Another glorious holiday... I declined a few invitations to the usual barbeques and such today. Sitting there watching people drink massive amount of alcohol and eat food that I long for doesn't really appeal to me anymore. My husband and the kids decided to stay at home with me. Not in the mood for the typical Fourth of July fare, the hubby asked that I make something different, so I made them oven fried ranch chicken, chicken fettuccine noodley side dish, and mixed veg. It looked delicious. There's also a homemade chocolate Heath bar pie in the fridge for desert. I made myself a half of a slice of leftover soft meatloaf and ate a few of the carrots out of the mixed veg. I have white chocolate sugar-free pudding in the fridge for later. I could go on and on about wishing I had some chargrilled hamburgers or hotdogs, but there's no sense dwelling on it.
Two years ago at 7pm on July 4th, I would have been on someone's couch or porch, in quite the food coma after eating at least 2 cheeseburgers and possibly a hotdog (they looked so good I just HAD to taste one) and quite a few helpings of mac and cheese, sipping on some Captain and Diet Coke, watching the kids be moody and emo. I'd be contemplating the 4th refill of my drink and deciding how I was going to have a piece of cake, a brownie, and a slice of pie without anyone realizing how much I was eating. I would be planning and strategizing, asking one of the kids to just get two pieces of cake when they got their dessert and just bring me the extra one.
Two years ago at 7pm on July 4th, I would have been around 400 lbs and sweating like mad because I wasn't comfortable in summer clothes, so I would wear jeans and a t-shirt and an overshirt to hide my rolls of fat. I was convinced that that 4x button-down, unbuttoned, made me magically appear slimmer. There was no way I'd even wear shorts around the house, let alone outside with all these people. I felt that the more clothes I had on, the less absolutely HUGE I must appear. Nevermind the fact that I needed to carry around papertowels stuffed in my pockets to wipe the sweat off of my face constantly, nevermind the fact that I was pretty much beet-red all summer.
Two years ago at 7pm on July 4th, I would have been on the lookout for the sturdiest piece of furniture at the party. I was always in fear that the flimsy plastic lawn furniture would break. I was afraid of the cheap metal folding chairs collapsing under my weight. I was leery about sitting on the ground because it would take 5 minutes and several embarrassing struggling noises to haul myself back to a standing position. God forbid I had to sit on the pavement, then I knew there would be a very large ass-print of sweat when I finally got back up.
I've been through quite a lot in the past two years. I can no longer celebrate Independence Day like I used to. I'm still not healthy enough to BE independent. My husband still takes care of me when I'm feeling sick, or when I'm having a bad day with food, or when the pain just refuses to stop. I'm still quite self conscious about how I look and how I eat around people. But looking back on it all makes me realize that I was much more miserable than I thought... than I ever would have admitted, even to myself. I still struggle with holidays, they're just different struggles.
Holidays mean a little more to me now. I have lived to see another holiday. That, in itself, is something. I'll be able to watch fireworks from my living room window tonight. Some of the neighbors always set off some form of fireworks on holidays. I'll be sitting on my couch, in shorts, eating my quarter cup of sugar-free pudding and smiling at the kids' constant teenage indifference. At least that never changes.
Two years ago at 7pm on July 4th, I would have been on someone's couch or porch, in quite the food coma after eating at least 2 cheeseburgers and possibly a hotdog (they looked so good I just HAD to taste one) and quite a few helpings of mac and cheese, sipping on some Captain and Diet Coke, watching the kids be moody and emo. I'd be contemplating the 4th refill of my drink and deciding how I was going to have a piece of cake, a brownie, and a slice of pie without anyone realizing how much I was eating. I would be planning and strategizing, asking one of the kids to just get two pieces of cake when they got their dessert and just bring me the extra one.
Two years ago at 7pm on July 4th, I would have been around 400 lbs and sweating like mad because I wasn't comfortable in summer clothes, so I would wear jeans and a t-shirt and an overshirt to hide my rolls of fat. I was convinced that that 4x button-down, unbuttoned, made me magically appear slimmer. There was no way I'd even wear shorts around the house, let alone outside with all these people. I felt that the more clothes I had on, the less absolutely HUGE I must appear. Nevermind the fact that I needed to carry around papertowels stuffed in my pockets to wipe the sweat off of my face constantly, nevermind the fact that I was pretty much beet-red all summer.
Two years ago at 7pm on July 4th, I would have been on the lookout for the sturdiest piece of furniture at the party. I was always in fear that the flimsy plastic lawn furniture would break. I was afraid of the cheap metal folding chairs collapsing under my weight. I was leery about sitting on the ground because it would take 5 minutes and several embarrassing struggling noises to haul myself back to a standing position. God forbid I had to sit on the pavement, then I knew there would be a very large ass-print of sweat when I finally got back up.
I've been through quite a lot in the past two years. I can no longer celebrate Independence Day like I used to. I'm still not healthy enough to BE independent. My husband still takes care of me when I'm feeling sick, or when I'm having a bad day with food, or when the pain just refuses to stop. I'm still quite self conscious about how I look and how I eat around people. But looking back on it all makes me realize that I was much more miserable than I thought... than I ever would have admitted, even to myself. I still struggle with holidays, they're just different struggles.
Holidays mean a little more to me now. I have lived to see another holiday. That, in itself, is something. I'll be able to watch fireworks from my living room window tonight. Some of the neighbors always set off some form of fireworks on holidays. I'll be sitting on my couch, in shorts, eating my quarter cup of sugar-free pudding and smiling at the kids' constant teenage indifference. At least that never changes.
No comments:
Post a Comment