I visited my physician a couple of days ago for my six-month checkup. I already knew what I wanted to talk about before I even walked into the office… my weight.
My physician didn’t even attempt to soothe my ego or placate me with flattering words like the nurse did when she took my blood pressure and asked me questions about my health. He immediately sent a referral to the hospital’s local weight management clinic just a mile or so from my home, offered a pat on the shoulder and said, “It happens to the best of us.”, and then left the room.
When I told my husband that I was being sent to a clinic (I used some rather colorful euphemisms involving grease, extra-large barn doors and minor earthquakes), he was able to muster a response that was 20% feigned surprise and 80% empathy. Bless his heart. We both knew what had to be done, and had known for a long time, but I was the only one who tried to ignore it. I was the one who was going to the gym (not as much as I should, but still….) and staying active around the house (sometimes…)! I could mow the lawn every week with ease… lift concrete blocks to build my garden beds… I was the pinnacle of health, right? I didn’t want to face the fact that I do tend to eat too much at times, and my diet (while mostly plant-based) could use some cleaning up.
My internal monologue kept referring back to people who do nothing at all to watch their weight and blood pressure and still come out rosy. Why is it so easy for THEM? Why do THEY get a free ride? The truth, as I later learned to accept, is that it didn’t matter. I was the one who was too heavy and had slightly elevated blood pressure. This is MY body, so I am responsible for it, not them. This was the face of tough love… this was me finally being honest with myself. However, I didn’t realize that I could be such a BULLY. My tough love soon rolled into cruelty… I found myself calling myself horrible names and talking trash about my situation. When this venom came spewing out in front of my husband’s stepmother after a long day of ruminating over my actions and consequences, in a vile manifesto that hung in the air like the odor of spoiled food, she gently suggested (in her tiny voice peppered with a Texas belle accent) that I start working on my self-image. Her forced subtlety and unwillingness to make eye contact really brought it home for me… I need to come back to the concept tough love, and embrace it the way it’s meant to be embraced… with the focus on the love part.
This morning, I’m standing back and looking at my lifestyle from the outside, through eyes of self-compassion and logic. Do I really need to eat as much as I do? Could I exercise more? Could I avoid some of the snacks I’ve been eating mindlessly? Do I have to start every Saturday morning with that huge drink from Starbucks? And… most importantly… what can I do to show my body that I love and respect it?
Have you considered what your inner monologue is telling you? Do you practice self-love, or do you beat yourself up in the hopes that it will knock some sense into you?
These are awesome insightful words! You do so good looking deep into yourself and getting down to what you really need to do! You will do great and I’m so proud of you!