Yeah, so, I hate how much time I spend thinking about my weight.
I hate it. I am ashamed of myself.
When I’m 80 I’m going to look back and give myself shame for all the time I wasted beating myself up over a few pounds here and there. I know I will. I didn’t want to even write this blog post, because I’m so embarrassed, but that’s why I had to … if that makes sense. I made a deal with myself when I started this blog that I wouldn’t hold back. So, here I am, writing about, and drawing attention to, a part of myself that I really don’t like. It makes me feel kinda nervous.
I can’t remember a time when I didn’t worry about my weight. I can’t remember a time when I ate a meal that didn’t come with a side of guilt. Starting in my teenage years, I have been constantly dieting and trying different workouts, weighing myself and fretting. It’s tiring.
A few years ago I stopped obsessively focusing on my weight. I had just moved to San Francisco. I didn’t even have a scale. I just changed my eating habits, walked everywhere and started going to yoga. Of course, I lost weight. I went down a few sizes without even realizing it. Just one day, my clothes were too big. It happened when I wasn’t looking.
I have told David that I tricked him into falling in love with me, because when I met him I was the skinniest I had ever been, actually squeezing into a pair of size 0 jeans at one point. It was around that time that my dad told me I was getting too skinny. When The Man talks I listen, so I put on about five pounds so I didn’t look wafer-thin. I just want to be a good size for me, and I think a size 2 is a manageable, healthy size.
I have pretty healthy eating habits, and I love yoga, so maintaining a nice, healthy weight wasn’t difficult. But after I was diagnosed with breast cancer last year and I had surgery after surgery … well, I couldn’t go to yoga as much as I wanted, and my eating habits became questionable as I started craving comfort food. Red wine is a comfort food, right? Also, burritos, chips and salsa and warm cookies … and carrot cake from Baked = heaven.
Now, I have packed on what I’m appropriately calling “The Cancer 10.” Yes, 10 pounds! It doesn’t seem like that much, but that’s at least one Olsen Twin.
Honestly, at first, I wasn’t too worried about it. I figured I’d lose it when I was all healed from the last (and hopefully final!) surgery, and I could go back to yoga. But here’s the thing: I got lazy. It was all too easy to just stay home on the couch with my mighty, mighty good man and watch “Mad Men.” Instead of the two or three times a week I was doing, I was going to yoga about once a week.
Then two things happened that give me a real kick in my un-yoga-ed ass.
No. 1: I went to Ambiance on Haight Street for some dress shopping. In 2008, I bought an amazing dress there, and I was hoping for a repeat performance. When picking out dresses to try on, I even went up a size from the one I bought in 2008. I figured I was playing it safe. I was wrong. I got into the dressing room and nothing fit. David was in there with me, and he got to watch a very special episode of The Sonia Show, in which the star completely unravels and breaks down in the dressing room and cries. Seriously. I handled breast cancer with more grace, strength and dignity than I did the fact that I would have to go up a dress size. It was humiliating. I ran out of the store in tears. It was not my best moment, yet here I am putting in the blog for my tens of readers.
No. 2: A few days later, I had an appointment with my oncologist, and he said something along the lines of “Holy shit! You are packing on the pounds, Mansfield.”
So, yeah, while I’m walking around wearing size 4 jeans and thinking that I’m still on the thin side of things, it turns out packing on 10 pounds is not cool for breast cancer survivors. I had an estrogen positive breast cancer, and fat cells store estrogen. Therefore, it behooves me to stay fit and trim, which will increase my already great chances of no breast cancer re-occurrence. In other words, “Hey Fatty, you want to lose your other boob, too? No? Then get back in shape.” If that’s not enough motivation to get back to my fighting weight, then I don’t know what will be.
Still, I didn’t like being told I needed to lose weight. It reawakened all my weight anxieties. I even bought a scale. I made a promise to myself that I would work to shed “The Cancer 10” after I got back from my trip to Michigan.
Well, I’m back.
I have recommitted myself to, well, my myself, my health. I’ve got three yoga classes on the calendar this week. On days I don’t go to yoga, I’m walking. I am confident that I can drop these 10 pounds faster than Lindsay Lohan can get out of jail.
Really, I just want my pre-breast cancer body back. I liked that body. I was comfortable in it. But, I know it will never be fully back. This fake knocker on the left will never feel my old friend. I will always feel a little different … but I bet I can get pretty damn close normal.
I wrote this obsessively long (and probably boring) post about my weight, because I don’t want to worry about my weight anymore! I just needed to put it all out there and move on. I’m tired of it. It’s a part of me that I really dislike. It’s ugly. I just want to exercise and eat right and live my life, and let the pounds fall where they may. Are there women out there that don’t worry about their weight at least once a day? Is exercise, eating right and not worrying about weight doable for women at all? I’m wondering if that is doable for me. Instead of focusing all that energy on beating myself up about my weight, I’m going to focus that energy on being healthy … and continuing to kick cancer in the balls.
To make up for this whiny post, here’s a cute picture of Homer in a bow tie at the wedding.