think they will think all of this is stupid, indeed. I sound like a housewife from the 50s. But since I have chosen to live my life like a 50s housewife to a certain extent, well, I am where I am.

So… what happens at 40-50 pounds down? I start feeling better, more free, more independent, not held back so much by my body. More worthy, maybe? And I choke. The change feels like too much. What will happen if I really change? How will it effect my family? What if I have to put myself out there and do the things I have only dreamed about? Isn’t it safer, easier, nicer to just hang out here at home, with the cat and the dog and my computer. And the refrigerator.

So here is where menopause works in my favor. I have always thought, naively, that I have the luxury of time. And I see now that I don’t. This is it. This is my one life. I have made a bargain with life so far to choose safety and security and stuffing down my feelings instead of true growth, and the risk it involves.

I don’t want to be overly dramatic.  Of course I have grown, of course I have made a contribution to my family and community, and challenged myself in some ways, yadda yadda yadda….

But a light switches on at about this point that says: You can more forward into unseen emotional territory, or you can retreat into what is familiar. Up until now I have chosen the safe and familiar.

I think this is the juicy stuff. This is what is going on deep down that keeps me trapped, but is also the key to freedom. It feels so deeply embarrassing to write about. I feel so childish. But I am noticing that as I write this I am crying, and sighing, and really feeling it in my body, instead of just my head. So I know that this is truth for me.

So, what is my next step? I am going to prep a healthy meal for tonight. I am going on a bike ride today. And I am going to write more about this. Sharing this keeps me honest, and I know you all have my back. You won’t let me forget that I am here, in this place, where I can change. I am changing. I am changing.

Stocking Stuffers

 

I am sitting in my office on Christmas Eve, just ridiculously happy to be thinking about the past year, and the year to come. I have so much to be grateful for. This last blog of 2015 is a thank you to everyone who has helped me get this far. In no particular order (except I am saving Heather at Half Size Me for last) here are some sources of inspiration, guidance and support this last twelve months.

Last year I let my daughter get a personal trainer at the gym. Thayne is young and fun, and a perfect motivator for my daughter, but you know, too young to be MY trainer. Or so I thought. But I watched him work with folks all shapes and sizes and ages, and what I saw impressed me. Thayne is good-natured, helpful not to just his clients but to everyone at the gym, and has a great work ethic.  I decided to be brave and asked him to train me. It has turned out to be one of the best decisions I made in all of 2015. I have had trainers in the past who pushed me so hard and so fast that I just felt like a failure and gave up, reinforcing my belief that strength training is not for me. But Thayne is all about progression, getting stronger and more confident in what my body can do. I have little guns now, but more importantly I can get up off the floor with more ease, my back never hurts, and of course the weight training has helped me lose weight and tighten up. Thayne has never once made me feel bad about myself or my slow progress. I suspect for Thayne what he does is more than a job; it is a mission.

Alyse Sweeney at Write To Glow is my writing coach, friend, muse, and cheerleader. Her website is full of writing prompts, poetry and inspiration. She helped me know I had something to say; she helped me believe I could write, and that my own voice was good enough. I found the confidence to write this blog because of her. What a gift.

I have never met Tom Ross who writes Not Medicated Yet. But he is a hero of mine. He was diagnosed with type two diabetes in middle age and DID something about it: he lost weight and started exercising. He, in essence, reversed his diabetes without medication. If you are middle aged, severely overweight, and sedentary you’re just kind of a time-bomb when it comes to type two diabetes. I want to avoid that diagnosis, so I started reading Tom’s blog and taking control of my health. Tom is sly and funny; he loves to poke holes in poorly-designed and over-hyped research. He believes that your behaviors can change your health in ways that pills never could. A great resource and a lively read!  If you drop Tom a note he’ll respond. Did I mention he is a hero? I am sure he doesn’t think so, but he is.

I’ve mentioned my friend Steven Kalas of Human Matters here before. He is a writer, therapist and Episcopalian priest. Steven is my go-to guy for all things ecclesiastical. But Steven also treats me like a colleague, even though I haven’t seen clients in many years, and I can’t tell you how grateful I am for that. I failed to mention last week that I learned the concept of “marriage as a mirror” from Steven. Having a friend with such a psychological point of view reminds me that I am not just changing on the outside, but on the inside, too. I highly recommend reading everything you can find that he has written. He makes you feel in awe of the privilege of being human.

