A Long Time Coming

So much has happened over the last several months as far as my healthy lifestyle goes that I don't know where to begin for today's entry.

First, let me get off my chest that I allowed my food addiction/compulsive overeating to take over so completely that I gained almost 30 lbs. over the last several months. I quit running, didn't go to the gym like I used to, I binged frequently, and did everything I shouldn't do as far as my eating habits. My body has certainly paid the price. No longer am I wearing my size 8's; I am barely squeezing in to my size 12's. In fact, I've even stolen 2 pairs of khakis from my husband's closet just to have a "uniform" to wear to work.

I expect to go through highs and lows during my healthy lifestyle journey, but I didn't expect a low to last this long. All I have to say is, I'm glad I'm finally starting to see the light at the end of the tunnel. I would be so jealous seeing my fellow healthy lifestylers post about their many successes that I almost "hid" them from my Facebook newsfeed, but I'm glad I didn't because it finally kicked in that I need to stop viewing myself as a victim, and get back on the Healthy Lifestyle Bandwagon.

Several weeks ago, I made a half-hearted attempt to go back to my Weight Watchers meeting only to find that the location had closed. I texted a fellow meeting member and discovered they had simply relocated. I had a good cry with my leader, but nothing seemed to stick over the next several weeks while I continued to binge. Not sure what the "turnaround point" was, but I'm just glad I'm out of the woods.

In November, I had gotten down to my lowest weight thus far, in fact, my lowest in about 20 years, and it scared me. I was so close to my goal weight that I totally freaked out. Not sure what it is in my brain that causes me to do that, but it's not the first time. I was so excited that my Weight Watchers leader suggested that I think about "working" for them once I reach my goal weight (which was less than 10 lbs. away) ... I don't know ... it excited me, yet scared the bejeebers out of me and I fell victim to my eating disorders.

It would've been so easy to stop what I was doing--the binging, the unhealthy eating, the skipping the gym, etc.--but I just went with the bad flow and let it take me to lows that I've never experienced before. While chatting with my running partner Lisa about 2 months ago, after blaming everyone and everything else for my failures for the last several months, she said, "Hear me from my heart, because you know I love you, but it sounds like you are comfortable being the victim."

Ouch, that hurt, but it was the wake-up call that I desperately needed to hear.

Granted, it didn't get me on the right track right away, but that's not to say that her words didn't keep playing over and over inside my head.

I tried reading "Made to Crave," "When You Eat at the Refrigerator, Pull Up a Chair," and other self-help/diet books. I tried posting my "before" picture on the fridge, along with mini pep-talks written on it. I bought a humorous but sincere magnet and stuck it to the fridge as a daily reminder of how badly I needed to get back on track. Nothing was helping me get to that 180-point to back on track.

However, two curious things happened that I think may have been instrumental in my turnaround. The first was a message posted on author and motivational speaker Kevin Knebl's Facebook page, which I wrote directly onto my fridge, along with his trademark smile symbol. The other was a posting by longtime family friend, and the person with whom I'm aspiring to run a marathon in Vermont later this year, Lisa Grace Stoudt.

Seeing Kevin's posting on my fridge every day, several times a day, started to sink in. Lisa's picture, from the "Queen of Your Own Life" page, also started to have an effect on me. I printed out several copies and posted it in various places: on my fridge, on my front door, on my bathroom window, I set a copy in the passenger seat of my car, taped it on the wall next to my bed, and even saved it as wallpaper on my laptop.

It started to work.

Here is the amusing magnet I bought to cheer me up:

Here is Kevin's message:

Here is the "Queenism" I got from Lisa's Facebook wall:

And here is my never-before-released, Biggest-Loser-style "before" picture, complete with pep-talks (don't judge!):

So, the good news is, all of these little reminders slowly began to chip away at my stubbornness and victim mentality. I went to my Weight Watchers meeting on Thursday, where I weighed in at around 172. Yuck! But the good news is, I ran a 5K this morning, even with a chest cold! And yes, I ran the entire way! It felt really good.

