But, I never believed in myself. I always sought approval from others. I was my own worst critic. I pretended and still do at times, to be confident and seem, from the outside, to have it all together. When, really... I was hurting and afraid. I would get angry and say belittling things to those whom I love (especially my husband A.J.), when instead, I was struggling badly on the inside. I was tired of this circle.
It's a battle waging on inside of me. I would let him know when I would be struggling. We would talk about it, pray about it, and things would get better for a little while. However, Satan knew how to get to the core of me. He would make me super non-motivated to work out-- then it would all arise. The cravings for lots of food. I would want to binge. I would want lots of food.
I would think, "well I can get over this hump. I don't need to talk about these feelings. I'll be fine this time." Then it just gets worse. I feel yucky and disgusting on the outside and mostly on the inside. My soul feels black and closed to the world.
I can put on a pretty good front for most people. However, those who REALLY know me- can get to the core of it. I just melt then. The pain comes seeping out. It hurts. It hurts most knowing I cause so much pain upon my husband and children. How can I do this all the time? It's a dirty little pattern and it's tearing us apart. That--that is what I hate.
I hate the pretending game. I hate appearing strong when in reality, I am weak. I continually keep hiding the real me inside for fear I will be rejected. I mean, who wants to be around a screwed up person?
If I recall my past year- I started training for a 5K and I was in shape! And, not intentionally losing weight this time. I was proud of myself for accomplishing this goal. To think- a year after I had my 3rd baby, I was running over 3 miles (I know this may be small for some of you, but it's huge for me) and weighing between 110 & 115, that was shocking to me. (That was smaller than I was when I got married).
I continued running through the summer. I quit nursing Layla, my youngest a couple weeks after the 5K. I quickly gained 10 pounds. That was the beginning of the waging war inside me. I tried working out hard. I still wasn't eating as good as I could have been. Food was always and constantly on my mind.
Fall came and my desire to workout became less. I HATE, or shall I say, I DESPISE cold weather. I use it as an excuse all the time. "It's too cold to go out." "It takes too much work to bundle up three kids with hats, gloves, coats, etc., let alone prepare myself mentally to venture out in the nasty cold weather to go work out for an hour and then go about the same long routine of getting the hats, gloves and coats back on the kids to return home."
That exhausts me even thinking about that. So- I just have too many silly excuses for the cold. I knew I was going home for Christmas. Since I was going to be seeing my friends for "Tea Time," I told myself I wanted to look good and fit.
Why? Why did I think that? There comes my needing approval situation again. I thought, "If they tell me I am looking good for having three kids, I will feel good." But we all know I still wouldn't feel good inside. I would probably say, "Oh thanks, but I still have a ton to work on."
Thus began my treacherous workout plan. I started up running again and working out hard. Sometimes even twice a day. I always felt good after a long, hard, strenuous workout.
I began cutting back on my portions as well as started eating much healthier food. It wasn't until I sat down with one of my friends and she said, "Veronica, you look terribly thin..." and a bit more, that I even started to consider that. I played it off by, "Oh, you know I am just fine." I mean why would I admit to myself that I had been intentionally trying to get thin and fit to seek the approval of my friends? She said, "Veronica, are you eating?" Well of course I am eating, I thought. So I said, "Yes, I am eating enough." She said, "You really know exactly what to say to get by. I have been there. I am concerned for you."
It didn't hit me hard until my husband started to notice and said, "Honey, you look really thin and I am very worried about you." Yet again, I shrugged it off... and said, "Oh stop honey, I am just fine." But, I had to talk to someone about it. I called my friend (the one whom I sat down with when home for Christmas). We talked for a long time and my true feelings came out.
I was reverting to my old habits. I was cutting my calories and was intentionally trying to lose weight. At that point, I think I weighed around 108. Which just a month before I had weighed around 123. I noticed this and prayed hard about it. I actually started eating more.
HOWEVER, the inevitable happened. I thought, well I controlled myself from going down the wrong road, so now I am doing great. I put some weight back on and didn't work out as often.
Unfortunately, thus came my excuse for not working out. The SNOW & COLD! It never seemed to go away. Nor did my excuses for not working out! I quit going for about a month.