Shelley at A Fifty-Something’s Weight Loss Journey writes about losing weight in midlife, and what caught my eye when I first read her blog was her willingness to ride a bike, even at the beginning of her weight loss journey. She inspired me to get a bike. She is no longer overweight– she is a runner and beautiful to boot! Her blog is fun and poignant, like going for a nice long walk and chat with a good friend.

I want to give a quick shout out to Jenna because I love her, and I have already written about dancing at Jazzercise. Ditto for Kelly, my fabulous Weight Watchers leader who helped me get started down this path, too.

How am I going to write about Heather at Half Size Me without getting all blubbery?  I am not exaggerating when I say Heather has changed my life. She lost 170 pounds 4 years ago and has maintained that loss!  Heather has over 200 podcast interviews with people who lost weight and kept it off, and they are all available right now for your listening pleasure.  She has the radical notion that your current lifestyle supports your current weight, and that by changing your behaviors, slowly and over time, you can lose weight and keep it off.  I joined her online community, and then found out that she was taking coaching clients! I talk with her every week, and check in via email in-between. I trust her because she has been there. There is nothing embarrassing I have told her about my struggles with food and weight that she hasn’t been though herself. Heather has helped me give up my all or nothing thinking about weight loss. She is practical, focused, and matter-of-fact. You can’t stump her. She is also warm, compassionate, patient and has a great laugh.  If I could wave a magic wand and make you click on the link and join the HSM community I would. Even though she is younger than me, I want to be Heather when I grow up.

Finally, Mac, Eli, Susan, Kate, Sue, Karen, Lisa, Theresa, Rhonda and so many other family members and friends have cheered me on. Even against the odds, they seem to have faith that I can do this, and it lifts my spirits when the going gets tough. Thank you all and Merry Christmas!

Kind of a Betty

Weight Loss to Date: 49.8 pounds

I went to a great “cookies and cocktails” party this week, hosted by my friend Suzanne, who really has the gift of gathering great women together. I got to see old friends and it was a very festive, very grown-up cookie exchange. I dressed up, and swung by a store and bought cookies. Yes. You read that right: I bought, not baked, cookies. Very different behavior for me.

I have written here before about my love affair with fudge. In years past I have looked forward to making it, because I liked cooking for my friends, sure, but also there is this: I got to lick the pan and spoon, eat the pieces that didn’t come out into nice, neat squares (a surprising amount), and I always left some at home for me (and theoretically my family) to have later. Then: Every time I walked past the kitchen, I could grab a little fudge. For days. I don’t want to dwell on fudge enough to figure out how many calories that might add up to, but holy crap! No wonder in the past I have gained so much weight at the holidays.

So it felt like a really nifty departure to skip the baking. To spend more time on getting dressed up in party clothes. To allow myself some time to rest instead of cook. To know I would come home to a clean kitchen. I already had a plan for the cookies I would bring home. They went straight into the freezer for a party my daughter is having later this week.

So, I went to the party. I was wearing that dress I bought especially for Thanksgiving, the pretty retro-looking party dress from Nordstrom, in the smallest size I have worn in 20 years. I paired it with a  bejeweled sweater from Target, an XL from the regular section! and put on some little heels and arrived feeling happy and free, sans fudge.

And then. I spied a woman I hadn’t seen in months, and she looked so chic and sleek that I gave her a hug and said: “You look like a sexy mama!” She looked very pleased, and then she blurted out: “And you look like Betty Crocker!”

Now, I know this woman enough to know she is not a mean girl, she likes me, and quite frankly I think it was her chardonnay talking. I really did laugh it off, and didn’t give it another thought until later.

Cut to the end of the evening and I am once again talking with my sexy friend and another person I had never met. Sexy lady says: “Hey, you really do look good,” alluding, I assume, to my weight loss (See? We like her). I laughed: “Next year I am gonna be dressed as the sexy mama!” Then the woman I didn’t know blurted out: “What? Are you going to have surgery?”

Wow. How rude. I think it stung more than it might have, too, because no one, besides sexy mama, had said anything about my weight loss. I get it: I’ve lost so slowly that you might not notice if you saw me day in, day out, but a lot of these women I hadn’t seen in a year, and it dawns on me now that I had the teeniest expectation that perhaps people would, you know, gush over me. But it also dawns on me that I have gained and lost weight so many times in the past that probably people just don’t know what to say. I wasn’t expecting to get insulted, though. (It is also eye-opening to realize that you can be so fat that you can lose 50 pounds and people won’t even notice yet.)