Mentally, I can feel that something has changed in the last several days. I have more clarity, I have determination, I have belief/faith in myself that I will get through this. Additionally, it helps that I set another running goal and registered for the St. Patrick's 5K and have 3 confirmed running partners going with me (Hooray to Colleen Keller, Kim Phillips, and Crystal White!!!).

There is so much to be said about accountability, support from friends, and goal setting, but that will be another blog entry. For now, I'm happy that I've gotten back on track, I've had a change of heart/mind, and that I ran for the first time in weeks.

Stay tuned, I hope to have good news on Thursday after my Weight Watchers Weigh In.

Teen Boys and Sex

I have a Zits comic strip in my collection of favorites where Jeremy's mom reads a statistic about teenage boys thinking about sex several hundred times a day. Mom is aghast that it's that often; Jeremy thinks the number is low. Whatever the number is, as a food addict and compulsive overeater, the thought of food enters my brain at least twice that rate daily. Easily.


To counteract those thoughts, I've been trying to focus on all my accomplishments over the last year or two:


Joined Weight Watchers in April 2010.
Began running for the first time in February 2011.
Ran my first 5K in March 2011.
Ran my first 10K in May 2011.
Ran my first 5Miler in June 2011.
Ran my first 10Miler in July 2011.
Ran my first Half Marathon in September 2011.
Ran my second Half Marathon in October 2011.
Hiked Pikes Peak in 7 hours (13 miles) in August 2011.
Hiked to the highest point of Great Sand Dunes National Park in July 2011 (I was unable to climb 1/4 of it 10 years earlier).
Earned my 85-lb. sticker from Weight Watchers.
Went from 237 lbs. to 141 lbs. (that's 96 lbs.!), my lowest weight in 20+ years.
Went from a size 26 to a size 8. I don't ever remember buying size 8 clothes before.


But a strange thing happened in October. After the half marathon, I took a break from running and the rest of my entire self fell to pieces. The weather turned too cold, and 5 a.m. was too early to get out of bed. I fell into a depression so I "begged off" from running with my running partner, too ashamed to admit that the world felt like it was closing in around me. I was falling behind on all my bills, my husband and I were fighting a lot until we finally separated. Divorce was imminent. The behinder I got on my finances, the more depressed I got. I got a promotion at work, which meant higher pay and more hours, but then I didn't have time to do what I loved: painting and writing. With those two loves "taken away," I felt even more joyless. Halloween approached and chocolate started appearing at work, so I helped myself. Then Thanksgiving, then Christmas, and then "overnight," I had gained 15 lbs.! I tried getting back to the gym, but with the long hours at work, I could barely drag myself out of bed. I was always so tired! My running partner and I tried to get back into the swing of things, but one thing after another prevented us from hitting the trails.


Blah, blah, blah. So goes the mind of a food addict. All I can think about is when my next meal will be. Do I have enough change in my wallet to get a candy bar? Someone has brought in homemade cookies again, if I take 6, will anyone notice? I'll get back on program tomorrow. I'll go to the gym tomorrow. I'll run 5 miles tomorrow. The day after next. Next week. Forget it! I don't want to run anymore! Just cancel my gym membership! Just cancel my Weight Watchers membership! I DON'T WANT TO DO THIS ANYMORE!!!


UUUUUGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!


After weighing 200+ lbs. for most of my adult life, getting down to 160 felt incredible! It was amazing how SKINNY I looked and felt! But after being within ounces of 140, now that I'm almost back to 160, I feel like a whale again! I'm disgusted and disheartened and disappointed in myself. I had to drag my size 12s and 14s back out, and I HATE IT! So if I hate it so much, why can't I manage to do something about it?


Several days ago, I wrote on my bathroom mirror, "What's it gonna' take for you to SNAP OUT OF IT?", thinking it would help me get back on track. It has only succeeded in me sticking my tongue out at it, and hence, at myself.


There are so many success stories on blogs, Facebook, Dr. Oz, etc., about all these people who have successfully lost weight and kept it off, but what about the people who have lost some weight, but then get sucked back into their food obsession and can't seem to claw their way out? Sure, Overeaters Anonymous helped to an extent, but what I DON'T need right now is sitting in a circle where everyone is having a pity party, but no one is offering me any solutions. I get even more depressed hearing about everyone else's addictions. I mean, I have enough trouble dealing with my OWN, I don't need to hear about 20 others, especially when it's only going to trigger mine!


