Future gains outweigh the fear.
Long, deep breath in…..slow exhale. This is a tough one. So forgive the puns as I strip away all vulnerability, disclose a big, personal challenge and throw in a bit of (corny) humor to diffuse the anxiety. (A trauma response, perhaps? That’s a post for another day.) It’s time to step outside my comfort zone, take the bull by the horns and get real.
I’m ready.
The weighty premise.
Several years ago, when all my boxed up, buried trauma rose to the surface and came out swinging, my self-care and compassion took a hit. It started gradually, then worked its way up to a full on siege. I noticed some bad habits (read: unhealthy coping methods) developing, and my weight began creeping up. But I had more pressing issues to focus on. My concern for my weight, at least initially, was minimal.
Then I couldn’t button my jeans anymore. And the mental tug-o-war began.
No more weighting to take action.
I had always taken great pride in my appearance. For the longest time, my weight was not an issue. I took care of myself physically, for the most part, without having to put too much thought into it. That worked well for a while.
Then middle age crept in and the pounds crept on. A few years and many pounds later, I was heavier than I’d ever been. Eventually, enough was enough and I made a complete about-face. I joined Weight Watchers, eased into an ambitious workout routine (thanks, Jillian!) and, lo and behold, the pounds started dropping off. I was dedicated and determined, verging on obsessive. That pesky fear of failure shifted into high gear.
Within six months or so, I was in the best shape of my life and I felt amazing. I even permitted myself a minute or two of self-gratification and a generous pat on the back. I was damn proud of myself!
The good habits held for several years until things started to veer off-track again. Up went the number on the scale until it reached that pivotal point, and the cycle restarted. I successfully conquered my weight struggles for the second time and I was certain I would not compromise my healthy trajectory again.
Until I did.
When life gets heavy.
There are many factors I could point to as being responsible for my most recent – and most significant – weight gain. As several other aspects of my life began crumbling around me, it became clear that my trauma would no longer be stifled. One could argue that my weight gain was linked to these new revelations in conjunction with the already preexisting, unresolved issues. It also might have somehow been related to poor eating habits and lack of movement. Maybe.
When Covid rolled around, I easily slid into a lax life that involved lots of Netflix binge-watching and afternoon cocktails. Exercise? Puh-lease. Around that same time, I switched to a new anti-depressant. A potential weight gain culprit? Maybe. How about Menopause? I’m having a hot flash just thinking about it. Could it have been the buildup of Cortisol from severe depression and living in a consistent freeze response? Sheer laziness? Or maybe I had reached a point of utter exhaustion from constantly chasing perfection and just couldn’t keep up the pace anymore.
Weighing in on the mental effects.
It would be easy to defensively point the finger at any one of these theories. And it is likely that some combination of all of them was a factor in my weight gain. But I believe there is another element of deeper truth.
The recent unearthing of suppressed trauma, in addition to the separate trauma I had already been grappling with, knocked me off my feet. I fell into a darkness that I am still finding my way out of. My life was a disaster. While I’ve made much progress since I hit this depth of Hell, I have not been able to find the tenacity to tackle my weight this time around, though I’ve made a few half-assed attempts.
In therapy, we have discussed the possibility that my weight gain is acting as a protective shield, a subconsciously intentional barrier, if you will, intended to keep anyone from getting too close. It’s possible that I unknowingly use it as justification for my withdrawal socially and from those closest to me. Perhaps the fear of failure prevents me from working toward a weight loss goal I believe I can’t achieve. Each of these hypotheses have considerable merit.
So what about vulnerability and comfort zones?
You may be reading this and thinking, “This is a great story, but what’s the point?” Stay with me. Here’s where I bring it home.
I have spent the majority of my life making every effort to be as close to perfect as one can get. It was never a conscious goal, but one I strived for nonetheless. The put-together, capable ‘me’ that showed up on the outside was in stark contrast to the broken girl living inside.
Any time this perfect persona was derailed, it was mortifying to me on an epic level. I put such high expectations on myself in an effort to earn love and acceptance – a need that was never gratified by my mother – that when I couldn’t meet these expectations, it proved to me that all the negative things I believed about myself were true.
To publicly discuss my weight gain and my struggle to manage it is the epitome of stepping outside of my comfort zone. It also involves a more in-depth discussion of my trauma. I am reluctantly embracing a level of vulnerability that is uncomfortable in the extreme. To address these challenges out loud means that everyone will know that I am weak and imperfect. That I am a fraud.
While I know on a rational level that this thought process is skewed, it is the truth that exists in my head and is the result of C-PTSD (Complex Post Traumatic Stress Disorder). None of this is really about the weight itself as much as it is my inability to control it (as I did in prior years) or to control the circumstances that led to having these issues in the first place. The reality is that the circumstances control me.
Put your money where you mouth is (but don’t eat it).
By telling you all this, I have taken a huge step toward growth and healing. Of course it’s easier to stay in that cozy, comfort zone, even when what’s comfortable is not so pretty. But this time, I’m allowing myself to accept the discomfort. I can’t encourage others to share their stories in an effort to heal if I can’t be transparent with my own.
As I approach my current weight loss challenges, I will extend myself grace. I will do my best to manage my expectations and exhibit patience that will walk hand-in-hand with fortitude. I will play my favorite music loud to drown out the negative voices and will set bite-sized, achievable goals. I’m embarking on a new journey that may strain the boundaries of my comfort zone, but is ultimately tipping the scales in my favor.
Okay, I’m done with the puns. Seriously.
Resources for further reading: Reclaiming Your Comfort Zone After Trauma
