Tell the Truth or be Dammed

I have explored throughout my blogs over the months how I have an addictive nature and that I have used food, and also compulsive spending habits to “self-medicate” when I am feeling bad, mad, or sad. This has become habitual over many, many years as I became reliant on the “high” that I sought from my compulsions to the extent that even little dips in mood required something that needed to be addressed with my current “drug of choice”. I can seriously become addicted to anything, be it sugar, shopping, Facebook or the drive for success. All the while that I was determined to lose the weight and successfully doing so, that was how I got the thrills I needed. I “got off” on the praise I received from my peers from my success, I greedily drank in the “celebrity” it afforded me. This was how I fed the soul that was severely lacking in something – the need to be validated. I didn’t truly understand that the true nourishment of my soul could only truly come from within, Unfortunately I sought it from outside stimuli- whichever one offered me the greatest “promise” at the time. I am like the ultimate victim of commerce, a sucker for the false claims of the “adverts” offered to me which tell me if I just use this product, or subscribe to that service then all my problems will be fixed and my life will be perfect. What utter bollocks. All the time that I was on the meal replacement diet, when sugar was off the menu, I was able to ignore it. Not because of great “willpower” and “determination” but because I soon found another thing that scratched a particular itch that bugged me. Adulation, praise, and “positive strokes” were a huge motivator. I wanted to impress, to receive the “pat on the head”, I needed and craved the validation that I struggled to give myself. Also I had a massive fear of a failure., not the healthy kind which drives folk to push themselves forward, instead it was, and still is, a terrible overwhelming , dark dread that if I “cocked up” then I would be severely punished and banished to a place from which I could never escape. I am coming to understand the origins of these feelings. I may have mentioned this in previous blogs, but I will say it again. I was raised in a very dysfunctional family with an alcoholic father with what I understand to be Narcissistic Personality Disorder. There was no physical abuse, thank goodness, but the emotional abuse which I, my mother and my brother received was relentless. It is clear to me now that my father, for reasons best known to himself, was a deeply insecure and very unhappy individual and he chose to bury whatever demons he harboured in a sea of alcohol which, most of the time, protected him from his self-loathing. Of course, like any addiction, when the fogs cleared he was left with an even deeper hatred of himself, and, sadly, for him, the easiest outlet was to take it out on those nearest to him, his family. From a young age I came to believe that I was only as worthy as the measure of my achievements. As long as I could succeed in a way that my father could take credit for, be it academically, socially in sport or whatever, then I was free from criticism. If I came home from school with good grades, or returned with some form of certificate which my father could then boast “you get that talent from me” then I would be “safe”. On the days when I didn’t quite measure up, well that was a totally different story – criticism would fall heavily on my head. Scathing words would be directed at me and I would be berated harshly which would result in fear and tears – two emotions that were strictly forbidden in our home. I can see now what was happening. My father, so low in his own self-esteem, used his family as a reflection upon himself. As long as we doing well he could feel happy, but if we weren’t measuring up to the impossible standards that he set then we would be punished. We were accountable for his happiness, as he was unable to find the resources within, therefore we were ultimately held accountable for his unhappiness too. My mother tells me “the worst thing that you ever did to your father was to grow up” and by that I know she means that once I stopped being the adoring, innocent and naïve  daughter who idolised her father  and became aware of the dysfunctions that circled our daily lives then the cat was out of the bag. And my Dad knew it. And that’s when the battle really began to rampage. My father could see the disappointment and disapproval in my eyes reflected right back at him. And you can imagine how that made him feel….I had to work harder to receive the validation and praise that I still needed but it fell short. I was an empty vessel expecting to be filled by another empty vessel. It was never going to work. So I had to find something that plugged that gap, even only temporarily. It was around then that I discovered how sugar gave me a little high to carry me through my darkest moments. I think this originates from the days when my Dad would come home late from the pub, worse for wear and late for dinner. While we waited for him to return the tension and anxiety would mount. My brother and I would be hungry, my mother would be frustrated and angry and amongst us all we held a collective dread of what mood my father would come home in. The key in the door when he eventually came home would be like the first note in the theme tune of an unknown movie. Would it be a horror, a tragedy or an uncomfortable comedy? Our feelings and reactions were entirely dictated by my father’s behaviour. Regardless of those feelings, it was utterly tantamount that, when he returned that we shower him with the adulation that he expected. We were not allowed to be hurt, or cross or disappointed as this would be the reflection he would see in his distorted mirror. So, instead we had to swallow down those dreadful emotions and play “happy families”. I was never very good at this, I needed something to get me through. Ironically, it was my own father who showed me the solution. Sometimes, he would bring home bags full of sweets. This was clearly to hide his own remorse, enabling him to hide behind the “grand gesture” so  he could present himself as the Great Benefactor, thus, bolstering his own fragile ego. Gifts equalled Love in his book, if he brought us enough sweets and presents then we would love him in spite of the terrible way he treated us when the alcohol unleashed his explosive temper. I saw through this gesture immediately, and at first tried to refuse the gifts that were proffered, but that refusal was a further insult and only resulted in more anger so I soon learned to “graciously” accept. Thus, I would grudgingly receive my bounty and, after, a silent and tense dinner, where unexpressed emotions would fester unacknowledged, I would retreat to my room. In my sanctuary I would sadly eat the sugary treats that lay before me, and, soon, neurons began to fire in my brain that masked the suffocating sadness and anxiety that I felt. Sugar was making things better, even temporarily. All the time that the “reward centre” in my head was being fed by this artificial stimuli I was not overwhelmed by inadequacy, hatred, confusion and fear. Sugar made it better. Sugar made it go away. And, so, an addict was born.

Over the years, I had “moments of clarity” that made me realise that the more sugar I ate, the fatter I got. I didn’t like being fat, I doubt anyone does, so I took action and gave up the sugar. I got less fat. But I hadn’t fixed the issues that the sugar was masking and I soon discovered, to my horror, that the floodgates were opening, and all the negative feelings, and hurt emotions that I had pushed away were heading towards me like a rushing torrent, threatening to wash me away. I had to build a dam, and I had to build it fast. This dam took many incarnations over the years, sometimes  in the form of buying “stuff” and getting into debt because it made me feel happy to possess things and I got a thrill out of measuring myself by the amount of “lovely things” that I owned. As I handed over my already maxed-out credit card, I would fantasise about the admiration I would receive from others for the beautiful item of clothing I was wearing or the unique ornament that graced my home. I was seeking validation, buying things that would make me feel like I was loved. Much like my father. All this seems to stem from one fundamental belief that was enforced and perpetuated throughout all of my formative years: “Bad Feelings are Bad and Must Be Avoided at all costs”. The Family Commandment was “Thou Shalt Not Express Negative Emotions”. And much like the vengeful God depicted in the Old Testament my father smote his wrath upon those that did not adhere to his rules. It is clear now that, he, too, lived in fear of the torrent that he believed would overwhelm him should he allow himself to feel and so he, too, built his own dams. Who knows why?  I just wish that he had not met our sadness with anger, even though it was obviously a misdirected anger at himself. If it wasn’t anger, there was – nothing. Equally destructive, a huge void of confusion, a vast fog of pain and bewilderment. I experienced this at age 10, when my grandmother, my father’s mother passed away. My overwhelming memory was that nobody cried, nobody really hugged, and certainly nobody acknowledged the huge that had befallen my family. I remember when the news was received, that my father emerged from the bathroom, slightly red-eyed, pushed past me and headed out of the door to the pub. And that was it. No discussion, no explanation. Just a massive void where somebody I loved used to be. I see now that my Dad could not handle the emotions that he felt on losing a mother that he frankly adored. Instead he boxed it away, filed it under “Gin” and gave out the clear message that none of us were permitted to behave in a way that would remind him just how much pain he must have felt. We were to be the staunch enablers in the pretence that “everything was ok”.  I was 10, I had never experienced bereavement before, not even a family pet. I didn’t know what I supposed to feel so I did what only a child could. I followed my family’s lead and chose to feel nothing. Except I didn’t feel nothing. Nasty, uncomfortable, negative emotions kept threatening to emerge. Emotions which were not permitted. So I pushed them away with sugar and any other coping mechanisms I could find. I made inappropriate friendships in my teen years with people who tried to exploit me, all because I was desperately craving the validation that I wanted, no matter how cheaply it was sold to me. I am very fortunate that I didn’t get into a lot more trouble than I actually did. This blog may read as a “woe is me” diatribe about my dreadful childhood but that is not my intention. I am all too aware that many people have suffered far worse than me. But this does not negate nor belittle how I felt when I experienced what I did. And for me, it is incredibly important to acknowledge and even honour those memories so that I can understand what took me to where I was and where I am now. I cannot change the past but I must also accept it for what it was. I can also try to learn from it. So where do I go from here? Well, forward is the obvious answer. Or is it? Maybe it is time for me to stand still. I certainly can’t go back, as behind me the waters of my angst and terror are swirling, held back only by a weakening dam. Those waters terrify me, inside me cries a little voice saying “whatever you do, don’t breach that dam. You will drown”. However, another little voice is starting to pipe up. “Can you not swim? What would happen if the tidal wave came crashing through but, instead of fighting it and standing against it, you turned your back, raised your arms and allowed yourself to be carried by the tide?”  “Are you insane?” I retort “I’ll be dragged out to sea into a whirlpool and killed”. “Why do you think that? It is only one wave, and all waves subside. Perhaps it will carry you to a tranquil pool further down the river” “Yes, but riding waves is scary, you are out of control, being carried out of yout comfort zone". "Everything is scary, but what is scarier, risking the wave or facing certain death to a wall of water?" It is only just occurring to me that it is OK to have negative emotions, and if, instead of fighting against them, I can learn to navigate them like waves, let them wash over me or carry me forward. Ironically, the higher I build my dam, the harder the pressure that builds up behind the walls, and the bigger and more potentially destructive the wave that comes when the walls eventually collapses. And building dams is exhausting.  So, maybe it is time to ignore those messages from my childhood. It IS OK to be sad, mad, feel bad. Sounds like a very simple and basic concept, but, for folks like me it is a skill that I have yet to learn.  I am going to have to fight against every instinct that tells me to run and hide in the solace of my addictions. I’m going to have to grit my teeth and close my eyes as the waters spill around me, and trust that I will be carried to where I should be. I’m going to have to stop building those dam and in living fear of the day they will inevitably breach. This is going to take courage. Wish Me Luck.

