Day 22: "Happy"

It's nearing the end of February and it feels like time is standing still. I've never liked this time of year. It's cold, the days are still fairly short, and there's not a lot to look forward to from day-to-day. Throw into the mix that I spend my days looking for work, alone at home. It's all a recipe for depression. I'm so sick of counting calories. I feel like a check out girl with my iPhone scanning the barcodes of everything I eat for MyFitnessPal. I measure everything, converting tablespoons to cups. Don't get me started on things measured in grams (units of weight) when I'm trying to figure out units of volume! ACK!

But I'm happy. I really am, sometimes it even shocks me. I know that if I didn't have my sleeve, I would be emotional eating every day. I would have tried dieting three or four times by now, only to crack a few days in. And each time I would do that, I'd beat myself up afterward. I'd feel guilty that I couldn't control my head hunger. That I was hopeless to ever get this weight off and keep it off. Not to mention the way I'd feel after eating crap. The headaches, the blood sugar rises and drops, and the tiredness. An emotional cycle that would have taken me into dark places I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy.

Now I'm in control. Well, at least I'm getting there. It's hard to take control, it's a lot of brain power and work. I am exhausted sometimes from thinking about it all the time. I'm too afriad not to think about it because I have to stay on schedule, drink constantly, make sure I'm exercising every day. I'm known to get into projects and things and zone out for hours at a time. Heck, just while typing this blog entry I've had to stop occasionally to remember how long it's been since I drank anything so I can have some cottage cheese soon. Being in control means being responsible. I don't want to fail at this like I have with so many other things. I'm afriad failing at this will take a devastating toll.

Yesterday I teared up a little while walking. It was good though, a happy misting of the eyes. I realized that I felt really good, that I was enjoying physical activity again. I actually feel lighter, like there is less pulling on my frame. I wasn't focusing on my painful knees and back, nor how chilly the wind was on my face. I wasn't caring what I looked like to others (I have no style when it comes to workout clothes.) I had a million reasons not to get out yesterday, but I did. I have a long history of making up reasons not to make time for myself. But it came almost effortlessly yesterday.

I've lost 30lbs, gone down one pant and one bra size, and I can see it in my face. It's only the first step, of many more to go. I hope I find patience to make it the rest of the way. I hope it gets easier from here on out. I hope I don't freak out when I hit my first plateau, or my second, or third... Does it get easier?