When I read Lisa’s comment to my post about the Beck books, tears welled up in my eyes. There was something about someone saying, “I did it. This worked for me,” that made me feel so hopeful, even though I don’t think I was feeling particularly hopeless. And there was a poignant feeling of “yes, I want what she has.”
Yet I am finding that one of the most difficult parts of all this is letting go of *years* of being in this battle with myself. I went on my first diet at age 11 (I just turned 41), my first Weight Watchers meeting at 12. And I can guarantee you that I was not even close to being overweight at that age. But it was what the women in my family did. My grandma, mum and aunts were all around me, constantly trying fad diets and obsessing about their weight. It seemed like the norm.
How hard it is for me to let go of that hit home during a session with my coach. She asked me what my life would be like if I didn’t worry about my weight. It seems like a simple question but it really hit me. Wow, what a luxury. I could barely conceive of it – to not have my weight even be a concern in my life. It seemed impossible, and I started choking up at even the thought of it – to have all the energy I had devoted to this battle freed up.
And then she said to me: “You don’t have to worry about your weight. You choose to.”
I wanted to protest – I even started to a little – no you don’t understand what it’s like, you’ve never been overweight… I don’t have a choice…if I stop paying attention to this it could take over – and as this script was running through my head, I realized how much I power this story had in my life. That I had to maintain constant vigilance about my weight or else. Or else what? Or else I would get fat. But, hmmm, I *am* fat. So that vigilance hasn’t been working so well, has it? I realized there was a huge amount of fear around giving up this belief that my weight will always be a struggle in my life. Who am I without it?
When we finished university, my husband and I went cycle touring around New Zealand for a few months. We lived out of our panniers and we originally packed them with everything we considered essential for our trip. But when we got to New Zealand and met up with the very hilly landscape, what was essential suddenly changed. I remember being halfway up a hill, legs spent and lungs burning. I stopped and opened my pannier and started rifling through, looking for things I could get rid of to lighten my load. I have a vivid memory of taking out my butane curling iron with 2 butane refills (I am not kidding) and wondering what the hell I was thinking when I packed it. Back on the flat prairie when we were prepping for the trip, the butane curler seemed light and small and hardly a concern. I had taken it on many trips before without a problem. And having it along appealed to my girly-girl side. My hair is so straight, and I couldn’t imagine not being able to curl it. But on that arduous climb, I realized that I had filled my pannier with things that really weren’t going to serve me on this journey, and that my trip would be lighter, easier and more enjoyable if I let them go. So I did, and it was.
I think I’m stopped on another hill right now, and I have to decide what I am willing to let go. I know what I want to say “yes!” to, but what am I willing to say “no” to?
2 Comments
August 19, 2007 at 2:57 pm
This is very interesting Lianne. We’re all probably packing a lot more than we need.
August 20, 2007 at 4:24 pm
[...] bad, and when you yourself can be the obstacle. Lianne has some good points about this today – to bend her metaphor to mine, what she carries or has carried has created her obstacles. To be [...]