Find Your Tribe

If you have read any of my previous blogs you will, no doubt, notice that I do love a good metaphor and allegory. My favourite, and most recurrent theme has been likening my weight loss journey to rowing towards and subsequently landing on a Paradise Island.   The Island is the Island of Slim and represents me reaching my weight loss target. Well, for around six months now, I have been living on this island and trying to get used to a new life on strange shores. There have been good days and bad days. On the good ones, I prance around freely amongst the lush vegetation, enjoying my freedom, paddle in the warm crystal waters, sampling the delicious tropical fruits and lavishing in the wonderful feeling of freedom I now have. On the bad days I find myself dodging snakes and spiders, sheltering from monsoons and suffering dreadful illness from eating the wrong kinds of berries. All the time I was rowing towards this little spot on the horizon I dreamed of the perfect little life that I would live when I arrive. Well I am here. Life is good but it is by no means perfect and, regardless of the beauty of my surroundings, danger and treachery still lurk in the shadows. Survival still has to be fought for. I soon learned that I was not alone on the Island of Slim, and that there was an indigenous tribe that have lived here for countless generations. At first I hid from them, unsure if they were friendly or bloodthirsty cannibals. I watched from a distance, observing their behaviour, noting how they survived in the hope that I could emulate their actions and even learn to integrate with them. When I finally summoned up the courage to approach them, it was a relief to find that they were a hospitable bunch, unaccustomed to, and uninterested in the taste of human flesh. They were called The Naturally Slim Tribe. As much as I was in awe of them they in turn seemed fascinated by me. Having lived on the island all their lives they were intrigued as to how I had negotiated the sometimes stormy seas, and on many occasions they asked me to tell them the stories of my adventures. For a while I was lauded as a hero, but soon the stories ran out and my celebrity status amongst them waned. They treated me kindly, accepted me in their village and showed me, to the best of their ability how to hunt, forage, cook and navigate the seasons. I tried my best to learn their ways but their skills came naturally to them, and had been passed down over thousands of years. Survival on the Island of Slim was a natural, instinctive way of life for them, but for me it was daily trial. Physically the natives and I differed greatly, their skin was naturally dark and resistant to the relentless rays of the sun whereas I was pale and susceptible to sunburn. I tried so many times to join them as they frolicked for hours in the sea  but every time I lingered too long in the heat of the day I found myself blistered and sore. I tried countless creams, remedies and covers but soon I came to understand that there were simply times I could do nothing but watch wistfully from the shade of the trees as my fellow islanders continued with their lives. I was a stranger in a strange land. And wish as I might, I was not and could never be one of the Naturally Slim Tribe. I didn’t feel like I belonged. Saddened and frustrated by my predicament, one day I decided to take walk along the shore to the other side of the island. I no longer cared if I got burned. Kicking the sand petulantly under my feet, I pouted and stared out to sea, contemplating whether I should get back into my little boat and sail back to the land from whence I came, where everything was familiar and life was less of an effort. But storm clouds were gathering on the distant horizon and this reminded me of the courage it took me to leave that place to begin with. What if I returned to the Old Land and discovered that I yearned again for my Paradise Island. Would I have the strength to face the journey again? Would I even reach this island or would less friendly currents direct me to a land festered with volcanoes and predators? So I continued on my walk along the shore, wondering if I would ever cease feeling lonely and different.

As I strolled along the beach, my foot hit a strange wooden object half-buried in the sand. I crouched down to unearth it, and as the silvery grains fell away I came to realise that the object was the remains of a boat, very much like the one I had travelled in to this very island. Intrigued, my eyes scanned the shoreline and soon I discovered the bay was scattered with several more of these abandoned vessels, in varying states of decay and disrepair. Knowing that the Naturally Slim Tribe had no interest in leaving the island and so had never built boats or learned to swim it dawned on me that this island was or had been occupied by someone who had also arrived the way I did. As I contemplated this new phenomenon I became aware of several pairs of eyes watching me from the gloom of the nearby jungle.

“Come out” I yelled in a show of false bravado.

“We can’t” came back the reply “the sun is too bright and we’ll get burned. Why don’t you come over here to us?”.

What did I have to lose? I was sad and lonely, felt isolated from my own kind. If their intention was to murder me as I approached then so be it, at least my misery would be ended. Cautiously I tiptoed towards the treeline, and as I approached my eyes became accustomed to the shadows and I saw that there were several figures standing in a clearing. They were just like me, some were short, some were tall, they were varying sizes but, unlike the dark Naturally Slim Tribe, they were all pale skinned. Yet they all glowed with a healthy aura and were clearly thriving well on the Island of Slim. Much to my relief they greeted me with smiles.

One of the group stepped forward. “We’ve been waiting for you to find us. We saw your little boat coming over the horizon and witnessed the determination in which you rowed to shore. Not everyone survives the journey so we were incredibly pleased to see that you made it. Would you like to join us? You don’t have to stay with us and are free to to leave at any time, but you are very welcome here.”

Suddenly all the frustration and exhaustion from trying to fit in with the other tribe washed over me like a rushing wave which knocked to my knees. Picking myself up I was confused and angry. “So you have seen me struggle over these last few months?”

The speaker nodded kindly.

“And yet you didn’t come to rescue me? You could have saved me from all of…” I gestured wildly around me “This!”.

“Save you from paradise? Why would we do that? And besides, you had to come to us. We could not approach you, as you might have attacked us”.

“Well, you could at least tell me who you are and where you have come from. You are clearly not native to the island” I protested.

“No we are not” came the reply “ we arrived  from many different places over many years, but where we have come from no longer matters. What matters is that we are here, and we have found one another”.

