It's been over a year since I last posted on this blog. I then wrote that I was on the verge of starting a journey: a journey towards a healthy life. A new and improved me, that was what I was going for. I figured once I'd get thin, I'd be probably be happy too. Wasn't that an obvious chain of thought?
It has been over a year, and what a year it's been. For the first time in my life, I had a team of professionals rooting for me. Weekly, I'd meet with my therapist, my dietician and/or my physiotherapist. I'd attend group meetings about the importance of nutricious food, participate in a spinning class, attend group meetings about the importance of exercizing. Heck, I even tried Nordic walking and discovered that is NOT as easy as the elderly part of society makes it look. I made sure I got plenty of exercize every single day, taking my bike whenever I could - the perks of being Dutch, I know -, wore myself out in the swimming pool and took up running again. All the while, I was eating according to a plan adjusted to my personal situation and writing down thoughts about myself and food in a food diary my therapist gave me.
It didn't take long before I noticed I was getting skinnier. I also didn't take long before the people around started to notice. Everywhere I went, friends, family and acquintances were cheering me on, telling me how good I looked and how I was an example to them. I remember one friend telling me she'd never before realized what good "features" I had and that I was really becoming pretty now. My newfound confidence brought me in situations that were completely new to me. During a holiday trip to Barcelona, cute guys flirted with me - I even had a brief semi-romance with a handsome Starbucks employee. I felt like my high waisted bikini and I could take on the world. During that period, I felt more open, friendlier, and, in general, felt like I deserved more than had ever entitled myself to.
However, lurking from deep within me, I secretly knew that I was taking it too far again. This had happened before and led me to days were I'd only eat two pieces of fruit because I was afraid something else would make me get fat again. A similar situation occured on our last night in Barcelona. My friends and I had gone out to eat traditional Spanish tapas, and when I realized there was nothing on the menu that wasn't deep fried, I had a panic attack. I excused myself, ran out, and hyperventilated on some Spanish street. I realized not much had changed from the days when I was fueling on junk food. I had to be in control of this whole weight loss-thing, or I'd completely freak out.
Since that day, I have had periods where I couldn't get myself to go to therapy. I just couldn't. I was absolutely convinced that they'd tell me what a horrible person I was and how it was never going to work with me. I'd always be a failure. Eventually, after a couple of weeks, I'd be brave enough to open their emails and see they were always inviting me to contact them again, whenever I was ready. Needless to say, this did not do me any good in the long haul. In times when the negative thoughts took over, and I really could have used a hour-long conversation with a psychologist who was an expert on the origins of obesity, I shied away from coming there, being ashamed of myself.
The unique set of interdisciplinary therapy I was offered, was a one-year program. At the time, that persuaded me to do it. A year seemed like a manageable time period in which I could create my own MTV's "Made" or "I Used to be Fat". Now, however, that year has passed. The weight I lost, I almost completely put on again. I have become more hestitant in making new attempts towards that new and improved me. I am actually very afraid that I'll - pardon my French - fuck it up again. I know that eating healthy and taking good care of yourself are lifelong projects. They're not just things I can obsessively and compusivelt try for a period of time, only to start binging on McDonald's once my goal weight has been accomplished. I also know that I am a perfectionist: "do it perfect or don't do it all" is kind of my motto in life. I also know that my mind doesn't believe in that motto anymore.
In countless hours of therapy, one thing kept recurring as an important lesson for me. Okay and fine are perfect goals to achieve. Finding balance is key. So, while not having figured everything out, I am picking up eating healthy again. Gently, I am reintroducing exercizing again. Carefully, I am making loving myself a top priority. And isn't that one exciting journey in itself?!
It has been over a year, and what a year it's been. For the first time in my life, I had a team of professionals rooting for me. Weekly, I'd meet with my therapist, my dietician and/or my physiotherapist. I'd attend group meetings about the importance of nutricious food, participate in a spinning class, attend group meetings about the importance of exercizing. Heck, I even tried Nordic walking and discovered that is NOT as easy as the elderly part of society makes it look. I made sure I got plenty of exercize every single day, taking my bike whenever I could - the perks of being Dutch, I know -, wore myself out in the swimming pool and took up running again. All the while, I was eating according to a plan adjusted to my personal situation and writing down thoughts about myself and food in a food diary my therapist gave me.
It didn't take long before I noticed I was getting skinnier. I also didn't take long before the people around started to notice. Everywhere I went, friends, family and acquintances were cheering me on, telling me how good I looked and how I was an example to them. I remember one friend telling me she'd never before realized what good "features" I had and that I was really becoming pretty now. My newfound confidence brought me in situations that were completely new to me. During a holiday trip to Barcelona, cute guys flirted with me - I even had a brief semi-romance with a handsome Starbucks employee. I felt like my high waisted bikini and I could take on the world. During that period, I felt more open, friendlier, and, in general, felt like I deserved more than had ever entitled myself to.
However, lurking from deep within me, I secretly knew that I was taking it too far again. This had happened before and led me to days were I'd only eat two pieces of fruit because I was afraid something else would make me get fat again. A similar situation occured on our last night in Barcelona. My friends and I had gone out to eat traditional Spanish tapas, and when I realized there was nothing on the menu that wasn't deep fried, I had a panic attack. I excused myself, ran out, and hyperventilated on some Spanish street. I realized not much had changed from the days when I was fueling on junk food. I had to be in control of this whole weight loss-thing, or I'd completely freak out.
Since that day, I have had periods where I couldn't get myself to go to therapy. I just couldn't. I was absolutely convinced that they'd tell me what a horrible person I was and how it was never going to work with me. I'd always be a failure. Eventually, after a couple of weeks, I'd be brave enough to open their emails and see they were always inviting me to contact them again, whenever I was ready. Needless to say, this did not do me any good in the long haul. In times when the negative thoughts took over, and I really could have used a hour-long conversation with a psychologist who was an expert on the origins of obesity, I shied away from coming there, being ashamed of myself.
The unique set of interdisciplinary therapy I was offered, was a one-year program. At the time, that persuaded me to do it. A year seemed like a manageable time period in which I could create my own MTV's "Made" or "I Used to be Fat". Now, however, that year has passed. The weight I lost, I almost completely put on again. I have become more hestitant in making new attempts towards that new and improved me. I am actually very afraid that I'll - pardon my French - fuck it up again. I know that eating healthy and taking good care of yourself are lifelong projects. They're not just things I can obsessively and compusivelt try for a period of time, only to start binging on McDonald's once my goal weight has been accomplished. I also know that I am a perfectionist: "do it perfect or don't do it all" is kind of my motto in life. I also know that my mind doesn't believe in that motto anymore.
In countless hours of therapy, one thing kept recurring as an important lesson for me. Okay and fine are perfect goals to achieve. Finding balance is key. So, while not having figured everything out, I am picking up eating healthy again. Gently, I am reintroducing exercizing again. Carefully, I am making loving myself a top priority. And isn't that one exciting journey in itself?!
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