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Sunday, September 23, 2012
Today's Lap Band Lesson (a little humor)
Today's lesson: chew grapes well. Very well...or you'll see them again. I'm a fruit-a-holic (very anti-veggie). I love my grapes. Apparently grapes weren't in the cards for today. Nothing painful, just 15 minutes of foam and silent cursing. This was my prize. ;) I've been super stressed out lately, and sometimes foods that I eat all the time just don't work when I'm tense. And yes, I took a picture of it. Why? Because I can. Nah nah!
Saturday, September 22, 2012
I should look like her.
If you're looking for a super cheery, "my lap band is the greatest" blog post, be warned. This isn't it.
It isn't a secret that I completely underestimated how emotional this whole weight loss thing would be. I blogged about 8 months ago about going to counseling when I was horrified with my hanging skin. One day I looked at myself and got completely sad about how I looked.
Fast forward. I still have issues with the skin (arm flab, jelly belly, huge thighs). It is always in the back of my mind. Clothes don't fit properly (specifically pants because of the muffin top 'o flab). If pants fit in the waist, my ass is all baggy and they're too long. Bitch bitch bitch. When will I be happy with myself? When will I accept myself?
Every once and a while, something triggers really bad feelings about myself. The most recent time was Friday. I overheard two women discussing their weights at work. Lady #1 says to Lady #2, "Yeah, I weigh 193 now." My eyes bugged out. Tears filled my eyes and I felt my heart go up in my throat. The lady looks good. Her clothes are nice, she's generally an attractive lady. I thought to myself, "I weigh 198. That's 5 pounds more than she weighs. I SHOULD LOOK LIKE HER!! And then it happened. Downward spiral.
I was angry. Not just an ordinary angry, but a nasty angry. I should look like her. That phrase echoed in my mind all day yesterday and still is today. I was mad mad mad. I should look like her. She's eating fast food for lunch and I'm eating bird food one tiny bite at a time and fighting head hunger every day. I should look like her. I instantly hated her. We're close in age, height and weigh nearly the same, yet I still look so much fatter. I should look like her. It doesn't seem fair that she can look so good at 193 and I'm stuffing my belly into spanx so I can wear a pair of pants. I should look like her. But I don't. It doesn't seem fair. I should look like her. I guess I was expecting her to say her weight was like 160 or something. But 193? That's......almost my weight.
Now, I know what you're thinking. "Oh Amy, you've come so far." Blah blah blah. Bullshit. I'm the one that sees my naked self in the mirror every day. I know what I look like underneath spanx. How do I let myself get sidetracked from my own goals when I compare myself to others? I teach kids that they're unique and there's nobody else like them. Yet in my personal life, I fail at that. Why do I do this to myself? Why am I my own worst critic?
I wrote this blog for myself. I posted it to share. Why? Because I wouldn't be a honest blogger if I didn't. It isn't all pretty little roses and lap band adjustments and losses. Please don't judge or feel sorry for me. I'm sure there aren't many people that will read this because of the length, lack of normal Amy humor, etc. There are ups and there are downs. There are also basement days. Days that are lower than low. Right now I'm in the basement. And slowly, like every time I've been hard on myself and knocked myself down, I'll climb back up the stairs. Stop doing this to yourself, Amy.
This week's mantra: I will celebrate my own victories. I will not compare myself to others.
It isn't a secret that I completely underestimated how emotional this whole weight loss thing would be. I blogged about 8 months ago about going to counseling when I was horrified with my hanging skin. One day I looked at myself and got completely sad about how I looked.
Fast forward. I still have issues with the skin (arm flab, jelly belly, huge thighs). It is always in the back of my mind. Clothes don't fit properly (specifically pants because of the muffin top 'o flab). If pants fit in the waist, my ass is all baggy and they're too long. Bitch bitch bitch. When will I be happy with myself? When will I accept myself?
Every once and a while, something triggers really bad feelings about myself. The most recent time was Friday. I overheard two women discussing their weights at work. Lady #1 says to Lady #2, "Yeah, I weigh 193 now." My eyes bugged out. Tears filled my eyes and I felt my heart go up in my throat. The lady looks good. Her clothes are nice, she's generally an attractive lady. I thought to myself, "I weigh 198. That's 5 pounds more than she weighs. I SHOULD LOOK LIKE HER!! And then it happened. Downward spiral.
I was angry. Not just an ordinary angry, but a nasty angry. I should look like her. That phrase echoed in my mind all day yesterday and still is today. I was mad mad mad. I should look like her. She's eating fast food for lunch and I'm eating bird food one tiny bite at a time and fighting head hunger every day. I should look like her. I instantly hated her. We're close in age, height and weigh nearly the same, yet I still look so much fatter. I should look like her. It doesn't seem fair that she can look so good at 193 and I'm stuffing my belly into spanx so I can wear a pair of pants. I should look like her. But I don't. It doesn't seem fair. I should look like her. I guess I was expecting her to say her weight was like 160 or something. But 193? That's......almost my weight.
Now, I know what you're thinking. "Oh Amy, you've come so far." Blah blah blah. Bullshit. I'm the one that sees my naked self in the mirror every day. I know what I look like underneath spanx. How do I let myself get sidetracked from my own goals when I compare myself to others? I teach kids that they're unique and there's nobody else like them. Yet in my personal life, I fail at that. Why do I do this to myself? Why am I my own worst critic?
I wrote this blog for myself. I posted it to share. Why? Because I wouldn't be a honest blogger if I didn't. It isn't all pretty little roses and lap band adjustments and losses. Please don't judge or feel sorry for me. I'm sure there aren't many people that will read this because of the length, lack of normal Amy humor, etc. There are ups and there are downs. There are also basement days. Days that are lower than low. Right now I'm in the basement. And slowly, like every time I've been hard on myself and knocked myself down, I'll climb back up the stairs. Stop doing this to yourself, Amy.