Hi, my name is Stephanie and I'm a food addict and compulsive overeater.


Or, if you prefer the Celebrate Recovery version:


Hi, my name is Stephanie. I'm a Christian who struggles with food addiction and compulsive overeating.


No matter how you sugarcoat it, it's taking control of my brain and I can't seem to break free. Prayer isn't helping. Confessing to friends isn't helping. Posting veiled statuses on Facebook isn't helping. I'm tired of the devil and angel creatures on my shoulders bickering back and forth! Will someone PLEASE MAKE THEM STOP!


So get this: If a drug addict goes to rehab and never takes another drug in his life, he lives. If an alcoholic never drinks another drop of liquor in her life, she lives. If a nicotine addict stops smoking, not only does he live, but he also may prolong his life. If a sex addict stops viewing porn, he lives. If a gambler stops gambling, not only does he live, but he also saves a lot of money! But if a food addict stops eating, she dies. That's why overcoming a food addiction is the HARDEST, because you can't just give up food completely! You have to maintain it, and there's a very fine line between maintaining and obsessing.


Well ... for ME, there is.

Can anyone else out there relate?


Maybe seeing a counselor who specializes in food addictions will help. But if I can't pay my bills as it is (because I'm spending all my money on food, go figure!), how am I supposed to pay for counseling? Hmm, maybe I can find someone who is willing to barter: their counseling services for a mural perhaps? But where will I find the time to "pay" with my services if I'm working all the time? I can't even seem to fulfill my housecleaning obligation to my one client.


So what happens now? I keep trying to climb back on the diet bandwagon and fake it till I make it, but the "devil" keeps winning out: "Just one more ice cream bar"; "Four more cookies won't make that big of a difference"; "What's an extra tablespoon of peanut butter in your smoothie going to hurt?"; "It doesn't count if no one SEES you eating it!"; and so on, and so on ....


I need to check myself into rehab or something, because I can't seem to snap out of it. Free rehab, I might add. How can I throw away all my success? I can't figure it out either, to tell you the truth. That's what happens with a food addict. Food is my drug of choice, and just like a crack addict, I'll do anything and everything to get it. Overdraw my account, spend my mortgage money on food, hide the ice cream wrappers from my husband, you name it, I've done it.


Only people who suffer from an addiction can truly understand what I'm going through. I don't necessarily want sympathy, I need solutions. I'm so over-filled with negative self-talk right now that I can't hear anything positive about myself: "Think about all you've accomplished so far! Do you want to throw that all away?" "You've lost almost 100 lbs.! You can do it!" "What's so hard about just saying 'no'?"


Believe me, I've tried to psych myself back onto the bandwagon, to no avail. I need a miracle. A really big one. One that won't involve any shame. Is that possible? Because unlike teen boys and sex, I have much better things to think about than food all day long.


Any suggestions?

Free At Last!

I was running late for my Weight Watchers meeting, as always. As I looked over at Debbie at the reception desk at the 8th Street location, she said, "You're up .2."

"Point two?" I asked excitedly. She confirmed. "I'll take it! Considering all the binging I did this week, it should be two pounds, not point-two!"

As I sat in my chair in the front row to listen to Meredy talk about exercise goals, a fog started to descend on me. In less than 3 hours, I had to check in with the dreaded housecleaning client. And ohhhhhh, boy, she'd be mad I gained weight, especially after telling me last week she was tired of me being in the 160's, she wanted me in the 150's! But when I thought about the chocolate truffles and ice cream I had from Rocky Mountain Chocolate Factory, the popcorn from Carmike, the Whoopie Pies and Sugar Cookies from King Soopers, the spoonfuls of Nestle Quik and Jif peanut butter I shoved down my throat ... I knew I got off easy this week. Yes, I ran 6.75 miles yesterday, but the 672 calories I burned didn't begin to balance out all the calories I took in.