So, I know it is too late to be a Betty in the Urban Dictionary sense (a young, good-looking, confident girl) but I don’t want to be Betty Crocker either. I really, really don’t. I have already spent too much time being that Betty: always in the kitchen, cooking for everyone, bland in appearance, selflessly feeding everyone food, but not feeding myself what I need.

I am not saying that I won’t cook anymore, or that I won’t eat Christmas cookies, for that matter. Next week I am going home, to the land of fried chicken and fudge, and I am planning on having  a bit of both of those things.

I have spent some time trying to decide what, if anything, those interactions at the party meant. You know, I am so, so close to hitting the 50 pound mark but am almost sure I moved in the wrong direction this week. I weigh-in tomorrow, so we’ll see. But no matter what anyone’s opinion is of me, or the amount of time it is taking me to lose weight, or how I dress, I am just going to keep plugging away at this. For me.

 

 

Complaining and Marriage

My beloved husband of 30 years pointed out this week that I was complaining. A lot. Bitching. Moaning. Criticizing. Yes, he is right, and no, it isn’t pretty. Oh, I have my reasons: We have both been battling a stomach bug. Thanksgiving was wonderful but now there is the reality of getting the house back in order, finishing year-end paperwork for the business, and the mountain of laundry from myriad house guests. There’s more: In the last 2 months we moved to a new house, and someone tried to file a fraudulent tax return with our information, complicating said move. There has been a fender bender, dead car batteries, and two major plumbing problems, complete with one shady restoration company. The stove and heater both went blooey the same week. You, know. Life.

“It is not the mountain ahead that wears you out but the grain of sand in your shoe,” said Robert Service. So none of this is terrible, none of this is life threatening, just endlessly irritating, like pebbles in a hiking boot. I try to count my blessings every day, but here is the thing: For almost all of my adult life I have gotten through rough patches by turning to food. It has soothed me, buoyed me, numbed me, mellowed me, stuffed down uncomfortable feelings for me, and entertained me…. No wonder it has been so very hard to change my relationship with it.

A friend of mine used to work in an inpatient eating disorder unit and he told me that new therapists always made the same rookie mistake: They wanted to diagnose almost every new patient with Borderline Personality Disorder. This rather damning diagnosis is what people’s crazy looks like when you quite dramatically take away access to their drug of choice and then lay heavy-duty therapy on them. There is simply no place to hide from uncomfortable feelings. Old ways of coping (binging, starving, purging) are not available, so yeah, everyone is nuts for a while.

I have had the luxury of taking this thing slow. As the year is coming to an end I have lost about a pound a week. This pace has given me time to learn how to deal with feelings without diving headfirst into a bag of Hershey’s kisses or a giant (giant!!) plate of creamy pasta. I said when I started this blog that I was determined to explore how life really could be better in my 50s and beyond. Learning to face feelings without stuffing has led me to journal, walk, talk to friends, blog, and exercise. When I am at my best, it is so much easier to ride out uncomfortable feelings without turning to food. This has, indeed, made my life so very much better.

But when I am overly tired, sick and overwhelmed I tend to complain. To be honest, I still complained a lot over those feelings even when I was stuffing my face. I think it will be very hard to stay on this path if I don’t tackle what makes me so uncomfortable in the first place.

So when my husband told me that he couldn’t understand why I was complaining so much, and that quite frankly, he was tired of it, I just listened. I took a deep breathe and said, “You are right (this is what a guy wants to hear almost as much as: Race you to the bedroom!). I will work on it.” Because one of the lovely things about a 30-year marriage is that your partner holds up a mirror for you, shows you all of your beauty, and all that is not so beautiful. You see more clearly because he or she is willing to hold up the looking-glass and say: See? See How You Are? After all this time, no one knows me better, no one has my back more than he. I am trying to pay attention and to remember that that kind of feedback is a gift.

There is something else, though. I whine and complain a lot instead of saying no. Instead of setting boundaries. I agree to something I really don’t want to do, then feel complain-y and put-upon. No one has made me do this, and no one has the power to stop this but me. Change to contemplate for the new year: What do I need to let go of? Will I complain less, eat less, if I say, “No” more often? Trust me, I will be writing more about this new possibility.

 

The poop on Thanksgiving

 

So here we were, getting ready for a house full of people, when the toilet backed up. No big deal. My handy husband tried to fix it, but decided it was out of his skill set and went off to get ready for work while I called the plumber. The moment he was preparing to step into the shower, the storm hit. The shit storm is really the only way to describe it. Apparently when you have a severely clogged pipe, the water has to back up somewhere, and a shower is a very common place. Oh, the horror! Luckily, Mac witnessed this from outside the shower, so in the spirit of counting our blessings it could have been So. Much. Worse. But it was bad enough.