This week's mantra: I will celebrate my own victories. I will not compare myself to others.
Monday, September 17, 2012
Spit Happens.
Life in the The Land of Amy has been pretty rocky lately. Last weekend I chalked it up to PMS. I was all teary and moody. This past weekend I couldn't think of another excuse. I cried at the drop of a hat, listened to quite possible the saddest breakup song ever written), "What Might Have Been," and mourned Mr. X. Again. Seriously, Amy? It has been two months. You've already mourned the breakup. You know why you ended it - remember the negatives? Heellloooo? Welcome to depression. Population: 1 (or it seems like it, anyway). This is the land of, "when a little thing goes wrong, it feels like the whole world is caving in."
Last week, a student spit in my eyes and I had to go to urgent care. After all of the child psych places I've worked, been a special ed teacher for 4 years...etc....never once have I had to report any "injury." I'm currently a teacher's aide, enjoying freedom from lesson plans and hours of prep work each night. Imagine my surprise when I felt the spit land in my eyes. It was disgusting. He also spit in my co worker's face, but she said it did not go in her eyes. Special Education isn't always a bowl of Edy's.
What was even more disgusting was the way it was handled by the teacher and administrator. After getting my eyes flushed for 15 minutes by Nurse Ratched, I drove to urgent care. I had to get blood drawn, and will have to go back in 6 weeks, 12 weeks, 6 months and one year. Why? For HIV tests. In the eyes of medicine, saliva in the eyes is just as dangerous as a needle stick. The chance is very slim, but still a risk. Worker's comp. Ugh. I've never had to do anything like this before.
The next day, the little bugger was spitting again. He spit on my coworker (he will not spit on me again, I'm wearing my eyeglasses and steering clear). I told the teacher, who told the administrator, who called the parent to pick the kid up. I was happy. A spitting kid should not be at school. The parent showed up, pitched a fit and said that the teacher should know how to handle it. The administrator allowed her kid to stay in the classroom and mom went home. HOME. I was pissed.
Other than documenting the behavior, nothing else is being done to ensure the safety of the staff and other students from the little bugger.
That's just one thing that's going on....but I promise that I'm reading everyone's blogs (pinky promise), I'm just not really able to write a happy funny cheery blog right now. I will say one positive thing - I tried on my inspiration dress for BOOBs today (with, um, a lot of support help underneath!) and it fits! Always end on a positive note, right?
Last week, a student spit in my eyes and I had to go to urgent care. After all of the child psych places I've worked, been a special ed teacher for 4 years...etc....never once have I had to report any "injury." I'm currently a teacher's aide, enjoying freedom from lesson plans and hours of prep work each night. Imagine my surprise when I felt the spit land in my eyes. It was disgusting. He also spit in my co worker's face, but she said it did not go in her eyes. Special Education isn't always a bowl of Edy's.
What was even more disgusting was the way it was handled by the teacher and administrator. After getting my eyes flushed for 15 minutes by Nurse Ratched, I drove to urgent care. I had to get blood drawn, and will have to go back in 6 weeks, 12 weeks, 6 months and one year. Why? For HIV tests. In the eyes of medicine, saliva in the eyes is just as dangerous as a needle stick. The chance is very slim, but still a risk. Worker's comp. Ugh. I've never had to do anything like this before.
The next day, the little bugger was spitting again. He spit on my coworker (he will not spit on me again, I'm wearing my eyeglasses and steering clear). I told the teacher, who told the administrator, who called the parent to pick the kid up. I was happy. A spitting kid should not be at school. The parent showed up, pitched a fit and said that the teacher should know how to handle it. The administrator allowed her kid to stay in the classroom and mom went home. HOME. I was pissed.
Other than documenting the behavior, nothing else is being done to ensure the safety of the staff and other students from the little bugger.
That's just one thing that's going on....but I promise that I'm reading everyone's blogs (pinky promise), I'm just not really able to write a happy funny cheery blog right now. I will say one positive thing - I tried on my inspiration dress for BOOBs today (with, um, a lot of support help underneath!) and it fits! Always end on a positive note, right?
Monday, September 3, 2012
Newsflash: Amy is not a runner.
I've tried to run. I really have. I tried C25K, I tried intervals. All of this over the last year.
My friends, I have now accepted that fact that I am not a runner.
Part of me feels guilty. I know that running burns a lot of calories and is great for my heart. I know lots of people that run. Heck, a lot of you reading this are those people. I've tried to like it, really I have. I would rather walk 5 miles than run 1/2 mile. For real.
The tummy flab (even with Spanx on) flops up and down. It hurts. I know, TMI, but I'm serious. My knees ache, my back hurts, there's nothing enjoyable about it. I feel like I'm going to fall flat on my face. I thought that as I lost weight that I would "enjoy" it more and be better able to run. That hasn't been the case.
I like walking. I especially like taking Walking Pup with me. It feels strange if I walk without her. I power walk, get in a nice sweat, get my heart rate up and feel good at the end. It takes longer than running, but it gives me time to see beautiful places and get in some good, "thinking" time. I don't hike mountains, but I walk the nice paved areas around the mountains. :) Maybe someday I'll hike. We'll see.
So....I no longer feel guilty or that I'm not busting my butt and running miles upon miles. For me, walking (and occasional gym) is how I'm going to lose the rest of my weight (along with a lot of diet modification). I guess this is one more step in my journey...accepting that I don't have to be like everyone else.
Sunday, September 2, 2012
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