My husband and I watched a documentary on food. We changed our whole eating habits. We both felt way better, had more energy and didn't feel so sluggish. Probably because we cut out tons of yucky (well they taste good, but are TERRIBLE for you) processed food, hydrogenated oils, excess amounts of sugar and really focus on 50% of our meals being at least raw foods.
I felt 100% better--well maybe 90% better if I can truly be honest with myself. I even told my husband that I wasn't even struggling with my self-image. While part of that may be true, if I was honestly being true to myself, I still had a lot of hurt deep down inside. It's been there for many, many years. I just never really dealt with it.
So, now that we cut tons of processed food out and other non-healthy food, I am here today... sharing my raw, honest, deep painful thoughts. The day before Lent, my husband and I sat down and were trying to figure out what we were going to give up for Lent. Now, we are not Catholic but we thought it would be a good sacrifice for us to focus more on God through this time.
As A.J., my husband declared that he would not get on Facebook for 40 days, I began to contemplate about what I would fast from. Then it became clear to me: the one thing I constantly struggle with and crave-- duh-- Sweets. Candy. Cake. Chocolate. Cupcakes. Cookies. Or any other dessert. What a no-brainer. Of course, that should have been my first thought. So, I started off strong. And about mid way through, I decided to make some cookies for my kids. I don't know what was going on in that brain of mine or what had been going on that week- but I had been craving everything and lots of it. Here was my first test... I caved in. I had [2] yes, 2 bowls of Cheerios for a snack. Yes, just for a snack. I felt disgusting after that. My old self would have gone and purged it. But... I knew I couldn't do that. (At least that doesn't have a hold on me anymore). However, I just can't seem to control those cravings sometimes.
Back to the cookies... I just couldn't get my cravings under control. Perhaps I was baking those cookies for me but telling myself they were for the kids. Unfortunately, I ate a cookie. I wish I could be stronger. Or perhaps I wish I knew how I could restrict calories for a while to make myself lose weight and then just a few months later, be stuck in a painful rut of bingeing. UGGGHHH!
Can I say that I truly hate this???? I hurt so much inside. I'm sooooo tired of trying to be the one in control. I've definitely been putting on a big show--acting like I'm super mom who can accomplish and do anything. When really, deep down inside, I'm just plain hurting. I cannot do this anymore. I know there's only one way to conquer all this and that is through Jesus Christ alone. But-- that alone is a lot easier said than done.
It all boils down to one thing with me: I AM A CONTROL FREAK. That's not saying it lightly. I seriously need help in that area. For as long as I can remember, I have continuously sought out others' approval. In high school, it was through sports, academics, clubs, and BOYS! I always had a boyfriend. I had to feel approved and loved by someone (or so I thought). Receiving ample amounts of attention was a reward to me.
To piggy back, that's when all my self-image issues began. I was never good enough for myself. I began purging, over-exercising and restricting food. It was a year long battle. Through truly devoted friends, I finally started to get better, or somewhat better.
Weight has always been engraved in the back of my mind. I'm not sure why since my mom never once made that an issue for herself or never once talked about herself being overweight or fat or anything. Self-image and how I perceive myself has also been glued into the back of my mind as well. I have either gained weight, didn't like the way I looked, tried hard to lose it, or have been on the opposite end where I just want to binge all the time. I just do not have self-control [at times]. Or I have too much self-control.
I ate and ate like my everyday food intake was a buffet when I was pregnant with my first child. My body transformed into a huge barn. That's not an exaggeration one single bit. I gained 61 ugly pounds. I felt disgusting all the time. However, I was just so excited to see my baby, that I tried not to focus on the inevitable.
Once I had my precious bundle of joy, Makenzie, I went on Weight Watchers and lost all my weight within 4-5 months. I did pretty good after that . Once I became pregnant with my second, only 11 months later, my outlook on that pregnancy and my body was completely different. Because I was going to be in two different weddings five months into my pregnancy, I knew I had to maintain my pre-pregnancy weight so I could fit into my size 4 dress for one of the weddings. Walking and ab workouts were a part of my daily routine on top of nannying. I was staying very busy and I know that helped. I also cut out all desserts until after those weddings were over with. I made it! I fit into that dress. 25 pounds this time--- that is all I gained the 2nd go around.