I had so many questions: “how did you survive?” “how have you coped under the heat of the sun?” “how did you learn what foods made you ill and which ones were good for you?” “how have you avoided the snake pits and the caves full of predators?”

“It was all a case of trial and error, we learned as we went along. The natives helped us as best they could but there some things that they simply could not teach us. We learned that are not completely like them and could not live the way they do, so we moved away and set up our own tribe. Some of our members left and went back to the ocean, others believed that the rules we devised from our experience did not apply to them and tried to forge their own way ahead. Those were either lost at sea, drowned in the quick sands or consumed by beasts. We have come to understand that if we stick together we stand a better chance of survival. All of us here have made mistakes but because we trust and rely upon one another we share our experiences so that others do not stumble in the same way. And when others fall, we gather to pick them up and nurse them back to health. If you want to continue alone then you are free to do so, but we cannot offer you help if you are not here to ask for it. This island is big, if you fall because you chose to go alone then nobody will hear your cries and you may risk perishing alone.”

“So what made you decide to stay on this island, when it is fraught with so many dangers for people like us?”. I was puzzled.

“Just look around you and see how beautiful it is here. There is no pollution, the food we can eat is plentiful and nourishing. The sun may be bright and sometimes harsh but there are plenty of beautiful trees under which we can shade. The life we are living here is so much better than the ones that we left across the other side of the ocean, even with all its restrictions. Yes, we have to make sacrifices and we cannot live in the same way as our fellow islanders but we are still more fortunate than we had ever been.  Here we are free. Would you like to become part of our tribe?”

“Why would you want me to join you? I have nothing to offer, no experience, no skills to share?”

“Because, once we were the same as you, lost and alone, afraid and unsure. We want to help you. You have skills that you don’t even know exist, this island will test you and you will emerge stronger. But you cannot do it alone, nobody can. And one day, another little boat will appear over the horizon bearing a passenger who needs exactly what youhave to offer. This is how it works for us here. Trust us, you will not regret it”.

And so I joined them.

After months of rowing and then wandering and stumbling in the wilderness I had Found My Tribe.

Life on the Island of Slim will continue to challenge me but now I am confident that with my Tribe I can face and overcome whatever is thrown at us. I wanted to be a Naturally Slim Tribe member but no matter what I do I cannot be one of them. It is not who I am.

But, through exploring the island and broadening my own personal horizon, even if it was borne out of frustration and my last resort, I have discovered people who understand me, with whom I feel I belong.

I have Found My Tribe….

…Now go and find yours…..

I Want Candy

It has been a little while since I have blogged about my latest progress. As usual, life just gets in the way and before you know it, time has flown by. It has now been six months since I reached my target of “halving myself” with my 12 stone loss and I would love nothing more to report that keeping the weight off has been a breeze….but I can’t. That would be a Big Fat Lie. And as the intrinsic theme running through my blog since I first wrote it 18 months ago is Honesty Is key, I guess it is time to ‘Fess Up. Trying to keep the weight off has been hard, very hard, and there have been times that the scales have teetered back into dangerous territory. Over the last six months my weight has swung down as far as 11st 9lbs (I started off at 24 stone for perspective) where people started to comment that I “looked gaunt”. It has also swung back up to 13 stone, monitoring a 14lb gain since Target. Currently I am somewhere in between the two, and still working out where I want to be. Fortunately I don’t seem to have increased in any clothing sizes so that is a relief. Although it is no reason to be resting on my laurels. So..  Maintenance…  Hard…. Fact ! Throughout my weight loss journey I have learned a lot about myself. It turns out that I still have a lot to learn and that the Learning Curve is less of a curve, but more of a straight line stretching out over the horizon. I understand that I will never stop learning. In fact the only Curve in this equation is the frequent “Curve Ball” that life has a habit of chucking at me. So here’s what have learnt lately. I have an Addictive Personality. This is not a label, not an excuse, not a condemnation nor a vindication. It is just who I am. I don’t know if it came as part of the package in my genes or was a behaviour that I learned a long time ago. All I know that there is something within in me that, when kept unchecked, fuels within me a desire to act compulsively and make terribly bad decisions. Fortunately it hasn’t manifested itself in the abuse of dangerous substances or alcohol but the behaviours I demonstrate when I am not fully control are equally as dangerous and destructive as the actions of a junkie or alcoholic. I used to think that I can beat this behaviour, banish it from my life and “become a better person”. Isn’t that sad, thinking that cutting out a part of what ultimately makes you who you are is the path to enlightenment? We all, have dark little corners in our psyche, or physical parts that we do not particularly like but if we removed them then we would no longer be ourselves. Take a molecular compound as an example, for simplicity sake let’s refer to Carbon Dioxide – good old CO2. This is the life blood of the planet, the primary source of all carbon based life forms. Yet, remove one simple atom, and you are left with Carbon Monoxide, a highly poisonous and dangerous gas. So little can change so much. Now you’re probably wondering “Ok, love, thanks for the science lesson, but what’s this all got to do with weight loss and addiction?”. Bear with me… So I am an addict. Currently my Drug Of Choice is Sugar. I also have a massive issue with compulsive spending which I will, no doubt, address in another blog entry, but for now let’s stick with the sweet stuff. I’m not going to explore too much the origins of my addiction to sugar, and, believe me, I have navel gazed and contemplated an awful over that throughout the years. Instead I am going to focus on very recent history and the now. It came to my attention quite recently that, even though I had successfully lost all the weight, that my sugar addiction was simply waiting in the background , ready to leap back in when I let my guard down. And, of course, my guard fell down. All the time I was on the very low calorie diet, focussing on the target ahead and sticking to very strict rules, staying away from sugar was easy. Willpower was strong because I had a Target to reach. When I attained that target, however,  the goalposts changed radically. All bets were off, “I could eat whatever I wanted”. So I did. Of course, at first it was difficult. My body was used to taking in a very low calorie load, and now, if I didn’t want to continue and waste away then I had to increase the amount I took in. “Ha-ha” I thought “This one’s easy! What quicker way to boost my caloric intake than to “treat myself” to a chocolate bar? After all, I deserve it after all those months of deprivation. What harm can it do? As long as I keep within my calorie allowance all will be well"  Well… within seconds of that delicious treat passing my lips, my fate was sealed. The addictive neurons in my brain that had lain dormant in my brain for the year while I lost weight were suddenly fired back into action. It was like a “Blackadder Goes Forth” style World War 1 trench had suddenly been rallied into action. For months those “soldiers” of addictive behaviour had lazed and lounged in the ditches waiting for the “Big Push”. Now suddenly the “enemy” had attacked, the whistle had been blown and these little blighters were spilling “over the top”, raring to attack. My Willpower Neurons tried to fend off the assault, but they were outnumbered and exhausted from months of constant battling. My addiction was starting to take full hold of me again. And, of course, the problem with addictive substances is that they make you crave more and more. Once the floodgates are open it is incredibly difficult to close them again. So soon, my “just the one chocolate bar” became “just one more” and “what harm will another one do?”. I found myself trapped in the Guilt-Relief cycle all over again, and, gradually, the pounds came creeping back on. What's more, it was all well and good sticking within my "calorie allowance for the day" but the more sugary foods I ate, the less I took in of good, nutritious foods. I was at risk of reducing my health. I am just grateful that something in me “saw the light” and I have been able to look into ways of addressing it again. So why isn’t it just as simple as “changing the behaviour” ? It isn’t, that is all. I have tried to do that but I just started becoming someone that wasn’t me. It was all pretend, anyway and in the back of my mind I knew that something was wrong. I know people that have suffered horrendous trauma in their lives, some have lost children, some are disabled and others are living with cancer. Amongst these are some incredible people who I look at and ask myself “how can you carry on living your life, knowing about that dreadful thing that has happened to you?”. The fact remains, however, that they do carry on IN SPITE of what has happened to them. They acknowledge their lots, their misfortunes, and they weave it into the complex tapestry of who they are. They learn to live with their misfortunes, their losses, their disabilities. They don’t pretend that whatever cross that they have to bear isn’t there, instead they embrace it whilst refusing to let it dominate and define their lives. And it is through them I am learning that there is another way to “beat” my addictive nature. I am learning to say to those naughty little neurons that live in my head “look, I don’t like you and you don’t like me but it looks like we are stuck here in the same headspace, so let’s just learn how we can co-exist without getting into a massive fight” . Well, the neurons have grudgingly agreed, after all it is bloody knackering having to leap out of the trenches at a moment’s notice but they did have a valid point to make before conceding to my wishes. “it’s all your blooming fault anyway” they protested. “you’re the one that keeps picking the fight. We are perfectly happy lolling about in our trench, we only coming out charging when you lean down over the trench walls, waving chocolate bars in our faces and yelling ‘come on if you think you’re hard enough. If you can promise to keep that naughty sugar out of our way then we have no reason to fight you. We can’t leave the trenches but we won’t come over and bother you either’”

