I figure since I keep paying for Weight Watchers, I should at least listen to Oprah’s podcasts.
So glad I did.
In one, she talked about releasing what no longer serves us. Like, gee, our weight. And maybe we struggle so much because it still serves us in some way.
She said she can hide behind it, to seem smaller in a way … shrinking from serving a greater known purpose.
Whoa. Ding ding ding!
I’m terrified of the same thing. People keep their expectations low of fat girls. So I can and do always exceed them. I like that almost as much as I like chocolate cake.
I buy really good fucking cake.
Cake serves me in that mom loves it and I love to make her happy. I love the store that sells it, and going there gets me out of the office for a half-hour a week. Eating it makes me feel happy and signals that you’ve eaten enough today, Tubbo. No more chewing after you’ve snarfed in the last chocolate chip or dollop of fudge.
But back to the weight, I use it to justify lack of the job title I want (and do think I deserve).
I fear relationships and use my size to keep from putting myself out there. I mean, I have mom to take care of. What mental resources do I have to devote to anyone else and still dote on myself from time to time, too?
I could go on. But thinking about this is helping me. I mean, do I really need what I carry around every minute of every day?
It’s more than weight. Does this car serve me? (For now.) This apartment? (God no.) The men who let me get away? (Hah.) This job? (Yes.) Etcetera.
Lots to think about. But mostly that you can’t release something until you’re ready. And sometimes life decides you’re ready before you do. I’d rather part ways with the weight on my terms. But damn, I want some cake first …