I was never the thin girl. I have been thinner or larger at various stages of my life. High School. College. Pregnancy. Post-pregnancy. Working girl. All a stage associated with a various size and a healthy dose of self-hatred to boot. I was the thin girl for approximately 8 months – so thin I was accused of an eating disorder – during my mania and initial recovery. A healthy dose of self-hatred still accompanied me everywhere I went. It turns out the thigh gap and the clothes do not make the girl.
What does though? I identify myself as a mother, wife, nurse practitioner, writer, and teacher. Size is not a factor in self-identity. It is everything I see however when I look in the mirror.
I am presently at my largest size ever. Part of it was medication weight gain and part of it is self-medication with food. Eating increases dopamine in my brain and allows me to feel gooooooooooood. While I’m eating. When I am done, I am left feeling sad and miserable and full of shame. The transient increase in dopamine, a powerful neurotransmitter, creates a vicious cycle with my brain always seeking more. Unfortunately it is usually craving more Cadbury Mini Eggs and not tuna with avocado mayo.
I’m bringing this to attention since as of late I have been trying to highlight the risk of cardiovascular disease in those with mental illness. My annual physical is coming up and I have to admit: I am terrified. I had high triglycerides once before. I also reversed it with lifestyle change. I am not so optimistic this time. I am scared to my core my lipids will be high, my blood pressure will be high and that I will not be able to reverse what has begun.
I need to finally admit it. When I am happy, I eat. When I am sad, I eat. When I am bored, I eat. When I am tired, I eat. It is equally as destructive as my bipolar disorder at this point in the game. Turning 42 this year, there is not a “tomorrow, I’ll change” anymore. Tomorrow never comes presently.
Fit Bit, exercise, increasing activity, giving up dairy, eating paleo, food diary. Nothing is exciting enough to create lasting change or prevent me from getting bored. I stay sad and full of self-loathing.
Not looking for advice. Just being honest today. My shit is real.