Well that was enlightening. And it seemed too simple to be true. But it was a strategy that I had never considered. Instead of investing huge amounts of energy in warring away against my addictions, why didn’t I just stop fighting? It had never occurred to me that I could just walk away and stop picking up my “weapons”. I was so frustrated that there was the “enemy” at the other end of the battlefield that I did everything in my power to exorcise these demons so I could claim a perfect victory. And of course, I was just poking them with a great big, sugary stick…But what harm was the enemy doing in the battlefield whilst they just sat dormant in the trench? Absolutely none. It was a bit annoying that there are certain areas in the battlefield that have been declared a “No Man’s Land” but in the grand scale of things, my own little trench provides me with everything that I need. Just not necessarily everything I want. And this is how I am trying to view my addictive behaviours now. I may not necessarily be able to dispose of the behaviour but I can learn to live a perfectly fulfilling life without the substances that cause me to spiral out of control. I don’t like it, believe me, but the alternative option is far worse. The old adage is so very true, i JUST can't have my cake and eat it. I am sure every blind person would love to talk a long, solo walk along a bracing clifftop. I bet that a cancer survivor dreams of the day that their incurable tumour is removed. I’m sure that Superman rues the day that Lex Luther discovered Kryptonite. Unfortunately all of these individuals are powerless against their own weaknesses, it is just the hand that they were dealt. And my bum hand is my addictive nature. I could rail and moan and scream about the “unfairness” of it all, and believe me I frequently do but, really, what does that gain? Does that change anything? Big Fat Nope. So instead, why don’t I just learn to live with my weaknesses? I don’t have to feed them. In fact I shouldn’t. What I will do is let them live quietly in my head, and refuse to provoke them. So I guess it’s Cold Turkey for me. It appears that this is the only way. No other method has worked so why not give it a try. Sugar is my Kryptonite. Superman cannot deny the existence of the power-draining alien mineral, he just  tries to avoid it. He certainly didn’t go “f*ck you” and make a necklace out of the stuff to prove that he can beat it! That is utter madness. Eating sugar makes me crave more sugar. Eating more sugar makes me fat. Simples. Eating no sugar stops the cravings in their tracks. It’s not rocket science. It is, however, bloody hard to execute. I have no doubt that there will be plenty of fights with the Naughty Neurons as time goes by, when I get bored sitting in my trench and I will devilishly venture out into No Man’s Land and lob a Chocolate Grenade just to see what will happen. Of course when I do that, those belligerent little buggers will come racing  over the top, waging their battle cries and brandishing their bayonets. There will be some bloodshed, but, hopefully, as my journey progresses, I will learn to stop and say “look guys, I’m sorry I did that, I won’t do it again. Can we all stop fighting for now and go back to our trenches.” War is hard. War is Dirty. But it takes two to fight. Now is the time for some pacifism on my part. Wish me luck….. (as an aside I have to laugh. A couple of years ago I wrote a guest blog for a friend, complaining bitterly about the Sainsbury's Christmas Ad in which I felt that they blatantly exploited the events in World War 1 on Christmas Day in 1914. ( https://themedthemadandthemod.com/2014/11/13/sainsburys-christmas-advert-puts-the-penguin-in-the-cold-or-does-it/ ) Guess what they were advertising? A chocolate bar! Ah the irony....)

Multiple Maintenance Metaphors.....

It’s been nearly three months since I posted an entry in the blog, when I explained how I arrived on “the island”. A fair few things have happened since then, a few ups and a few downs.

The biggest “up” is that I found myself featured in two national newspapers, in articles about my weight loss. This came about when my consultant recommended me to be featured in a photo shoot in Cambridge Weight Plan’s in-house magazine. Cambridge publicity department had other ideas, they wanted me to “go national” and I was referred to a journalist, who through a telephone interview, got me to tell my story. It was really quite cathartic, especially the part where she asked me to catalogue my average daily consumption before I began this weight loss journey. As I started thinking and reeling off the calorific treats I used to mindlessly stuff down I began to be quite horrified – no wonder I ballooned to 24 stone. It was really quite shocking, but at the time I chose to pretend that I didn’t care. Of course, the reflection in the mirror would occasionally jolt me but then I just avoided mirrors.

I much prefer this “image” in the “Mirror”:
http://www.mirror.co.uk/lifestyle/dieting/success-stories/mum-loses-half-bodyweight-after-8340715

I was expecting a small article tucked away in the corner of a page, imagine my shock when I found out I was a double-page spread right in the centre of the newspaper. A laminated copy now graces my fridge to remind me to keep on track.

And, boy, do I sometimes need reminding…..

Have you ever noticed that all fairy tales end at the princess finding her prince, marrying him and then “they lived happily ever after”? Well, I’m going to call Bullshit on that. I have no doubt that Cinderella and her Prince have some wonderful days after the lavish royal wedding but don’t try to convince me that there aren’t times when His Highness comes back from a hunting trip, late for dinner and a little worse for wear, to face a very angry Cinders who has been left alone in a palace with nothing but a couple of mice for company.... And what happens when Snow White’s woodland friends go on strike leaving her to contend with cleaning up after seven unruly little men all day whilst her hubby jets off on some ‘diplomatic visit’? Yes, fairy tales are great, and they document the fact that heroines (or heroes) have to go through some struggles to achieve their dreams but the fact remains that they don’t tell the whole story. Not by a long shot.

So here I am, the Princess that achieved her Dream. The Shoe fits (as do many other items in my new wardrobe) and I am living my Happily Ever After. Except I’m not. Don’t get me wrong, I am very happy. I couldn’t be happier. But I am learning that the Dream requires work. Like Sleeping Beauty, it’s time to wake up and put in some hard effort.

Losing weight wasn’t easy, it required drive and determination. It demanded willpower and mettle. I had to row very hard in my little boat to reach that destination of my Paradise Island on the horizon. And it was that goal that pushed me to get there. Come Hell or High Water, I would navigate the sometimes stormy seas in order to be able to sink my toes into the silver sands and enjoy all the bounty that Island Life could offer me. And I made it! I am now on my Island. My Happily Ever After is here…

At first it certainly seemed that way. For the first few weeks after arrival on my island everything was new and exciting. I got to explore, discover new places, and enjoy new experiences. At first, even though I was exhausted from all the rowing, I was too exhilarated from the adrenaline rush of reaching my destination to think about resting, and I cavorted and frolicked around Paradise eager to sample everything that Island Life had to offer. The natives, who I first was wary of, welcomed me with open arms and even hailed me as a celebrity, astounded that I had navigated the vast, unrelenting ocean that extended beyond their cosy little home. It was a wonderful Honeymoon Period. But as happens to all honeymoons, the thrill began to slowly wane. Once the rush of success subsided I began to get tired, I just wanted to bask in the sun, or rest under a palm tree. After a few weeks on the Island I had explored pretty much every nook and cranny, I had found places I loved to visit and learned of danger areas that I should avoid.. I was becoming complacent. Big Mistake. I had convinced myself that I knew all I needed to know about living on the lsland simply from experiencing a few weeks of living there. Foolish, very foolish. The natives, who had once lauded me soon began to move on again with their daily lives and left me to navigate my way through my own path.

