Maybe that's a bad example.
Well, let's just say, I spent most of my life as the fat girl. Or at least the big girl. After the birth of my first son, I started to get bigger. And then, after my second son was born, I got even bigger.
So, yeah. I've been getting fat. And depressed. And drugs don't work.
It's a really horrible cycle: my hormones got messed up due to postpartum depression so I ate more, I got heavier and that messed my hormones up even more, and I got more depressed, and that makes me eat even more.
Even as I lift that beautiful round disk of momentary happiness up to my lips, as I smell the butter but before I taste the delicate sweetness (I LOVE shortbread!) I know I should not eat it. I KNOW I should grab a glass of water or just plain walk away. I KNOW what the effects of that cookie will be. And the other cookie which I will eat an hour later. And the Snicker's bar I will eat 4 hours after that. Ad infinitum.
I know I need to eat differently. But knowing and doing are two different things.
In 4-Hour Body, Ferris describes the Harajuku Moment. It's that moment of epiphany when you feel in every fibre of your body that a change MUST occur. Without that moment, any intellectual decision I may make is wishful thinking. Without my Harajuku moment, I'll never get beyond fantasizing about losing weight.
Luckily, I had my Harajuku moment last week. And that's why I bought Ferris' book when I saw a review of it.
My family goes up north on a pre-Christmas holiday every two years at a time-share. The resort has an indoor pool my husband and sons love to swim in. The last two times my youngest was just a baby - literally four years ago as I was 16 weeks pregnant - and with only one child needing supervising in the pool, I got out of swimming. I like to swim, and I don't. It's kind of boring.
But my little one is 3 now, so no luck this time. We needed both parents on duty in the pool and that meant getting into my swim suit.
Even before I put my suit on, before I discovered the suit barely fit anymore, despite being a plus sized tank top and skirt style suit that hides most flabby flaws, I caught sight of myself in the full-length mirror.
My jaw dropped, I was overtaken by a wave of nausea and I cried. In that order.
I knew I was at my largest, but I hadn't ever seen what that looked like. It was horrible. And not just horrible: it was scary.
It all lined up for me at that moment:
- I'm back in my largest clothes, size 24, and even they are all getting too tight.
- My skin is like a teenager's: I have pimples constantly. I'm almost 40 fer crying out loud!
- I get random ankle and knee pains due to strain.
- My back aches every morning when I wake up because of the screwed up angle my extra wide hips now create from my knees all the way up to my shoulders making side-sleeping uncomfortable.
- I eat sugary foods like a crack addict. I have zero self control.
- I work with birthing women and am on my feet for upwards of 8 to 12 hrs and sometimes more and my feet hurt so badly, even with specialty shoes, that I could cry. Not good when my job is helping women stay centred during labour.
- Stretch marks. Lots of them. They itch when they are new. They won't go away even when I lose weight.
- One of the worst things: I just can't enjoy sex anymore. It's tough. Some positions aren't comfortable anymore. I feel self-conscious for time in my life with the man who loves me most and accepts me just the way I am. This is a huge deal in my marriage.
So, that's my Harajuku moment. That's why I have to do what I'm going to do. And that makes it far more likely that I'm going to have even some success. Though, when I look at the numbers, even small success will be huge!
What's your Harajuku moment?