Emotional eating and drinking are the reason I look the way I do and there's no getting around that truth. While I've always been overweight, the only childhood trauma responsible for that state is being raised by a single mother who, like so many others, didn't make healthy choices or instill any healthy behaviors in me regarding eating and exercise. However, by the time I became the independent woman I so proudly claim to be, my unhealthy behaviors were all my own. And the reason I made/still make those choices is something I have to own as well.
The truth is when something goes left in my life, concern for my physical well-being is the first thing to get tossed out the window. "Who has time to cook healthy meals and work out when your work staff is dwindling in direct correlation to your increased performance goals? And as a matter of fact, I'm pretty pissed about that so let me go ahead and grab a bottle of wine on my way home to sulk while I'm at it. And if I'm having wine, why bother counting out 4 ounces of grilled shrimp to eat in a corn tortilla? I'm already fucking up, let's fuck the whole thing up with fried baby shrimp and yellow rice from the Chinese spot down the block. You deserve this meal for all the shitty shit happening to you."
That's pretty much how my mind works and I'll continue that behavior off and on for a few days or weeks, depending on how shitty shit is, until I remember I only have X weeks until whatever milestone I want to "look good" for and I convince myself I've got to do better -- sooner rather than later. And while that statement is true, it's clearly never been enough to stop me from sabotaging my goals, which is why I had to start telling myself a different truth.
I believe it was a couple of weeks ago when I was teetering the line between "You're already comfy at home, why bother going into the city for a workout?" and "In the midst of all this bullshit that you can't do anything about, your weight is the one thing you actually can control" that the real truth slapped me in the face.
I'll be the first -- or second if you happen to come across someone who's not a fan of me first -- to tell you I need to be in control in pretty much any situation I'm in, which is why it makes absolutely no sense that I wouldn't take advantage of the agency I have over the health of my own body. I can't make my company give me a bigger staff; I can't make my landlord let me live rent free so I can save more money; I can't make New York stop being dirty, crowded, and annoying; I can't make men stop getting on my nerves; I can't force my friends to listen to me whine about my first world problems every day. I can make a choice to workout because it actually feels better in the short- and long-term than a few cocktails. I can choose to eat well because, if everything else if fucked up why add not liking my body and having to buy bigger clothes I can't afford to the list? I can choose to take care of my health because it's one of the things on my long list of goals that actually pays off pretty instantly and has tangible milestones of progress on a weekly basis.
What those options tell me is that that "everything is so fucked up" statement I love to throw around just isn't true unless I make it so by forfeiting the ability I have to unfuck up my body and even my mind by working out and eating well. Sometimes that choice makes me an even bigger liar and I find myself motivated to do something about those other aspects of my life I swore were out of my control as well simply because I took the reigns in this one area and succeeded. It's a trickle down effect, but in the right direction. Funny how that works.