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Oh my friends… having some weird times lately.  Feeling stuck, feeling overwhelmed and then feeling numb.  I realize that I have spent so much of my life in the pursuit of weight loss that I don’t know what to do with this free space in my head – so I dip my toe in the possibilities and everything comes rushing at once and I want to do it all… RIGHT NOW!  So… back to stuck again… and I run through the cycle.

So in noticing all of this lately – something else has been cropping up… some little part in my noggin’ that I thought was gone has started picking on me again… Those “After” pictures that I was so proud of 2 or 3 months ago are starting to look different to me. I am starting to criticize them and “find the fat” if you will.  It’s like this track in my brain wants to keep playing the same old song and dance and the only way it can get me to do that is to change what I see so it can keep me a prisoner of how I feel about my body.  So, now, instead of feeling proud of my “After” pictures I start to see where I could lose some more weight, where I could “tone” things up, where I need to ask the people that I’m coaching for forgiveness because I know my body isn’t “just right” so who am I to tell them how to change theirs???  Ugh, so gross.

So, now I see the cycle of the last year and everytime that asshole in my head started to pick on me and my body I would do another round of protocol… I would change my “After” picture a little bit more…  but something has changed that’s bigger than just an “After” picture…  I acknowledge that over a year ago when I was contemplating doing my first round of protocol I remember negotiating my little deal with the Universe… I remember saying “if I could JUST get there…” (with my weight) “I’ll be happy… I’ll be satisfied…”  and guess what? I’m there.. and most of the time I am happy and satisfied – but oh that asshole in my head!   I see decades… yep, I said it DECADES of wishing for a body I was NEVER going to have… Even when I was “imaginary fat” I was ALWAYS chasing 5 or 10 pounds…. 5 or 10 pounds kept me away from body satisfaction and made me a prisoner to diet and exercise…  So I see it now, truly – that even another round of protocol is not going to be the cure here…  It’s NOT about my body…

So… my solution?  No protocol.  Just maintenance. Just living. Just learning to treat my body with love and respect. Just yoga. Just sex. Just eating good food when I’m hungry.  Just celebrating life as it is.   Just being in THIS body. Right now.  To let who I want to be realize that I want to be so much more than a pant size or a number on the scale.  That I NEED to teach two amazing little girls that how much physical space they take up in this world is irrelevant to who they are and how much spiritual space they must contribute!

What a waste… what a waste… what a waste…. time to focus on things that I CAN change….

waste

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The following is a submission I received upon request from a Goodbye My Muffintop Client – she has asked to remain anonymous but I am sure that many, many of you will relate to her story.  She is such a perfect example of why a person could benefit from the hormonal re-set that our program provides!  She didn’t need to eat better or exercise better… she wasn’t doing anything wrong.  She just needed to learn how to listen to her body…   To date her pounds lost remain an unknown… but after her first round of protocol she lost an incredible 44.5 inches!

My body image issues date back literally as far back as I can remember.  Even around the age of 4 years old I have memories of being called the “chubby chicken” & compared to my “skinny minny” sister by my mother.  Now if you want some deep seeded issues, I’ve got them.  Can any of you imagine being in kindergarten and not wanting to eat your snack because you thought it would make you fat and mom would get mad for it?  These nasty little self destructive voices took up permanent residency in my brain by the time I was 7 and took up dance.  I remember being fitted for a costume and being told to suck it in because I was big enough, I need shrink room not growth room. I was NOT overweight by any means at this time but I lived in a toxic environment.  My mom and dad had divorced a year prior and my mom was essentially anorexic from the stress.  Of course, she thought she looked great and for the next 17 years we lived on this diet roller coaster with her.

My mom went through a series of rollercoaster relationships which in turn led to crazy ups and downs for us in the eating/diet department at home not to mention the emotional toll it took on me.  By 7th grade on the doorstep of puberty, I was miserable, I had gained weight (mostly due to puberty) and was constantly criticized for it by my mom, hearing things like “I guess it wasn’t just baby fat after all”.  I had even adopted the nickname “hippo” from I don’t even know where.  Entering high school I was an emotional wreck, I wanted so badly for things to get better, I found a new group of friends and tried to pick up the fragments of self-esteem I had left.  Of course as we all know, high school is a vicious place, I was tormented for being fat, which I wasn’t, but it didn’t matter those nasty little voices were in my head and had me completely convinced that I was disgusting.  It didn’t matter what kind of reassurances my friends (who were genuinely good friends) gave me, the whispers, pokes in the stomach and taunting from others just reinforced those nasty little voices in my head and amplified them.

In 9th grade I started making myself throw up so I didn’t have to go to school.  I thought if I could escape the torment, I would be able to cope.  Unfortunately, I couldn’t, it was a slippery slope for me, I saw the number on the scale going down so I continued.  I struggled with bulimia for the rest of high school, eating with my friends at lunch then the first chance I got during class, going to the washroom to purge.  I would get a high from the little bit change on the scale which pushed me further and further down the downwards spiral, leading to other forms of coping like alcohol.

On my graduation day, I met my husband to be and felt that the pressure was on more than ever before to maintain my body image so that I didn’t lose this wonderful guy.  it wasn’t until almost a year after we had started dating that I was driving home from work (with him following behind me in his car) and almost getting into a head on collision because I had not eaten in 3 days and my body was literally shutting down, that I was completely shaken.  I can barely remember any of what happened but he still reminds me of how terrified he was that he would lose me.  I spent the next 2 years overcoming my battle with bulimia but fueling it with another diet for me to fixate on.  I got pregnant and we were ecstatic, then I lost the baby because my body was struggling to keep me alive, let alone grow another life.  This broke my heart and shook me to my core.  I dug deep and started fighting for me.  Slowly, I stopped extreme dieting, started eating a little more and more until I had energy again.