After the meeting, I headed to the gym to do my usual weight resistance training. I was able to increase the weights on my leg presses, bicep and ab curls, and lat press. But as I drove to my client's house, my stomach started to churn and I felt nauseous. I experienced these feelings every time I went because of all the criticism I had to hear from her every week. Last night, I had made up my mind that I was going to put my foot down, once and for all, and tell her what I needed from her: encouragement, not criticism. After all, WW teaches us mental rehearsing and reframing, and I had to put it into practice if I was going to succeed with my weight loss/fitness goals.

I stopped at the park across the street from their neighborhood and called my husband. "Can you pray for me, Honey? I've decided that today is the day I'm going to tell Janet that I'm not going to let her criticize me anymore." He prayed that Janet's heart and ears would be opened, that God would give me the words to speak, and to fill me with His courage. I felt a little more confident, but I was trembling when I pulled up in front of her house. I purposely left my weigh-in book in the trunk of my car, took a deep breath, and raised my head in confidence as I knocked on the door. She waved me in.

As I entered the kitchen, she immediately looked down at my hands. "Where's your book?" she demanded.

Some things never change.

"I need to talk to you, Janet. Do you have a minute?"

"Yes."

Whew, here goes nothing! "Can you take a seat? Because I really need you to hear what I have to say." Wow, where was this courage coming from?

She sat, and I began.

"I've been working for you for almost two years now, and the whole time, I have received nothing but criticism from you--"

She interrupted. "I know. I have something for you." She indicated an envelope on her kitchen island. I didn't care if it was a card that said she was proud of me, if it was a bonus check, or what. I needed to finish speaking before I chickened out.

I plunged on, tears welling up in my eyes. "I am a nervous wreck every time I come over here because I'm always afraid of what you're going to say. I have purged and binged as a result of being scared of what you're going to say to me, or because of how you've put me down, and I've never done that before."

"I haven't only said negative things," she argued.

"That's true," I admitted. "But most of it has been negative. If I'm going to succeed at this, I need encouragement from you, not criticism."

"You're the one who asked for this," she retorted.

"I asked for the weight loss. I didn't ask for you to criticize me or put me down every single time I come over here."

"Then maybe you should quit."

Her suggestion stopped me in my tracks. "Quit what?" I asked. Quit my diet? After all I've been through and how hard I've worked? I wasn't giving up now!

"Quit coming here. Maybe you should just walk out the door right now and never come back."

Wow, that was not the answer I was expecting. In fact, I was prepared to set some boundaries, spell out what I needed from her, and be able to count on her positive support from here on out. But as I looked into her eyes, in that split second, I realized there was no changing her. If I was going to get this monkey off my back, I had to heed her words, and walk out.

"I believe you're right," I said. I stood, grabbed my shoes and keys out of the closet, walked out to my car, in my stocking feet, and never looked back. As I put the car into reverse, I broke into tears, and laughed all the way out the neighborhood.

I'm free! I'm free! I couldn't believe it! I called my husband with the good news. He laughed with me, but was concerned when he heard my sobbing.

"These are tears of joy, Honey! Can't you see I've gotten my freedom back? She can't hurt me anymore!"

I hung up and continued crying/laughing all the way home. Greg called back, "Should we go to IHOP to celebrate?" I burst into fresh laughter. "No, Silly! Just because I'm free doesn't mean I can go off my diet! I'll see you in a little bit."

As I pulled into the parking spot and cut the engine, I gripped the steering wheel and set my head down, crying fresh tears. By the time Greg approached and opened the door, I was sobbing loudly. I looked over at him and started cracking up! "Can you believe it? I stood up for myself for once in my life, and she FIRED me! Is that not the funniest thing you've ever heard?" We laughed together as I continued, "Free at last, free at last, thank GOD I am free at last!"

We gathered our belongings out of the trunk of the car and walked to the house. I laughed the whole way.

"You're glowing, Honey! I've never seen you look so beautiful," he said as he hugged me. "I'm so proud of you!"

"Thanks! I've never felt so beautiful. And light! That was the easiest 90 lbs. I've ever lost, and it only took two minutes!"

It's a New ME ... Maybe

On April 1st, when I showed up for my housecleaning job on Friday instead of my normal Thursday, I forgot my weigh-in book because my routine got all screwed up. Of course, it was the first thing Janet asked for when I entered the kitchen. "I forgot it," I informed her, "but I lost .6 this week." Not my best, but better than a gain. I was happy, especially since I had celebrated my birthday, eating cake twice, and going out to dinner once with my hubby.