This was on Tuesday, about 8 hours before the first of eight house guests arrived. I feared the worst, but the plumber arrived and after a few hours everything was back to normal. Here is a cleaning tip (you’ll seldom get those from me): Clorox makes a splash-free bleach, which seemed like a great idea for such a big bio-hazardous situation. I scrubbed everything down in the shower then turned the bottle around to read exactly how long you are supposed to wait for maximum disinfection. It says right on the package: “Splash Free Clorox does not disinfect or sanitize. To disinfect, use regular Clorox,” or some such nonsense because I was in too much of a blind fury to take it all in. Curse you faux Clorox bleach!

So, another trip back to the store, more bleach (real bleach this time, apparently) more scrubbing, more cursing and a few tears but I got it done. I have to say, too, it helped to share this drama/trauma with my funny friends because they sent me encouraging notes. My niece Kate told me she was sorry I was going through this but she had a hilarious mental image in her head of me running around in circles in a blind panic. Heather told me to NOT use this as an excuse to feel sorry for myself and thus over-eat. She said: “Poop, you’re screwing with the wrong woman.” I don’t think this scenario is what the Beatles had in mind when they wrote, “I Get By With A Little Help From My Friends,” but I thought of that song all weekend long.

I’d lost hours to the storm and its aftermath, so I mentally started ticking off things I could let go on my to-do list. Number one was dishes. I knew a store very close by that sold cheerful, pretty-ish, red plastic plates and decided I would rather spending a few minutes fetching those than dealing with 62 dinner plates. Yes, you read that correctly. Sixty-two dinner guests.

My friend Maggie is a wonder: she is the most creative, organized, wonderful cook and kept me grounded and on task when I got panicky. Other friends helped set tables, carve turkey, and kept the microwave humming heating up last minute items. My daughter really stepped up – she was so helpful and cheerful. Our talented friends even put on a show after dinner – magic, singing, sword swallowing. As my husband would say, “The perfect after dinner trick.”

So how did I do? I didn’t overeat on Thanksgiving, or on the days leading up to it. I kept healthy food in the house. I ate a nice bowl of healthy soup for lunch so I wouldn’t overindulge during the big dinner. I didn’t have any wine until supper, and not much after that. I asked for help. I let things go. I took the time to put on my new dress. Overall I took better care of myself this Thanksgiving than I think I ever have. I did take time for gratitude, and I really appreciated having the friends I love gathered in my house. I told my husband that I really don’t want to end the tradition, but next year we might actually have it catered. Progress! But not perfection: I was so very tired that I ate way too much the next two nights. I am afraid to step on the scale tomorrow. But I know that even if I have a gain I am getting through the holidays without gaining all the weight back I have worked so hard to lose so far this year. I trust myself more, and that is really, truly a miracle to be thankful for.

Thanksgiving, Part II

 

 Friends constructing tables on Thanksgiving Day, 2012.

Weight Loss To Date: 48 Pounds

So my husband read my blog last week and pointed something out to me: The year we had 60 people for dinner? The year that my guests took it upon themselves to build new tables for our dining room on Thanksgiving Day? The year I drank too much?

That was all the same year.

That was three years ago. I know the last two Thanksgivings were a bit less crazy, but I am not sure how, because I wasn’t really intentional in my approach to make things better for myself. Oh, I limited my guest list and my wine consumption, and nixed major construction projects. But really I just barreled through as best I could.

I feel both apprehensive and optimistic this year.

Apprehensive because we are in a new house, and this is our first Thanksgiving here. I am not sure if we really have enough room for everyone, although my cheerful husband promises me we will.  My kitchen is smaller, and I am still getting used to it. I worry that old habits will kick in and I’ll find myself saying:

“Oh, what the heck, let’s just go ahead and cook a few extra turkeys so that we have drippings to make homemade gravy, and I’ll just make my fabulous, time-consuming, super messy mashed potato casserole for 50+ people, even though I already have a simpler plan. I don’t mind running out to the store last minute and buying 40 pounds of spuds.”

Even writing this I feel an old pull, like I am being The Grinch for giving myself permission to make it easier on myself this year. And that, I think, is the heart of the matter. This is not just about Thanksgiving.

This year I have lost about half the weight I ultimately want to lose, and I can say without a doubt that the biggest challenge has not, in fact, been the food. It has been about confronting my old ways of thinking and doing that always lead to overeating.