A few months later, I got pregnant again and started to panic that I would lose another baby so I ate, and I mean I ATE.  Everything and anything that appealed to me, I ate.  Around the 2.5 month mark, I got what everyone told me was just morning sickness, but in my case it was terrible, I was sick all day every day, there wasn’t a meal that I ate that didn’t come back up.  The sick thing is that my brain was telling me “that’s great, you won’t gain a bunch of weight while you’re pregnant.”  It took every ounce of strength in me to do everything in my power to get food into me but I wasn’t doing it for myself, I was doing it for this helpless little life inside of me.  Getting praised by the doctors for not gaining weight would be music to most pregnant women’s ears, but for a recovering bulimic who is fighting to eat while her body is essentially forcing her to be bulimic again, it’s a nightmare.  Finally after giving birth to my son, I was able to eat again and destined to prove my body wrong, that I wasn’t still bulimic, I ate and ate and ate.  When I got pregnant again 1 year later, my new doctor figured that my “morning” sickness would be less prominent so I continued to eat whatever I wanted, looking forward to having a normal pregnancy.  WRONG, the sickness hit me again and I again went through the same battle.  After our next son was born, I gorged myself again, I was miserable every time I stepped on the scale but it didn’t matter, I was insistent on proving to myself that I was not the girl I was in high school and I was trying to set a “normal” example for my kids, not allowing diets to be present in their lives.

After my third pregnancy, I was frustrated and fed up.  I was the heaviest I had ever been in my life and was looking for something, anything to grasp at.  I started working out with a wonderful group of ladies and I felt great, I was losing a little weight and gaining confidence, which was great.  However, it became an addiction, I was there 5 days a week with all 3 kids in tow, sometimes there for 2 classes.  It became all about seeing that number on the scale go down now that I knew we were done having kids.  I thought I was setting a great healthy example for my kids.  We adopted a clean eating (for the most part) lifestyle, my kids saw me working out hard both at the gym and at home and I felt great.  Great until I stepped on the scale every time.  I spent a year busting my ass at the gym and eating predominantly clean to only watch my weight fluctuate up and down by a few pounds.  My trainers all told me that I HAD to hit my caloric goal each day or I would continue to put the weight on so I had to obsessively journal everything that I consumed.  It was tedious and I was exhausted, I knew mentally there had to be more to it than a magical number of calories but I trusted my trainers, I had seen their successes so I kept on trotting down the beaten path.  I weighed myself daily like I had done since the age of 9, had my measurements taken weekly and the scale had become my lifeline more than every before.  It was the largest key to my happiness and success.  If the scale didn’t budge or heaven forbid went up, I beat myself up mentally, measured, journaled, worked out just a little bit more.

It came to a point where I was completely and utterly done, I had injured myself at the gym, I couldn’t work out and I fell into a depression.  I just didn’t care, if I couldn’t work out, I wasn’t happy, if I wasn’t I didn’t care what we ate, if I didn’t care what we ate, we ate crap and I felt like crap.  Even more so when I stepped on the scale.

A few months ago haphazardly and only from a miscommunication in a message between Kelly and myself, we got to talking about the GBMM products and she started asking me some questions.  To say I was skeptical would be an understatement, I was completely and totally against it.  But some of Kelly’s questions/statements (some of which I can’t even remember now) got me thinking.  I started on a mission to uncover the skeletons in my closet and deal with them one by one.

What a shitty month, my poor husband lol.  One of the last demons I had to deal with was my dependance on the scale.  It had dictated more than half of my young life.  I had tried a couple of times in the past (mostly during my hardcore workout phase) to ditch the scale, I hid it under the bed but I would sneak off and weigh myself anyway.  I weighed myself on Valentine’s Day morning and let me tell you, it totally ruined my “mood” for that evening with hubby, beating myself up and thinking that if he knew the number he would be disgusted and that was the final straw.  I couldn’t, wouldn’t allow the scale to dictate my life anymore.  I was punishing more than just myself,I was punishing my husband and I’m sure many others along the way.  I vowed to myself I wouldn’t live this way anymore, I threw out the scale and haven’t looked back.  I cannot tell you how completely liberated I feel.  It really is like a big weight has been lifted off my shoulders.  It’s not easy, it’s only been just over a month and it’s a completely foreign world to me, to not get up every morning and weigh myself.  But I’m starting to finally find me for the first time in my life, setting all of the bullshit and demons aside and realizing that I’m more than just a number or how someone else perceives me.  My body is just that, my body, it doesn’t define me and neither does the scale (anymore)!

the scale

There’s this epidemic amongst women where self-depracation is practically mandatory… how often have you been sitting amongst a group of bright, brilliant, confident women and the second someone starts in on a “muffintop” everyone weighs in with a laundry list of their apparent deformities.

It’s ridiculous.

It’s offensive.

I am, by far, one of the worst perpetrators of this phenomenon.

Why do we do it? Why do we try to dim our brightness? Why do we try to make apologies for all of the things that make us great…. This isn’t humility…Humility is giving without a thought of receiving, humility is being wise without being bossy,

Humility is not showing someone how your arm fat jiggles if you wave your arms over your head! 

So…. I have made a deal with myself. I’m not going to do it anymore. I won’t. I have decided I love myself too much to try to break me down anymore…  In fact, if you decide to be self-depracating in my presence I might tell you something that I love about my body … or worse, I might make you tell me something that you love about yours. You have been warned 😉

marriannwilliamson