"I'm really getting tired of the 160's, I want you in the 150's!" she huffed.

"Oh really? Well, bite me! I quit!" I stomped out of the house, leaving her slack-jawed in the kitchen to fend for herself to get her house cleaned.

Every time I turn around, she's saying something negative to me! A couple of weeks ago, she said, "Before you lost weight, I didn't think you'd fit in my tub!" Not sure why I would be in her tub, but that's beside the point. She just wants to rub in the fact that I was so big. And at almost 230 lbs. (my heaviest was 237), I know I was big! She doesn't have to remind me every chance she gets.

Another comment she made was when I was filling the bucket to mop the floors. She has an island in the middle of her kitchen and sets up the ironing board between the island and sink. She stands at the ironing board, and I'm behind her, filling up at the kitchen sink when she says, "Look! Now we can BOTH fit in here now that you've lost weight." I resisted the urge to dump the bucket on her head and walk out.

I never did "win" the bathing suit when I left for the cruise in December (has it really been that long since I've posted?). I lost 58.6 lbs., not the 60 we agreed on, nor did she make an exception and give me a bonus anyway. She gave me my traditional Christmas bonus, but that doesn't count towards the bathing suit bonus. Oh well, I got enough of an earful about gaining 9 lbs. while on the cruise when I got back. Before I left, she said it would be okay for me to gain "a little, since you don't go on a cruise every day." But when I showed her my weigh-in book and the 9 lb. gain, I felt like a little kid caught with my hand in the cookie jar with the way she chastised me. I didn't care what she thought, well, actually I did, but I wasn't going to beat myself up over 9 lbs. It was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, and I knew I was going to gain. I just had to re-lose it all, that's all. And I have, and then some!

Okay, so I really didn't say "Bite me." That part was an April Fools. I simply said, "I'm doing my best," and smiled graciously.

She walked over to her laundry closet and opened the doors. "As incentive for getting into the 150's, I'll give you this picnic set." Her eyes gleamed as if she was handing me a Tiffany Egg. The set was bright orange, plastic, and used. What did I want with a used set of plastic dishes? My husband celebrated his 50th birthday two weeks ago, and she gave him a nice copper casserole dish. Sure, it was used, but she polished it up all nice and clean and it was beautiful! A week later, he hammered in a wall anchor and hook for them to re-hang a clock in their living room. Took him all of 30 seconds. She polished up another copper frying pan and gave it to him for a thank-you gift. I've lost 61 lbs., am running 4-6 miles 4 times a week, I'm training for a 10 mile race in Garden of the Gods, and all I get is a set of plastic dishes? What the ...???

I tried to seem excited. Why can't I get up enough courage to tell her off? Now, if she wanted to give me the rest of the copper dishes, that would really float my boat, but I can't get excited over some plastic plates. She turned to face me, "And, when you reach 150, I'll give you a one-hundred-dollar bonus."

Now that was more like it, but money didn't motivate me. At least, not that much. Strange, I know. I acted appreciative, but still, her words kept running through my head, "I'm tired of the 160's ...." After all my efforts, all my running, all my weight training at the gym, none of it was good enough for her.

Her comments took a toll on me the rest of the week. On Monday, I was so depressed, I didn't even go for my run. I couldn't shake the funk I was in. On Tuesday, I binged on junk food. I even took the edge off with a mixed drink, and I rarely drink unless it's a special occasion. I bought Whoopie Pies at the grocery store and sucked them down so fast I barely tasted them. The pies weren't enough, I threw back a couple of frosted sugar cookies. With sprinkles.

I felt wretched. I wanted to choke her! It was all her fault! I cried myself to sleep that night.

When I awoke on Wednesday, things looked a little better, so I went for my run. I pushed myself to go further than my standard 4 miles. My furthest so far was 5.6 miles, but today, I had a lot of calories to burn off. So I went 6.75 miles! I couldn't believe it! Granted, I took an Aleve when I got home and iced my knees like my coach suggests, then took a cat nap with the puppies. But I feel great now.