The problem was, I no longer had a Goal to attain. I was on that unattainable dot on the horizon, there was nothing more to aim for, I had reached my destination. And that robbed me of my drive and motivation. So I rested on my laurels and began to take it easy…

It is truly foolhardy to trust that once you have achieved one goal then it is easy to stay there. You may strive and struggle to climb a mountain. You may reach the peak and enjoy breath-taking views from the top. But one thing you cannot do on a mountain peak is wander around, constantly looking at the view without minding where you put your feet. There are plenty of jagged edges and gullies just waiting for you to trip into them and send you plummeting back down to your peril. The same goes for living on Paradise Island. You may be fortunate enough to arrive during the heat of the summer, but what are you going to do when Monsoon Season arrives? There are no other islands nearby, besides, you quite like it here, yet you still need a plan to survive.

I’ve already been caught in a few downpours. It was completely and utterly my fault. I saw the clouds looming on the horizon and told myself that I could weather the storm. The praise from the natives and my limited experience of living there convinced me that I was an Island Goddess with the survival skills of Bear Grylls. Now there’s nothing wrong with a bit of self-confidence but you need the experience to back it up. Otherwise it’s just self-delusion. When the storm raged in, I was ill-equipped. The inadequate shelter I had built myself, based on the scant knowledge and time I had was utterly destroyed. Thankfully the Island remained intact but now I had to rebuild a new home. Firstly, I tried the safe way, building it back up to the same specifications that I had tried before, but this was only effective until the next storm blew in. It was then, and only then, that I started to get an inkling that I needed to find a new strategy to construct a stronger, sturdier shelter that could withstand the battering rains and howling winds that blew up on the place I call Paradise. I still want to live here, there are more advantages than disadvantages but I am now realising that I must take the rough with the smooth and I must continue to work hard if I am to continue reaping the benefits. It’s not a truth I like, but it’s one I must accept. As I stand on the shore and look out to sea I realise that I have come a long way. But I also am now trying to understand that if I do not take the right measures and prepare and plan, I could very easily be washed back out to sea by another storm onto another island that is far less hospitable. And the storms will keep coming, season after season. I just have to be ready for them and be prepared to rebuild every now and again.

Sometimes I just want to get back in my boat and row aimlessly, because then I knew what to do. It was just me, the sea and my little vessel. Sometimes it was hard, but all I had to do was row. There was no real other option. I had only two choices – Do or Die. There was none of this having to go off and live a life…On my island there are so many options, so much to try, so many directions I could go.

To come away from metaphor for a while, what I am trying to say is that I have slipped a few times, and seen the scales dropped back to an unwelcome weight gain. Thankfully, there has been nothing catastrophic, but enough to make me think that I need to take measures before that proliferates into something that will become harder to manage. I know where these gains have come from…Moments of “one won’t do any harm” that rapidly snowball into days. Also from Procrastination, telling myself that, as I know how to fix the issue, I can do it tomorrow, while meanwhile carrying on with the behaviours that lead to danger. It’s a foolish attitude to have – complacency – and there is a battle raging within in me, the desire to stay as I am now, pitted against the wish to continue with the same behaviour patterns that I am used to. I am in utterly new territory right now, stood at a crossroads. If I forge on forwards, using the same weight loss plan that gives me the safety and security blanket I have become used to I could compromise my health by not giving my new body the optimum nutrition it needs. If I go back the way I came…well the outcome of that is obvious and I don’t want that. So I have to either go left or right, and I have no idea here those routes lead.

Ok, one more metaphor….Weight maintenance is like driving a car on your own once you have passed your test. Whilst I had my “L” plates on I was dead-set on passing my test. All I wanted was the freedom of being a qualified driver. So I concentrated hard, paid stringent attention to the road, kept my hands at “ten to two”, did my “mirror, signal, manoeuvre” every time. And why did I do that? Not because I believed it would make me a safer driver, oh no. I did it so I would pass my test. It was short term learning, a means to an end. Furthermore, I had the safety net of my driving instructor by my side to tell me when I was going wrong. Passing my test was like reaching Goal, such a buzz and the Gateway to Freedom. Or so I thought. Going out on my own in a car soon became a terrifying prospect. In my eagerness to be a driver I disregarded many of the lessons that my instructor had taught me. Ok, I kept the basics but did I keep my hands at Ten To Two? Did I heck!!! Did I Mirror-Signal-Manoeuvre every time? Nope! Instead, confident in the little piece of paper that deemed me a Competent Driver, I hit the road, radio blasting away, distracted by passengers, occasionally disregarding the speed limit. Gone was the Learner-Driver, rabbit staring into the distance, hands gripped tightly on the wheel. I can see now why insurance is at such a high premium for new drivers. I am very fortunate to have not been involved in any serious accidents, although I had many, many near misses, and heaven knows how many accidents I may have caused by mistakes and inexperience. But the bottom line is, I still have a lot to learn, and my “P” plates must remain on for some time. And now I am starting to understand why I was taught the things my driving instructor told me to do.

Since passing my test I can now do things that I wasn’t permitted to do when I was learning, such as driving on the motorway. The same goes for weight maintenance after reaching target. I can eat whatever I want, there are no real restrictions. However, as with motorway driving, it is sorely tempting to go hurtling along in the fast lane and break the speed limit. And in doing that you risk incurring a speedjng ticket. More by luck than judgement, I have never received a speeding ticket, however I have accrued the odd “feeding ticket”, and for “going over the limit” it cost me a few “pounds”. The thing is, if you get caught speeding too many times, you may end up losing your licence. The same goes for ‘feeding’, although what you lose is arguably worse, certainly for your health. So, for me, I need to learn how to drive safely and work out how to control my urge to put my foot on the pedal with a reckless cry of “what the heck”. These speed cameras are getting sneakier…

Wish me luck….

The Island - explained....

After writing and then re-reading my last blog post about my allegorical foray onto “The island” I wondered if my account had been perhaps a little too metaphorical. So I’ve decided to write another post which chronicles the “nitty gritty” of my first few weeks learning to deal with the Maintenance side of my weight loss. After all, if I’m to keep this weight off permanently, I need to dedicate as much effort and energy in maintaining as I did in losing. Otherwise, what would be the point of all the hard work over the past year? There are endless resources to be found about how to get the weight off but the information and advice about how to keep it off are far more scant. This is a real pity as it is well documented that the majority of slimmers regain the wright back and then add some to it in a relatively short time. I know, I’ve done it myself, too many times to count. If I had kept off all the weight that I had lost in previous attempts, well, firstly, I wouldn’t have had to have been battling to shift it over recent years but, furthermore, I would probably be in negative weight by now!!! But it’s no use crying over spilt milk (who am I kidding? The milk was never spilt, it was turned into a large tub of ice cream which followed a large pizza that I guzzled in a matter of minutes!), and what is done is done. The past cannot be changed BUT it can be learned from and I hope that the lessons I have picked up over the numerous attempts will stand me in good steads for the future. Despite the lack of info about Maintenance, I did recently read an article about some health research that I found very encouraging. It said that a study had proved that if people managed to lose weight and that they had lost and keep it off for a full year, they stood a very good chance of keeping it off for life. Now I won’t go into “the science bit”, mainly because I’m no boffin myself, but the crux of the matter is that, in a year, a chemical/hormonal change can take place in your brain which alters the part that controls craving, and you no longer crave the unhealthy food that led you to gain weight in the first place. I do hope that is true.

