The other day I had to yell at myself. This yelling consisted of several poorly written pages in my journal. The topic, self-sabotage.
Losing weight and getting in shape has been on my “To Do” list for as long as I can remember. My track record hasn’t been too good…a few good days here and there, but always back to square one. Recently I had been rather busy doing shit around the house, which has been moving along pretty well. That week, with no work and lots of chores/projects I managed to lose 6 lbs. What I learned, and probably already know but sometimes refuse to accept, is that food is my biggest problem with weight. I eat too much. I eat too much bad, and I eat too much good. I just eat too damn much. After seeing that 6 lbs weight loss and feeling fucking elated, I spent the next four days putting it all back on…plus two more.
I got on the scale at then I lost it. The journal was filled page after page with…
What the hell is your problem?
Why do you keep sabotaging yourself?
You eat like you’re a starving child who has no idea when or where her next meal is coming from?
What the fuck??
It continued for 6 pages. There was a lot of self-bashing and a lot of “pull your head out of your ass.” I didn’t give myself too much of a break because I know this is all bullshit. I am more than capable of doing this. It’s not like I have 50 lbs to lose, I have 20 at most. After completing my written beat down, I went back through my journal…and would you believe, I have had this same damn conversation on more than a few occasions. Surprise! OMG why the hell would anyone want to listen to a broken record year after year? What I can’t wrap my head around is the WHY. Why the fuck do I do this? Why do I get going strong only to throw myself back down the damn hill and lay there is a pathetic heap of “I just can’t”.
I hate complaining. I hate complaining about myself because in my experience nobody really gives a shit. Ok, not nobody, but for a large part of my life, the people who were supposed to be my greatest support system didn’t give a shit about my problems. They always had worse problems…mine were just pathetic. I hate when other people complain because most often they just complain, there is rarely little action. So, when I start to complain about not fitting into any of my clothes comfortably, or I feel fat and uncomfortable, I keep it to myself, and I don’t usually complain for long. It is a cycle that repeats itself over and over and over…. all the damn fucking time. One week I bitch, I get focused and start to see results, pat myself on the back and then in the blink of an eye all my hard work is washed down the drain and there I am whining about how I can’t wear this or that cause it’s too uncomfortable. Oh my fucking lord, please make it stop.
When you look up the meaning behind self-sabotage, it usually centers on self-worth. You fail because in the end you don’t think you are worthy of the reward. Is this my reason? After all the work I have done, the years of therapy, the books, tapes, videos that I have engulfed, in the end do I still feel unworthy? Something harming is hiding inside of me and I can’t find it. It’s deep…real deep.
I have subscribed to several Instagram feeds about health, fitness and nutrition. This is my passion. This is where my heart goes every single time. Yet, for me, my own personal journey, looking at all of this is just a reminder that I am a failure. You are never going to make it. You are never going to be good enough. Funny, as I type that I can hear my mother’s voice. She has said those exact same words to me on several occasions. At 16 when I was trying to find my own identity, I believed her. At 24, when I wasn’t sure if I wanted to be married or not, I believed her. At 32, when I was a stay at home mother of two and feeling overwhelmed by life, I believed her. I can remember several instances over my life where I was in a place of accomplishments, feeling like I was coming into my own, and she would “put me in my place” and point out what a failure I really was. Every time I agreed, and went back to settling for meritocracy.
Alright alright alright…did I just get this shit figured out? I did!!! It’s all my mother’s fault. Whew!!! Now I don’t have to take responsibility, I can just sit back and blame her. Except….no, I can’t. Now I understand where the core of this self-destruction comes from, and, I also understand, by no fault of my mothers, that this is what she knew, so I have to be responsible for myself. It is time to take the little girl inside of me, who has always believed that she would never be anything more than a failure, wrap my arms around her and allow her to forgive that life. I need to tell her that those are the stories that her mother feels she was told, and she repeated them, nothing more. It doesn’t now, nor has it ever had anything to do with ME. Now I can hug that little girl tight and let her know that she isn’t a failure, she never was a failure, and the woman she has become is strong, capable and empowered.
Honestly people, I just floored myself. I have tried for sooooo fucking long to figure out why I do this to myself repeatedly, always coming up short on the answer. It is because of you, because I share my stories, that I finally found the answer. Thank you.
Now the work begins. How do you break down a lifetime of stories that were never true? Where do you start repairing the damage that is buried deep in your bones and start to heal them? You start with on small step. One step towards the goal, and when you hear that voice, or when you see yourself slipping, you give yourself a little reminder that….
This is no longer my story.