Talk about feeling much better about myself inside and out-- that pregnancy was a breeze, including the labor! Just happened to go to the doctor on a cool Monday morning, October 8th, two weeks before our little boy was due because of lots of pelvic pressure, and lo and behold, I was dilated to a 6 already! Yep, my doctor said, "it's time for you to go the hospital." I was thinking, "oh no, A.J.'s in school working on a final. I'll just wait till he comes home to tell him." So, I did just that.
We made it to the hospital that afternoon by 2:30ish and he was born by 5:30 after 3 quick little pushes. (I had to get my contractions going so they had to give me a little pitosin). That baby weight fell right off of me. Not even two months later and I was back in my pre-prego clothes.
Yet again, I gained 10 pounds right away after I quit nursing my little guy, Dominik. That's such a hard concept for me. I HATE gaining weight. It really messes with my mind. I try hard to control it constantly.
Food is my crutch. Or the lack of food is my crutch. ALWAYS. HAS. BEEN.
Third pregnancy begins a whole new chapter in my life. Bedrest! What!?!?!? I can't do that. Because then [I] can't be in control. I can't exercise. I have to find people to come clean my house, help with meals, help take care of my two small children. I am an anal person about how things get done. I want/prefer things to be done a certain way. I like my floor washed by hand. I want my beds made a certain way. I want the toilet paper on the toilet paper roll a certain way. I want food prepared a certain way. I have to eat my cereal the same way every time. (I'm not kidding about that). Perhaps I am OCD to a very slight degree or just am... a control freak. (That's hard to admit).
So, bedrest was... simply said, super difficult. I ended up in the hospital two different times because I could not follow my doctor's orders well at all. I had to be in control in some way or another.
Unfortunately, my control factor got the best of me- the day my 3rd baby was born. I decided, for some reason or another, to clean my house. I washed my floor (on my hands and knees), cleaned my bathroom, vacuumed and made lunch. I mean, hey, I was "nesting," right???
After putting the kids down for a nap, I started bleeding heavily. Why? Because I had to be in control. I decided, at that point, to take a shower and get cleaned up b/c I knew at that moment that I would more than likely have to be in the hospital until our baby arrived. There's nothing like your own shower!
Well- that day was bittersweet. Sweet because we welcomed a small baby girl into our family; bitter because she was born five weeks and 6 days early and had to be in the NICU for two weeks. Those were the longest two weeks of my life. There's not much harder than looking down at your child and seeing all kinds of wires, monitors, and oxygen hooked up to her. She was a fighter and surprised the nurses many times over. They actually thought she would need to be in there about a month. Yep, she surprised us all and made it out two weeks early.
I believe not being able to exercise made my c-section recover time longer for me. My body just would not kick back into action like before. The healing process was a bit longer as well. I was really down about that. But, after about four months, I had finally lost my weight again. Nursing always helped me shed those pounds faster as well.
I could typically eat whatever when I nursed and it didn't seem to affect my weight at all. So when I started training for my 5K, it came off even more. Then I quit nursing- and you know the rest... This is a battle. I will win. But NOT, I say, NOT, ON MY OWN.
I have learned a lot about myself through all this. When situations in life get hard to deal with and I get stressed, I either binge out of control or completely restrict my food intake. I control the situation one way or another. And- instead of being transparent about my struggles, I take them out in other ways on my husband. That in itself bothers me. It hurts me more and more every time. The pain is deep.
I can honestly say that I do not know where I would be without my husband. He has been my rock. He has held my hand. He has been my shoulder to cry on. He has wrapped his arms around me and told me that it will be ok. he has put up with a lot of crap. He has put up with me. For that- I feel like the worst wife ever, but at the same time am so grateful he is in my life.
Tomorrow is a new day. A new journey. A new beginning. A fresh start. A pick me up after a fall. I will survive this! I will... "press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus" Philippians 4:13.
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