Of course the majority of stuff that you read about maintenance gives the chance of keeping the weight off for life a pretty bad press. And it is very hard not to listen to that, and give it credence that I don’t think it deserves. Yes, it is true. an awful lot of people do regain the weight, and then some. But then, an awful lot of people see “the diet” as just a temporary state that gets a desired result before the dieter goes back to old habits. I am starting to understand a very difficult and, quite bitter, truth. That I will never be able to go back to my old ways ever again. As the mantra says “if you eat what you always ate, then you will weight what you always weighed”. And I really don’t want to go back there. I want to stay on my Paradise island. But that means accepting that I will never be able to enjoy some of the home comforts of my “old life”, as these do not fit well with the ecology and lifestyle enjoyed by the islanders. Instead I must learn to appreciate and value the things that my old life did not offer me. In my case, it is the health, vitality and freedom I feel. Plus, of course, the ability to fit into, and look better in nicer clothes. Recently, my doctor was able to take me off one of the multiple hypertension pills I had been prescribed, because my weight loss had caused a very positive shift in my blood pressure levels. Right now, that feels a lot better than biting into a burger or scoffing a sundae….
I say “right now” because I am also very mindful of the fact that I am at the “novelty” stage of reaching my weight loss target. It has only been a matter of weeks since I reached that magical number. The compliments are still coming in; I still get incredulous when I catch my reflection in the mirror; it’s still a buzz to stand on the scales and see a number half of that which I started on. But, one day, this will just become “normality”. The compliments will dry up, I will become accustomed to my “new” reflection. I don’t know how soon this will be, after all I have spent around 30 years feeling otherwise, but there is no doubt that, at some point, my life on the Island will become routine and I will be craving a new novelty.  And that is where the danger begins. I may well succumb to complacency and expose myself to the risks that I have taken for granted “just for thrills”, in order to get back that buzz again. And, as any obese, or formerly obese person will tell you, one of the quickest and easiest ways to get a “buzz” or to fill an emotional gap is to eat!! Losing control of my eating habits would be like walking mindlessly around the jungle, and falling into a pit of sinking sand.

 I am starting to realise just how many sinking sands pits there are on my island, and how important it is to be vigilant where I step. For those who didn’t get my “diamond mine” metaphor in my last post, let me spell it out. It’s sweets and chocolates. Tempting but ultimately dangerous. Since reaching target, and not wanting to lose any more weight, I’ve had to increase my calorie intake. Strangely enough, this was harder than I thought it would be. I am still, in many ways, in the “dieting” mind-set, and simply cannot eat the quantities that I used to. My stomach has shrunk, it won’t, for now, let me take in much more food. So, at the end of the day, I have found myself with a number of calories to “use up”. “Why not?” I then thought, “treat yourself to a few sweeties, ice cream or chocolate, just enough to make up the extra calories? After all, you deserve it, you’ve earned them”. Seems pretty harmless, doesn’t it? Especially if you stick to your calorie allowance. If only it were that easy….

What I had overlooked, and forgotten completely, is that sugar can be addictive. It is like any other drug, driven by compulsion and the cravings are rarely satiated. Whilst I was in “full diet mode” and abstaining from sugar completely it wasn’t a problem. But once I let that sweetie goodness pass my lips again, something sparked off in my brain saying”ooh, this is good…I like it…I must have some more”. I have found that having “just one chocolate” is actually very, very difficult and actually triggers a craving to have more and more. I have been told it is because sugar stimulates the “reward centre” in our brain, it makes us feel good, so, naturally the brain tells us to have more of it to sustain that “feel good factor”. What the brain neglects to tell us is all the other negative aspects of sugar consumption- weight gain, energy slumps, headaches, diabetes. But at that moment, all you want is the dirty little high you get from sugar.

I am ashamed to say that there have been a couple of occasions when I have given in to the sugar binge, and scoffed an entire bag of pick and mix in a moment of madness. Even when, halfway through the bag I started to feel a bit sick, I persisted. This just illustrates the powerful compulsive urge that confectionery and chocolate can promote in me. Sugar is, without doubt, my Achilles Heel. I would, indubitably, be better off cutting it out of my life altogether. But I like it…..

It is now occurring to me, that this weight loss and maintenance business truly may well be a battle for life. Even after weight loss, there is no “magic pill” that helps you to stay slim for the remainder of your days. I am starting to see just how close the demons that led me to obesity are sitting on my heels, just waiting for me to drop my guard. I am beginning to resign myself that I will probably always be looking over my shoulder, and trying to stay on the straight and narrow path.

I have written before about how I feel my father’s alcoholism influenced my choices in my formative years. I certainly seem to have picked up the “addictive gene” if it exists, or, at least, learned the behaviours common to an addict. I am an addict myself, currently in recovery, but still just a bag of pick and mix away from the slippery slope all the way down to regression. Many years ago, in trying to understand and cope with my father’s behaviour I attended Al-Anon groups who offer support to families of alcoholics. It was here that I learned the belief that “alcoholism is a disease” from which there is no cure, only a period of recovery. I believe that this applies to all forms of addiction and compulsion, including those which lead to weight issues. Therefore I cannot expect to be “cured” of my overeating issues, I just need to learn to how to deal with them. Sometimes it makes me bitter. How come there are people out there who eat sweets and burgers all the time yet never gain weight? Why can’t I be one of them? The truth is, I probably can’t. I never was before, so I’m unlikely to have miraculously changed now. This is just my cross to bear, my disease. I crave bad foods and they make me fat. So the only way to avoid being fat is to fight and resist the cravings. It’s a very tough truth but a very necessary one.

I try to look at it this way, why should I have it all my way? Nobody else does. There are people out there who suffer from life-threatening allergies to foods or substances. I bet each and every one of them would give their eye teeth to be able to consume or use the thing that would, essentially, kill them. Peanut allergy sufferers must sometimes crave a slice of toast smothered in SunPat; those with dairy intolerance would probably murder for a large slab of stilton. But the risks are just not worth it. Admittedly, delving into a bag of white chocolate mice won’t send me into anaphylactic shock but a continued habit would ultimate kill me, with a very slow and debilitating death by obesity. And I want to live as long as I can.
I would love to eat mindlessly but the cold, hard fact remains that I can’t. And I have to accept this. I must learn to get into the habit of telling myself “it’s not worth it” when I start to crave the chocolate.

I’m sure I’ll have slips, I already have, but, perhaps if I keep trying it will come easier with practice. That Devil on My Shoulder may never completely go away but I’m slowly working out ways of ignoring him.

One of the tools I have been using is the “MyFitmessPal” app, which logs all the calories that I consume and expend on a daily basis. I find this really useful as it helps me plan to stay within a specific calorie target. I’m currently working my way up through weekly calorie goals to see how much my body can “tolerate” before I start to gain weight again. The problem with weight maintenance is that it is not an exact science, we all metabolise our food at different rates, according to our activity levels, genetic makeup and other varying factors which I don’t even try to understand. There are plenty of guidelines out there that suggest what your daily average calorie intake should be, according to your current weight and exercise levels, but the bottom line is that you really have to adopt a bit of a “suck it and see” attitude to find out what suits you as an individual. Currently I’m taking in between 1800 and 2000 calories a day, and my weight has remained stable. But I am aware that it is early days and my body is still getting used to the extra food I’ve started taking in again. Something tells me that it is going to take a while before I get things right, and, even then, I’m probably going to have to watch what I eat, to some degree, for the rest of my life. That is a daunting thought but I know now that the benefits are worth it. Since I came away from the strict regimen of the Cambridge Diet, where products were provided and specific food types in weighed amounts were only permitted, I feel like somebody has taken the stabilisers off my bike. I’m wobbling all over the place, occasionally falling over and having to pick myself up, dust myself off and “get back on the bike”. My son is actually currently learning to ride his bicycle, and it’s not coming easy to him. Every time he loses control or falls, I have to gently assure him that mistakes and slip-ups are an inevitable part of learning and it is paramount that he is not disheartened and gives up altogether. Throwing a hissy fit and launching the bike into a nearby hedge, claiming that you never wanted to learn to ride anyway, will only result in you being the only one missing out when your friends go on a bike ride. I need to coach myself similarly…

The only thing with using calorie counting apps or any similar approach is that you still have to be brutally honest with yourself, otherwise it renders the whole exercise obsolete. It’s no point “forgetting” to log that extra cupcake you consumed because when the weight inevitably piles on, you have no way of understanding how it happened. Brutal Honesty is the ultimate tool needed to improve ourselves and grow. Nobody wants to admit being a failure, but none of us are perfect, and the only way we truly learn is through our mistakes. I’ve made a few mistakes, but by Facing The Music, and admitting to them (and in my case, logging the calories), I’ve given myself the opportunity to rectify my errors. In my case, it has meant that I’ve had to deduct the calories from my “daily allowance” another day, and steel myself to compensate for my misdemeanors, but, it’s true, you can’t have your (cup) cake and eat it. You gotta pay….

