Somewhere down the road, I stopped writing. I didn’t write down my food, I didn’t write down my ideas, and then low and behold, I was back at square one.
Jeans got tighter, well written blogs went unpublished, I lost myself trying to get other, ‘more important’ things done. I went stale. I’ve not used them enough, so my writing’s gone off and my weight’s gone up.
And so, with a heavy heart I went crawling back to my weekly meeting with my tail between my legs. I wore the lightest thing possible and shunned all jewellery in a desperate bid to retain some pride, which was stupid because I then looked ridiculous standing in a school hall in the middle of January, freezing to death because I was wearing nothing but leggings and a vest. Even so, I sucked it up, or in, and gingerly stepped on the scales. For the first time in a year and a half, I was out of my gold range.
The nice thing about going back to weight watchers is that everyone is so understanding and supportive. No one looks at you and goes, “Oh you stupid woman, have you no self control?” We are all in it together. You don’t have that when you write. There’s no one standing over your shoulder saying, “You should publish that, no don’t just save it and ‘come back to it later’ because you never will.”
So I’m adopting healthy body healthy paper, or something to that effect. I work on one, the other seems to improve as well, but I have to keep it up if I want to get better. I can’t go off the rails and worry about it later. I have to acknowledge when things have gone awry and work to improve them, to make sure I don’t go off again.
I’m baking a fresh batch, I’m starting anew, turning a new leaf so the weight’s off my shoulders (and now my thighs,thankfully). I’m back in my gold range and I am publishing again. It’s funny how writing and weight loss work together to form one giant stress bomb which leaves me running for the emergency chocolate.