As soon as I get off here, I'm going to write her a letter. For real this time. And when I arrive tomorrow afternoon, I'm going to hand it to her and make her read it before I let her say anything to hurt me. After she reads it, we can discuss the "new me," and how I won't let her make comments like that to me anymore. No more justifying her callous remarks because she's "old," or "she doesn't realize she's doing that," etc. No, like my favorite song says, "It's a new day, it's a new dawn, it's a new life, and I'm feeling goooooooooood." (Incidentally, it's the unofficial theme song for Weight Watchers.) That includes a new ME, and I'm going to stick up for myself from now on.

Maybe.

Ironing Out the Details

Today we had a potluck at work. Brisket, ribs, and pulled pork from Rudy's BBQ on Hwy 24 and 31st Street. Greg and I tried to go to dinner there back in March when they opened, but couldn't find parking. It can't really be THAT good, I thought. I was wrong. It really is THAT good!

So was everything else at the potluck. Greg made his famous potato salad (everyone loved it!), and everyone else brought chocolate chip cookies, brownies, chips & salsa, mac & cheese, White Devil Bars, soda, veggie tray, dinner rolls, macaroni salad, etc. I could not stop eating. I had 2 brownies, two bars, seconds of the BBQ and mac & cheese ... ugh! I haven't been that full in MONTHS!

I went into panic mode when I thought about my Weigh-In on Thursday. I mean, just last week I earned my 50-lb. medal at my Weight Watchers meeting, and today I probably put on 2 lbs. in just one sitting. Okay, TWO sittings, since I had a plate during my morning break and another on my real lunch break. What's worse, when I got home, I polished off the box of Whoppers and had a tall glass of chocolate milk.

What's gotten into me? I haven't had a gain or a binge since I started Weight Watchers on April 10th.

I can hear Janet now as I show up on Thursday to houseclean. "Where's your book?" It's like that with her every week. She doesn't ask how I'm doing or how my week has been, she gets straight to the point as soon as I walk in and before I can even get my shoes off: Where's your book? She demands to see my Weigh-In book from Weight Watchers because she keeps track of my weight loss on her little stationery pad. She keeps insisting she's going to weigh me on her scale, but I want to tell her, "Over my dead body!" Seeing my weight on my little Official Stickers from my WW meetings is MORE THAN SUFFICIENT to prove to her what I weigh. I honestly think it's a control issue with her, especially considering how OCD she is. The woman drives me batty. All the rules I have to follow when I clean her house: put the beer steins just so on the buffet; use this cleaner on the tub, this cleaner on the toilet, this cleaner on the floor, this cleaner on the tile; line up the fireplace tools on the tile square just like this; don't use the traschcan under the kitchen sink, walk your trash to the can in the garage ... the list in endless. But my patience sure isn't.

I mean, this is a woman who irons everything. And I mean EVERYTHING! I have to admit, for being in her late 80's, she's on top of everything, never misses a detail, but I wonder if that's such a good thing? She had me iron her husband's shirts when she was sick, and I'm surprised she didn't re-do them after I left. She had me iron her cloth napkins, fold them in thirds, iron the seams, fold them again, and iron the seams again. Same with the tablecloth. And she put them away in the buffet drawers "just so." Nothing can be out of place, and I mean NOTHING. She irons her knit turtlenecks and sweatshirts. She even irons her husband's boxers. His BOXERS, for crying out loud! Who irons their underwear? The woman is OCD to the Nth degree.

The other week, I entered the kitchen as she was ironing and she asked, "So, Steffie (I hate when she calls me that!), does it take you less time to iron your clothes now that there's not so much material?" Surely I didn't hear her correctly, so I said, "Pardon me?" She repeated her question. Yup, I heard her correctly the first time--what a jab right into my heart! I was so offended that all I could do was laugh nervously and say "Yes." Which is a joke because I don't iron any of my clothes. I take that back, there's one shirt in my entire closet that requires ironing and I only wear it once a year for the 4th of July. If my husband wants any of his clothes ironed, he can do them himself because I don't iron. Period.