Another weapon I keep in my arsenal against the Battle of the Bulge is exercise. I really have discovered a love of getting out and moving, and am probably verging on the edge of addiction to Zumba, but at least it’s an obsession that pays healthy dividends. I’ve also taken up running, and been working on the Couch to 5K. In fact, I inadvertently started myself a little running club!! Whilst my son was playing rugby on a Sunday morning, instead of shivering pitch-side for two hours in the wind and rain, I decided that I could put the time to better use by starting to get active. So, just like Forrest Gump, “I just ran”. And like Mr Gump, “I got company”. Some of the other Rugby Mums started to join me, and, even though the rugby season is over, we still meet up once or twice a week to run together. That is very motivating. A few weeks ago my daughter and I did the 5K Race For Life in aid of Cancer Research. Now that was a buzz! I’m thrilled to say that, unlike when I did it many moons ago as an overweight individual, I didn’t just walk the course. I ran in intervals for half of it. In fact, for the last 200 yards to the Finish Line, I actually sprinted! That was worth it for the look of incredulity and abject pride I saw on my husband’s face as I sped past him, a flash of pink, glowing with achievement. I think I now actually have the running bug. In a couple of weeks, my daughter, one of the Rugby Mums and I are doing the “Run or Dye” event, a 5k walk/jog/run in which they throw coloured dye into the air at every 1km marker, so that you emerge at the end, sweat-streaked and covered in rainbow splashes, much like a participant of the Indian Holi Festival. After that, in another ten weeks, more Rugby Mums and I are doing the “Shine Half Marathon Night Walk! … then there’s the Moonwalk next May….

These little events, I feel, will help to keep me motivated. It is something I never could have done when I weighed 24 stone, and I am so thrilled I can do them now. I have a whole list of things I’d like to do now that I’m slim and light enough to do it.
I do hope that this will be incentive enough to keep me on the “straight and narrow” so that this weight loss stays off for life. I know it won’t be easy, I never start my zumba classes or running sessions saying “oh goody, time to beast myself” but I always end them feeling fabulous. So I also know it will be worth it. This journey is by no means over….wish me luck.

Living On An Island....

Over the past year, since I’ve been blogging about my weight loss, I’ve used the metaphor for my “journey” of rowing a little boat across sometimes stormy seas, to reach the “Paradise Island” of my goal weight.  Well, I’ve arrived, I am on the island.   And it truly is beautiful. It certainly looks like Paradise to me.  For a while, I just stood on the shore, sinking my feet into soft, silvery sands, feeling the sun on my back and surveying the beach in front of me.  There was only one problem. I couldn’t spend the rest of my life stood on a beach, listening to the waves lap on the shore, much as I would love to. I needed to find a home, make a life and survive here. And right then, I did not know what lay beyond the forest of fringed palm trees that begin where the sands end.  Whilst I was rowing, the island was just a “place to get to”. I didn’t really care what was there, I just wanted to reach dry land so I could stop rowing. I didn’t even really consider what I would find once I arrived….. And so, as one adventure comes to a close, another adventure begins. This one is called Weight Maintenance. To drag us back to reality for a second, a couple of weeks ago I reached Target on my weight loss. In total, over slightly more than 12 months, I have lost 170lbs. It is now official, I weigh a little bit less than the sum amount of weigh that I have lost. I still find that thought pretty astounding and every so often catch myself telling myself “Wow! 12 stone!!” I have decided to stop trying to lose any more now, even though I have fallen short of a “Normal” BMI by 5 pounds. Officially I am still “Overweight” but my family, friends, colleagues and the mirror tell me otherwise. It would be so easy to get hung up on attaining that elusive “Normal” accolade, but I have decided to sit where I am now and see how it goes. After all, I have “halved myself” by reducing down from 24 stone to just under 12stone. As long as I can stay under the 12stone mark I think I’ll be happy.

“As long as I can stay”….now there’s a pointed remark if I ever made one. The closer I drew to my Target weight, the more mindful I have become of how much more of a challenge it will be to keep this weight off for life. After all, I’ve only been learning new habits for a year, I still have a portfolio of 30+ years of bad habits that could easily slip back if I allow them. I’ve been here before, a classic yo-yo dieter, on a roller coaster of successes and failures. How am I going to keep on the straight and narrow this time? The short answer is “I don’t know”. I have a feeling that it will be a long series of experiments, much trial and error…

So, back to the island…

As every intrepid explorer knows, there is only one way to discover what lays beyond the palm tree forest. You have to go forward and investigate. And this involves taking risks, venturing into the Great Unknown…There are positives and negatives to this. On the plus side, it can be exciting, ripe with discovery and new experiences. Plus, with all the rowing I have developed a fitness and stamina that I didn’t know that I had, I can handle a lot more surprises that are thrown at me. But on the other hand, the jungle is filled with hidden dangers – pits of sinking sand, ravenous beasties and plants that look delicious but may poison me. And I have no map, no instruction manual, no tools…Even my little rowing boat provided a place to rest and the horizon was always a place to aim for. Now I am Lost In Paradise….
So, I have been on a few fact-finding expeditions. On the first day I only ventured a small distance into a clearing in the forest…so far so good…so the next day I explored a little deeper…..and so on…

One day, on my ventures, I stumbled across a diamond mine…the gems were so sparkly and tempting that I wanted to reach out and take one. I have no need for diamonds here on the island, they bear no true value. What I really need is to find and gather food and water to sustain life…but these gems were just so shiny……So, cautiously, I reached down and plucked one. Holding it in my hand gave me a thrill, and I was relieved to discover that no harm came to me from taking it. But there is a problem with diamonds…you can’t just have the one! One looks lovely in a solitaire ring, but what about the matching necklace and earrings…? So, I took another diamond, and another…and another… 

Unfortunately what I didn’t realise was that, within the diamond mine lay a pit of sleeping, poisonous snakes. The removal of one diamond is not enough to disturb the snakes, but if you take too many, then the movement will awaken them and you run the very serious risk of getting bitten. There is no antidote here to their venom and you risk a very slow and agonising death, surrounded by the beauty you were attracted to but now regret removing… Furthermore, if you fill your pockets with too many diamonds, you have no room to store the things that you genuinely need. So perhaps I need to review just how much I actually need these gems… I have since learned that, in the local dialect, the snake bite translates as “death by chocolate….”

As I have explored, I have come to realise that I am not alone on this island, there are indigenous natives that live here. I have observed them from afar, trying to understand their ways and emulate their methods of survival. Some of these efforts have been successful, I was able to locate the best source of clean water by silently following them to the waterfall and gathering some for myself when they had departed by a safe distance. But many of their other ways confound me. I have tried to mirror their ways of hunting for food but with little success so far. It has been frustrating. Why can I not pick up a bow and arrow like them and effortlessly shoot down a bird for dinner? When I try, I seem to stumble and scare away my prey. My rudimentary weapons do not shoot straight. So, for now, I must content myself with picking up nuts and berries or nibbling on the remains that the natives leave when they have feasted on their quarry. I have pontificated over this frustration for some time and come to the conclusion that the natives, who so effortlessly survive on this island, have done so for generations. They are not strangers to this land as I am and have developed skills which they have passed down over eons. How can I expect to live like they do when I have been here for only a matter of weeks? I must have patience, learn slowly, copy the ways of the locals and maybe one day I can integrate myself with them and survival will become second nature to me. After all, we come from very different worlds, me from the land of plenty and indulgence, they from the island where they don’t do pizza delivery!!

