I may eat the sweater off of my back before the end of the day.
I hate dieting, I hate food policing, I hate feeling deprived. I instantly switch to petulant, opposite-of-what-clearly-should-be-done behavior anytime I try to do any of those things. I go to one Weight Watchers meeting and find myself in the drive-thru at McDonald's directly after. "I'll show those food fascists," I think, "eating the number 2 with a diet coke will liberate me forever!"
Right. Add a side of Mccutoffyournosetospiteyourface cookies while we're at it, okay?
I'm a short person, just about 5'2, and I need to pay extra attention to my weight, for health reasons and for reasons of happiness too. I'm about 10 pounds heavier than I was when T and I got married, and it is evident all over- my face, my waist, my fully intact butt. My skin feels tight, my shoulders feel bitten by my bras, and my soul matches the way my body feels- heavy.
I think I'm ready to be a grown-up about this now. At least, I hope so.