Years ago I heard my friend Steven Kalas, a therapist and Episcopalian priest, say something interesting. He was trying to clarify some issue quite unrelated to weight loss but he said, “It’s like someone who has lost 100 pounds. They just are not the same person anymore.” At the time I thought: “That can’t be true. If I ever lost 100 pounds I would be just the same person, only, you know, slimmer.” I thought about it more, and came to the conclusion that I would be different after I lost the weight. How could I not be? People would look at me differently, maybe treat me differently, I would feel more confident, etc.

But I know something I didn’t know before. I have to be a different person right this minute, during the process, to get this weight off and keep it off. I am having to change myself from the inside out, not the other way around. God, that sounds so trite. But really, it is true. Putting my health first is a huge departure for me. Looking at almost everything I do as an opportunity to move closer or further away from my goal of better health and weight loss is a way of thinking I never entertained before. Not giving up, no matter what, is just astonishing in terms of the results it has yielded. Taking the slow route (which affords treats, mistakes, and holiday meals along the way) instead of looking for another quick fix and giving up after a bad day? So, so new to me.

That is where the optimism comes in. I have almost a whole year now of solid evidence that I am capable of change. I can change my relationship with Thanksgiving, too.

I said last week that I would elaborate on my Thanksgiving plans, so here goes. I am cooking today, working ahead of time while it is quiet and peaceful in my house. I am prepping food for the other six dinners of the week, too. Thanksgiving is only one meal, not an excuse to go crazy all week. In addition to cutting back on the sheer amount of food, walking every day, and getting lots of help, I went to bed early last night, and plan to get a good night’s sleep all week. At the end of the day, when there still seems like there is so much to do, I have to just trust that we’ll get it done – or won’t – but either way Thanksgiving will still be grand because of the people who will gather here. Because I know the feast, the shared meal, and being with family and friends will fill up my soul as well as my belly. If I let it.

I will check in next week and let you know how it goes. Happy Thanksgiving!

 

 

Thanksgiving, Part I

It’s almost Thanksgiving, the time of year where I just lose my mind. It is a collective crazy around my house, as you will see, but I am the only one who gets fat and nutty over it.

When my husband and I moved away from Kentucky over 30 years ago, we felt especially homesick at the holidays. We were living in L.A. back then, and decided we would cook for all of our friends who didn’t have family around. Turns out a lot of people in LA grew up elsewhere. We started calling our event “Thanksgiving for the Homeless and the Shut Ins,” and our friends loved it and our numbers grew.

We continued the tradition when we moved to Las Vegas and bought our first house. Turns out not everyone was raised in the south, not everyone knows how to cook, or has matching dishes or -gasp- even owns an apron. I know how to do all of those things.  I can put Thanksgiving dinner on the table for 50 people with candles and matching dishes and sparkling wine glasses and fresh pressed cloth napkins. I got a lot of kudos for this over the years and I liked that. What I don’t like is working for weeks ahead of time, and weeks after, getting the house ready, multiple trips to the store, trying to make everything perfect for endless house guests – one year we had 14 people stay with us.

There was the Thanksgiving right after I had my daughter when I mulled over the idea of using paper plates. My husband must have been distressed, because he mentioned it to his brother, who sent me an email imploring me to use real china (quick vocabulary lesson: folie a deux: delusion or mental illness shared by two people in close association).  See? It’s not just me. But here is the difference: My sweet husband stays cheerful the entire time, and doesn’t stress to the point of eating everything in sight. One year Mac couldn’t seem to stop inviting people, and we ended up with 60 people for a sit down meal. There was the year a couple of the guys decided to build new tables a few hours before dinner was going to be on the table. There was the year I drank waaaay too much. The ensuing shame sent me straight to the food for days and weeks to follow. Then, the worst one: the year I cooked Thanksgiving for 40 people two days after I had a miscarriage. I simply didn’t know what else to do.

So. Thanksgiving is fraught. All the food. The hard physical work. The high expectations, the bar I have set for myself. My endless drive to do everything perfectly always ALWAYS leads me to overeat. Then: all the leftovers. All the goodies people bring me. All the wine. Damn. How am I going to get through this one? How will this year be different? After all, this year there will only be eight house guests. Um, and 54 people for dinner.

Well, it will be radically different, and I am excited.

