Weight Watchers, take five.

I guess it’s time to eat (hahaha!  pun intended) a little crow.  Last year I said I didn’t want to go back on Weight Watchers.  I talked about how in the past in hadn’t worked for me, at least not long term.  And yet here I am, back on Weight Watchers.

It’s familiar but different.  As before, I need to find a good leader.  I like the Saturday morning person, but I will usually have Bean and that is hard to manage even though Bean tries to be good.  There is a meeting at 6:30 a.m.  I have yet to make it to that one.  The Sunday person seems nice but doesn’t seem to have quite the sense of humor that the Saturday woman does.  And, if anything, this process is going to require a sense of humor.   There are more points and more flexibility.  And yet a number of foodstuffs have more points than they use to so I think it all comes out in the wash.

“Yes, but what changed with you?” you ask. Ugh.  So many things.  And, in the end, what didn’t change is what drove me back.  The weight is still there, figuratively and literally.  My daughter is four years old, and I am still a version of me I never wanted her to see.  I never wanted her to see me struggle with my weight.  I never wanted to infect her with this…this…what do you call it?  A disease?  A compulsion?  A mental illness?  A habit?

No child should ever know, at seven, what “Slim Fast” is.  What ten year old should be on the American Heart Association Diet?  My parents always told me I was pretty with their mouths, but watching them struggle with their health bled into my own fledgling identity. How could it not when being on and off and on these diets was the norm for my family?  So ingrained was this that even in the depths of Alzheimer’s my grandmother was concerned with her weight, refusing to eat anything but chicken breasts and grapefruit.

I do not want to model a life, for my daughter, of being consumed by what I consume.

I KNOW what do to.  I KNOW how to do it.  But doing it?  Actually doing it…the canyon between those things is so wide that I can only trust that others are right when they tell me there is another side.  It is so deep that I can only hope there is a bottom to stop me when I fall.

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