I’d say it’s high time I re-evaluate my commitment to healthy living. Why? Well, this is why. Sandi’s post, and my ensuing reaction to it, got me thinking. She went to that expo; she was bombarded with mostly unexpected temptations, and she chose to stay on plan. Given my current mindset, I am certain that I would not have done the same, not right now. The level of commitment and dedication she showed when she chose not to indulge in even the smallest of FREE treats mirrors what I held fast to throughout my own weight loss. I didn’t cheat, almost never. I’m talking not even swiping one piece of candy from Em’s Halloween haul each year, no cake on my own birthdays, no BLT’s (bite/lick/tastes) while cooking dinner, etc. My resolve was pristine, my will formidable. Yes, I had planned free meals, but they were always meticulously thought out and accounted for with extra clean eats before and after, and added exercise to boot. Never were they spur of the moment, never were they out of control. So, what happened? Complacency. Not that it’s any excuse, but life happened and I let myself become complacent. And I am truly humbled by how quickly things got out of control the moment I let my guard down ever so slightly. I realize that this year has probably been one of the most difficult of my life. Not only that, but difficult in more ways than I ever could have imagined. How I’ve dealt with and my reactions to the challenges I’ve faced this year have surprised me to say the least. And if nothing else, it’s been a fascinating process of learning more about myself than I’ve ever known before. But the fact is, life happens. SHIT happens that can’t be planned for, can’t be controlled, and can’t be ignored. Does that give me a free pass to behave as if I can eat like my former fat girl self without consequence? Ummmm, NO! So what on earth made me think I could? Not a damn thing, but that’s exactly what I did.

In reading Sandi’s inspirational words, I suddenly realized that when I once would have met a situation such as she found herself in with stoic resolve to honor my commitment, I now would just make another excuse to throw up my hands and say what the hell, I’ll try again tomorrow. That’s not cool, not cool at all. That’s not the kind of person I want to be. And that’s certainly not the kind of person I can afford to be considering my serious affliction with food addiction. I can’t afford the luxury of those kinds of slips. Just like an alcoholic can’t afford to take even one sip, I can’t afford to allow “what the hell” kind of thinking. Cuz it’s not just extra calories to me, or more time needed working out. That kind of thinking means a spiraling trip right back into the deeply emotional midst of the vicious cycle obesity affords. That kind of thinking is precisely what can undo years of hard work, ultimately turning me into just another statistic. One of the 90%+/- of people who regain all or more of the weight they’ve lost. I can’t afford to go down that path again, and by god, I won’t.

Yes, I have regained some weight. Not a lot, but enough to make me uncomfortable. Although the snugness of my jeans isn’t necessarily what has me concerned. It’s really the newly re-acquired fat girl mindset that has me running for the hills. The propensity for that “what the hell” thinking that makes my heart pound in the stillness of night. Sure, there was a time that I talked extensively of regaining a little weight to add some padding beneath my too thin skin, but I have discovered that the weight gain has done nothing for the bony appearance in the places that I thought needed the most help. My body is structured in such a way that I now realize only plastic surgery would be able to help. So, the simple truth is that there is nothing I can realistically do about what I am left with other than try to cover it best I can and learn to accept that I may never be truly comfortable in my own skin. But what I can do, and what I can control, is my ability to never again re-fill that deflated skin. To never again become the person that I was so desperately and stringently trying not to be. I can control how much power I allow food to hold over me, regardless of how little control I feel I have at times. What it comes right down to is that the choice is still mine, one way or another, the choice is, always has been, and always will be mine, all mine.