As I went about my housecleaning duties the rest of the time I was there, I kept replaying her question in my head. One of these days, I'm going to lose it when she asks me a question like that, and I'm going to tell her off, and quit on the spot. One of these days, I'm going to speak my mind and tell her that her insensitive remarks really hurt my feelings. One of these days, I'm going to tell her how much of a bully she is and ask her if she has any idea how much her flippant comments offend me. One of these days ....

But not until I get that bathing suit out of her. And you better believe I'm going to the most expensive department store in town to buy it!

Sweeping Away the Crumbs

"We usually don't eat at the table since it's just the two of us," Janet informed me soon after I started housecleaning for her. "Bill eats in his recliner and I sit on my end of the couch, so you need to use the Dust Buster to sweep out the crumbs under the cushions every week."

One week, the Dust Buster didn't work, so she blamed me for not plugging it in all the way the week before. I guess I'm the only person who uses it. When I vacuumed the following week, I was surprised at the amount of crumbs that had accumulated under Bill's cushion.

"It's pretty crummy, isn't it?" Janet asked when I finished. As neat and orderly as this couple was, I didn't think Bill could generate that many crumbs in two weeks' time.

"Yes," I admitted.

Seeing how many crumbs were under his cushion made me wonder how crummy my own couch and chair were. How many times a month do I lift the cushions to clean underneath? More like how many times a year?

I viewed my weightloss in a similar fashion. I didn't clean out the junk in my life, I simply let it pile up week after week, turning to food to make me feel better. Just like covering up the crumbs with a couch cushion, I covered up my fat with layers of clothes and pretended I didn't see it. I hated clothes shopping because I always had to shop in the Plus Departments and it seemed every time I tried something on, I had to get a bigger size. Exposing myself, admitting I had a food addiction, was difficult. I didn't want to implement any self-discipline over what or how much I ate, nor did I know how to sweep the junk out of my life, so instead of dealing with all my issues, I ate to numb myself to my problems.

Which explains the mountain of crumbs in my life.

It's been a year since I started cleaning for Janet and Bill. This past week, she called me over to the hearth to instruct me on where she wanted the fireplace instruments placed. "I'm such a fussbudget," she laughed. I rolled my eyes as I followed her into the living room. You have no idea! I thought. She pointed to the square tiles on the floor. "It's the square that's catty-corner from the corner. Put it exactly like this," she said, setting the base of the tool holder perfectly inside the square to demonstrate how she wanted it. "That way, when I want to scoot through there to get to the other side, I can fit. Just think, maybe one day you'll fit through there, too!"

Wow. I didn't mind having to put up with her obsessive compulsive disorder, but when she took jabs at my weight, that was too much! No matter how perfectly I tried to set her antique beer steins from Germany back on her buffet table, she always corrected their placements. I can't even imagine what is was like to be one of her children. Or her husband, for that matter! I sympathized with them, to say the least.

My weight loss to this point was acceptable to me, but it seemed like my efforts were never good enough for her. Granted, we had a financial agreement: she'd pay me $5/more per hour if I lost 6 lbs. a month. She insisted on seeing my journal from Weight Watchers before I got started cleaning, and wrote down the numbers on a piece of stationery every week. That kind of control was a sign of some serious issues going on in her head, but I have to admit, they served to intimidate me into following Program more than the numbers on the scale every Thursday morning when I weighed in. One week in July I didn't clean because I was out of town for my high school reunion. I was thrilled that I lost 1.4 lbs. the week after, considering I had a crab feast while I was there and that the appetizers I had at the reunion weren't the healthiest choices. But when she said, "You've been a naughty girl," the smile quickly disappeared from my face and I despised her.

My "Love Language," according to Gary Chapman's book, "The Five Love Languages," is Words of Affirmation, so when someone tells me I've done a good job, affirms, or encourages me in some way, I'm on Cloud 9. Contrariwise, if someone criticizes me or tells me I'm bad, I shrink into myself, pull away from others, and cry. So when Janet told me I had been naughty, I was tempted to tell her to shove my diet journal where the sun doesn't shine, but I simply bit my tongue, fought back the tears, and said, "I'm doing the best I can!" Whether she believed me or not, I have no idea, nor do I care. But I sure don't need her criticizing me.