Here is my plan, and it is a true departure for me. I will write more details  in my next post, but here’s what I’ve got so far. The first part of the plan is logistical: I am buying already prepared mashed potatoes, cranberry sauce and gravy (Oh, Trader Joe’s, I love you!). My husband and some of our guests are making dessert. We are renting glassware and linens so I don’t have to spend hours fooling with either of them. I am roasting turkey breasts instead of whole birds and buying Honey Baked Ham. I’m putting some effort into pretty veggie platters, so I can have something healthy to nibble on all day long.  I am scaling back on the sheer variety and amount of food served. There is always waaaaay too much.

Part two of my scheme is to take some time for me, to rest, to really appreciate the holiday. I have early morning walks planned on Wednesday, Thursday and Friday. I am inviting my family and guests to join me, but am going regardless of who tags along. I have a pretty new dress to wear; the smallest dress size I have worn in twenty-something years. I am delegating more, fretting less. I am asking for help. And I am focusing on why we do this every single year.

Because, lest you think it is all drudgery, I am delighted to have a house full of people we love. I like my friends all crowded around my kitchen, helping out, laughing, telling stories, making a feast together. We play games after dinner; a friend or two usually plays the piano; someone always does a killer magic trick.  I DO love that we all sit down at pretty tables; that tradition stays. My husband will make a toast, everyone will raise a glass, and this year I plan to make time, on Thanksgiving, for gratitude. What a concept.

 

 

 

 

 

The Scale

weight loss to date: 45 pounds

I am really quite happy to be posting something again. In the last few weeks we moved to a new house, and it has been fun, chaotic, worrisome and exciting. All feelings I LOVE to eat over. During this time I have not always been eating in keeping with my goals, shall we say. I think what has saved me is the sheer amount of physical activity I have been doing, and for once in my life I have felt too busy to eat. But I am not going to sell myself short. I did a few tricks that helped out tremendously. My weight loss coach suggested that I prep and freeze a few meals to have on hand during the move. It kept the pizza guy off of my speed dial. OK, well, a few times we ordered pizza, too. But overall this new behavior paid off.

Another thing that paid off is that I tended to have the same healthy breakfast and lunch every day, the same snacks; it is really just dinner that has been too big, so I am keeping to some of my good, new-found habits.

But then.

A few days ago I found the moving box that contained my scale. I set it up in my bathroom, and nervously stepped on. My weight had stayed the same for the last two weeks, even though I have had some pizza, and wine, and haven’t gone to the gym or Jazzercise in over 2 weeks. And my first thought was:  “I don’t deserve these results.” Wow. Not: “Well, that is surprising.  What have I been doing to get this result? Can I expect this trend to continue, or is it more likely that the scale will start going up if I don’t manage my night-time eating better? Maybe I can track my food this week and see how that is reflected in next week’s weigh-in?”

No, not a rational, calm thought like that. I thought: “I don’t DESERVE to see my weight stay the same.”

A few months ago at a Weight Watchers meeting the woman in front of me stepped on the scale for her weigh in…and Freaked. Out. She actually started shouting: “No, way, no freaking way!” Although she didn’t say freaking. The leader that day seemed a bit stunned.

I thought of what my regular WW leader Kelly, or my weight loss coach Heather would have said to this woman. I am pretty sure it would have been something along the lines of:

OK, let’s dissect this. It sounds like you were expecting a different result. What was your week like? Are you eating all of your points/calories or have you been under-feeding yourself? Did you track your food? Did you start a new exercise regimen like weight training? Have you had out of town company? What has your 6 week trend been like, not just this week? Are you hormonal? Did you have a big loss last week? Have you let go of some good habits this week that have served you well in the past? All of these things can affect the number on the scale.

I picture both Heather and Kelly encouraging this woman to not give up, not let one bad week derail her, to be kind and gentle with herself, to get extra support and help if she is feeling stuck.

I believe that thinking I don’t deserve to lose weight this week comes from the same place as throwing a tantrum. Both approaches are self-defeating. Both thoughts will make me feel like crap. Neither takes into account the big picture; neither relies on looking at the past week (or weeks) with a curious eye, honestly assessing what may be going on and making adjustments. And a harsh judgment or a melt down never seems to help me lose weight or feel good about myself.

So, I am taking the idea of deserving a certain number on the scale off my radar.

But I do deserve this:

I deserve healthy food. I deserve to treat myself with respect. I deserve the time and effort it takes to plan and track and prep my food. I deserve time for a good walk or a trip to the gym or Jazzercise. I deserve to be nice to myself even if I don’t like what the scale is saying.

You deserve it, too.