Sometimes I miss the home comforts that I enjoyed before I was shipwrecked by my own health risks and began my journey across the empty, seemingly endless sea. As I rowed, I fantasised about the charmed life I would lead when I hit dry land. I would cavort through lush, tropical forests, with exotic flowers in my hair, like the actress in a Bounty Bar advert….I would befriend the animals who would willingly gather together in Disney-esque fashion to build me a beautiful treetop lodge where I would live out the end of my days feasting on exotic fruits. Now there are days when I would murder just to get a Wi-Fi signal!!! I miss my old life, the accessibility and speed of it, the lack of effort required to get any food I desired, the lack of effort needed to do anything, really. When, at the end of the day I am exhausted and aching from a hunting trip, feeling a little grubby and yearning for a comfy sofa, a takeaway and the box set of “Friends” I have to remind myself what I have left behind. I now breathe perfectly clean air, drink fresh water that has been untampered with. I am fitter and healthier than I have ever been from the exercise, not only from the rowing to get here, but from the hunting and gathering of food. The sun shines almost constantly, the sea is clear and warm, the surroundings are far more beautiful than the industrial wasteland I left behind.

My little rowing boat is still sitting on the shore. I could get into it again any time, and let the currents drift me back to the other, darker horizon where all is familiar and easy. But do I really want to do that?
Not really. It’s going to take a while but I’m going to make this island my home. I’ve been saved from the seas and granted a new life. It will require hard work and there will be days when I wish I had never set foot here, but I’m determined to do this. Wish me luck….

I Did It!!!!

This week, for me, has been an utter whirl of anniversaries and accomplishments, and I still feel as if I’m floating on a cloud. Here’s hoping I don’t fall off too soon. As mentioned in my previous blog, May 14th was the one year anniversary of my initial meeting with my Cambridge Weight Plan consultant. And what a year it has been!! After last week’s horrible and unexpected gain of four pounds, which took me nine pounds away from my ultimate goal of losing 12 stone in exactly 12 months, and essentially “halving myself” in a year.  The gain was very disappointing, but I didn’t let it deter me. I stuck religiously to my 1200 calories a day plan, and kept up with the exercise. It was incredibly tempting all week to drop the calorie intake and hit the exercise even harder, in the hope that those pesky nine pounds would magically melt away. Instead I gave myself a thorough talking to and reconciled that “what will be, will be”. Numbers shouldn’t matter that much, it’s how you feel that counts…. Of course, that’s what I told myself…but it don’t stop me hopping on and off the scale several times a day and counting my calories to obsessional level….. The fated day arrived… Things didn’t go quite to plan. I had to change the time of my appointment due to a misunderstanding over the start time of my son’s new swimming class, but my consultant was able to accommodate. So, come High Noon, heart in my throat, I found myself knocking on a door that had become so familiar over the past 12 months.  My consultant greeted me with her customary light bulb smile and I presented her with an orchid, in Cambridge colours naturally, to commemorate “our anniversary”. My consultant blushed and immediately apologised. My change of schedule had ruined her plans, she had arranged for a florist delivery for me at her home to surpirsie me with, while our original appointment was ongoing. Oh well, that she would drop them over later. That would be something nice to look forward to. (and they were worth waiting for, a stunning bunch in shades of my favourite colour purple!). W e moved upstairs to her office and I sat down in the chair which, just a year ago, I could barely squeeze into. After a few formalities, it was time…to step on those scales. Now, as I have already said, I had been obsessively scale-hopping all week, however, the results had fluctuated all over the place, and, also I knew that my scales and my consultants (the ones that mattered..) rarely agreed with one another. All I did know was that I had definitely lost something… So, as I had done 42 times before, I stepped cautiously on to the scales, waited for the beep. The beep came…there was silence, for what seemed like an eternity. Then my consultant spoke…. “YOU’VE DONE IT…NINE POUNDS OFF!!! …YOU WEIGH 12 STONES EXACTLY!!” No way….No fricking way….really????? What black magic was this?  Actually, what white magic was this?  Had the Weight Loss Fairy taken pity on me and paid me a visit? Whatever it was, I was jubilant, there were tears in my eyes. There were hugs dished out. My consultant was delighted, but not in the least bit surprised. “I had a feeling you’d do it” she said, as she handed me the “12 Stone” rosette that she had concealed on her desk just in case the result hadn’t been quite so good. So there I was, I had achieved the goal I had wanted so badly, on the very day that I really, really wanted it to happen. And just after I had finally resigned myself to the fact that it didn’t really matter. Isn’t it funny how sometimes the thing that you have been desperate to attain for a long time finally appears after you have stopped stressing about getting it? Is it possible to want something too much? Is the key in this the acceptance of your current circumstances? I have heard many times of this phenomenon, especially in the stories of couples who have been trying for a baby for many, many years with no success who eventually reconcile themselves to the fact that it may not happen, only to discover, soon after, that they are blessed with a pregnancy.  Now I’m not trying to belittle the heartache of childlessness by comparing it to the tribulations of trying to shift unwanted pounds, but I think that the principle still stands in any scenario where we maybe want something too much….  Do we give off  “Desperation Pheromones” that somehow hamper our progress and prevent success?  With anything that you want so badly, I agree that determination and persistence are key, but I am coming to realise that, before that, we must undergo a process of Acceptance. When, many years ago, I was trying to come to terms with the effects of my father’s alcoholism I joined the Al-Anon support group who work in association with Alcoholics Anonymous to support the families and friends of alcoholics. Both groups subscribe to the Twelve Step programme, the keystone of which is Acceptance. This means admitting that you are powerless over alcohol / the alcoholic (or any substance or behaviour of abuse), and allowing yourself to feel and reconcile yourself with the negativity that these things have caused you. It’s not an easy process, it involves working THROUGH the pain that you have probably avoided for many years, allowing it to wash over you and weathering the storm. If you can do this successfully, you will learn that all storms do pass and you will emerge stronger for having survived. For me, in my weight loss journey, it involved looking at myself long and hard in the mirror and no longer the denying the undeniable facts. I was FAT, I was UNHEALTHY, I was UNHAPPY with my size. My weight RESTRICTED me, it PREVENTED me from doing so much. I was AFRAID of doing anything about it. The day that I gave in to those feelings was a very dark one, but it was also one of the best choices I made. It took COURAGE, it took DETERMINATION, but, hell, it was WORTH IT.

I now understand, completely, why Acceptance is so important in the process of self-growth.  It is the ploughing of the field before new seeds are planted. It is the clearing of the weeds so that healthy plants can grow and flourish. But, as I’m sure any farmer will tell you, the ploughing is one of the toughest and most laborious tasks in the farming calendar. But the most necessary…

So here I am now, just a few pounds away from my target. I have decided to call it a day on my weight loss when I reach “eleven stone anything” and then work towards the more challenging task of maintenance. 

For 12 months now, I have rowed long and hard in my little boat across vast and seemingly horizon-less seas. Sometimes the oceans have been treacherous, other times it has been plain sailing. 

A few weeks ago, I cried “land ahoy”, and now I have moored my little boat in shallow waters and am wading knee-deep in crystal waters towards the idyllic silvery beach of my Paradise Island…the land of Slimness!!! 

Oh, how I’ve dreamed of this moment, when I finally step onto dry land and sink my toes into the warm sands. 

The only problem is, that my dream always ended there, when I reached my destination. 

I have been so focused, for so long, on “the journey” that I haven’t given any thought as to what I will do when I actually arrive. From a distance, the Island looked beautiful and inviting, shimmering like a prize jewel from afar, but now I am here I am filled with trepidation. 

What awaits me beyond the sandy shores? 

Is my island populated by blood thirsty cannibals waiting to devour me when I step into their forest lair? 

Do hungry beasties lurk in bone-strewn caves? 

Will there be fresh water and enough food to sustain a permanent life there? 

Or will I run screaming back to my boat, rowing like crazy to escape what once seemed like Utopia? 

These are questions that can’t be answered right now, but to turn away at this stage would be folly. Once I arrive on the shore, I may allow myself a small time to fall dramatically to the floor, sprawling like an exhausted Robinson Crusoe. But then, I must pick myself and muster up yet again the courage and determination that drove me to row across the uncharted waters. There may well be cannibals and beasties, but if I was strong enough to master the oceans then I know that I have the strength to overcome these hurdles too.

Wish me luck……