I try to remind myself how crummy HER life is. I mean, look at all that stuff under her couch cushions! But then I bring it back to me, and tell myself I have to pull off the layers, put the fork down, and sweep the crumbs away if I'm going to be successful at this weight loss thing.

You Have Such a Lovely Face ...

"You have such a lovely face ..."

How many of us pleasantly plump women have heard these opening remarks? Whether it's Pretty Face, Lovely Face, Nice Features, whatever...

The bigger question is, How many heartless people have been cruel enough to finish the sentence? Yeah, yeah, I'm so pretty, if only I'd lose weight! I've heard it too many times to count, but I do have to admit, no one has had the audacity to finish the sentence.

Yet.

When Janet (not her real name), the woman for whom I houseclean, started this sentence one day, I cringed. Then when she asked my weight on another day, I became mad at myself for not telling her off and quitting on the spot. Several months prior, while walking past the sturdy oak secretary that her husband built, I caused it to rattle and she commented, "It doesn't rattle when Bill (not his real name either) or I walk past it ...." Her unfinished sentence hung in the air like a stale fish odor, implying that the desk shook because I was so fat.

Her other off-handed, insensitive comments about my fluffy self made me feel offended, upset, crushed, pissed. My excess weight didn't affect my ability to clean her house, so what difference did it make if I was 225 or 125? Skinny people have no idea what it's like, so they should just keep their pie holes shut.

I didn't want to admit that I was overweight by 100 lbs. At my heaviest, I weighed 237 in January 2000. I joined Weight Watchers and 24-Hour Fitness and lost 70 lbs. in 9 months. I slimmed down from a size 26 (on good days) to a size 10, but I was hit with a family crisis and slowly put the weight back on over the next 5 years.

The other time I lost a large amount of weight was in 1991, when my daughter was a baby. I met a man who was interested in me, but only if I lost weight. At the time, I weighed 206. After joining Nutrisystem, I got down to 139 within 8 months, a weight I hadn't seen since I was 19. I hadn't worn a size 8 since elementary school, but it wasn't good enough for him--he insisted I have liposuction done.

So I ditched him.

Looking back, I realized I lost the weight for all the wrong reasons. I had to do it for ME, not for a man. I wanted to set a good example for my kids, but I didn't have the discipline to stay on track. Fast forward to 2007, I wanted to slim down before I got married on July 7th, so I joined Weight Watchers again (for about the 34th time) and was able to wear a size 14 dress on my wedding day. Before I gave up yet again after my father passed away, I was down to 161 and a size 12.

This time, after hearing the "You have such a lovely face" from Janet, I was bound and determined to gain even more. "I'll show her!" I told myself. Besides, my husband loved me for WHO I was, not for the NUMBER ON THE SCALE. It was THEIR problem, whomever it was complaining about my weight at the time, not mine!

Things changed when I got a call from my mother in March inviting me to go on a cruise in December--on her dime. Now what? I couldn't face my family as a size 26! I wouldn't dare set a bare foot on that Bahama beach in a bathing suit, not when someone could scream, "Look at that beached whale!"

Once again, I turned to my beloved Weight Watchers. "Just for the cruise," I told myself. Then I can go back to being fat.

I don't know what possessed me to tell Janet I joined. Was that a sneer on her face or was it a genuine smile from a woman who was happy to hear that I was turning my life around? Whatever the case, I desperately needed her support and approval.

"I tell you what," she bargained. "I'll raise you to $25 an hour if you can lose 6 lbs. a month." Her eyes gleamed as I considered her offer. Money has never been a motivator for me. "And I'll throw in a new bathing suit as a bonus if you reach your goal weight by Christmas."

Nope, that wasn't tempting me either. I just wanted to lose the weight to prove to her I could do it. And so that she'd stop complaining about her rattling secretary. And so that she'd let me sit on the very sturdy bench, also made by Bill, in their foyer. And so that I could squeeze past her in the kitchen while she was ironing without having her comment. And so that ...

See what I mean by insensitive remarks? My mother always taught me, "If you can't say anything nice, don't say anything at all."

This especially applies to remarks directed at fat people.