The post I don't want to write

Yeah, there are some posts that are fun to do. Some I feel compelled to do. Some that come to me spur of the moment. Some that write themselves. Then, there are some, like this one, that I've been thinking of writing for some time but run from. I guess mostly because if I put something in writing its for real. Its out there. I can't take it back. And although this one isn't terribly deep, it is very personal. So where better to go public than on the internetz?!

I'm struggling with my weight again. (I say again like it's not a daily battle since the age of 10! ha.) But I have to say that since my mom died, I've been out of control. And while some may say they don't *notice* the scale doesn't lie, gang. And neither does my heart.

I am an emotional eater. Take for example the summer of 1998. I was the leader of a group of 20 college students for a summer trip to China (my first experience there and my first experience internationally, period.) I needed to be in control yet inside, I was totally out of control. Culturally. With the language. Being in charge. The food. Homesickness. Annoying college students. You get the picture. One of my most irrational fears was that I wasn't going to like the food and that I would go hungry for the 6 weeks I was there. So every meal I would find the dish(es) I liked and pig out. Here's the ironic thing: I basically LOVED everything I tried. I gained 15 lbs in 6 weeks. It was shocking.

While I was pregnant with my kids I gained 70lbs. each time. Some was water weight, granted, but NOT 70 lbs. I think because I couldn't do somethings and was limited, I treated myself. And treat myself I did! So after Turner was born, I started immediately with Weight Watchers. It was a lifestyle shift and it worked for me. I lost all my baby weight and got down to a weight that was even less than when I got married. I was able to make "Lifetime" status (you hit your goal weight and maintain it for 6 weeks) and got to start going to meetings for free. I did that for nearly 2 years.

I was pretty proud of myself. It was a healthy pride at first. Then I'm pretty sure, somewhere along the line it turned into a sinful kind of pride. "I can eat whatever I want." "I've licked this thing." "I know what to do to stay at a good weight." I was even handing out advice to others. Gag.

Enter my mom's death in June. Welcome back, emotional eater. I've totally fallen off the wagon. Feeling sad? I deserve a little treat. For a few months I've been teetering on the edge of my goal weight but have done nothing I'm *suppose* to. Track what I'm eating. Drinking water. Eating a balanced diet. Going to meetings. What I HAVE been doing is ignoring my reality. Making up excuses. Hoping my issues will just go away.

Last month I decided not to weigh in because I wouldn't make it under my goal. Then I'd have to pay until I got back down. So, I told Steve last week that I was quitting. I made it 2 years. It was stupid to "pretend" since I wasn't really doing it.

That didn't sit well in my heart. But the bigger issue? I feel like I've failed. I've let myself down. I've let others down (who? I'm not exactly sure, but that is the lie I hear in my head.) Frankly, I'm embarrassed. But I'll be more embarrassed if I let this go another 20 lbs. When I have to buy all new clothes. When I can't keep up with my kids.

So tonight, I'm biting the bullet. I'm going to a meeting. I'm going to weigh in. I'm going to realize that my weight will be far above what it needs to be. I'm going to have to go and weigh in - and pay- every week until I get back down to my goal. And I'm going to have to be humbled by the fact that I am in need of help. That I have a struggle. That I need God's help. That I need to run elsewhere when I'm feeling sad.

That I am human.