It's after four o'clock in the morning and I'm wide awake. You'd think something profound would be on my mind, or that I was plagued with a bad stomach ache or some sort of miserable something that was preventing me from sleeping. I'm feeling ok-ish...I do have a bit of acid reflux, but it's nothing abnormal these days. No, I'm just awake. And since I'm awake, my mind wanders. And then It starts to play tricks on itself. And then I start to think of things that are absolutely untrue (but are based on some semblance of reality).
Being pregnant makes me feel crazy sometimes. I know it's nothing new and that most women feel that their losing their minds at some point in the process (right?), so I don't pretend to have stumbled upon a new idea here. What I didn't realize was just how "not myself" pregnancy would make me feel. There are certain things, certain convictions, certain choices I made a long time ago about myself, my body, my health that slowly seem to be being laid by the wayside for some reason, like my brain doesn't care what I've chosen before--it's going to take over and reverse all the good I've done for so long. Being healthy, living healthy, are things that have been an integral part of my life for several years now, so much so that it was simply a lifestyle for me. It wasn't a battle--it just was life for me. Making good choices and balancing my nutrient intake was not a problem (most of the time, at least). Sure, I'd have the occasional splurge, but that's just it: it was a splurge.
Today, I splurged. But it's more than that. I mean, I ate crap. Twice. The only veggie I had today was a pathetic little tomato on my burger for dinner. I didn't even have a scrap of fruit. And... I had two servings of french fries today (over the course of two meals, but still...). And you know what? It all tasted great. I didn't regret it after I ate it at first--it felt fine, like "ok, big deal--it's just one day out of life." Sometimes I feel like I need to give myself a break and just eat what sounds good and enjoy the process of being pregnant, not having to worry about every last calorie that passes over my lips. And yet tonight? Now all I can think about is how guilty I feel. How unattractive I suddenly am convinced that I am. How I'm gaining too much weight. How making once in awhile "exceptions" to the way that I typically live adds up, and I'm worried that the consequences will toy with my self-worth.
Awhile ago, Joey and I spoke very candidly about our big life struggles, the things that make us stumble, and how we are working toward wholeness every day. Our battles are very different and for the most part, I think we could have easily told ourselves that they are unrelated. The thing is, they are interdependent. What he struggles with is related to what I struggle with. Our struggles, unchecked, will feed the others' struggle and perhaps even make it worse.
While Joey's struggle is very typical of many men (perhaps even most men), I struggle with something common to women, perhaps even most women. Insecurity, self-image, weight--you know the toxic combination. The bottom line is that so often I don't feel "ok" with who I am. It all goes back to when I was in 5th grade and my mom took me down to our church where they had one of those huge clunky scales like they have in the doctor's office. When I stepped on, she said, "115. Alright, now if you can just stay here, you'll be ok." Ever since then, 115 has been that elusive dream that would mark me as "ok." I wasn't aware of my body or my weight before that point, but have been hyper-aware of it ever since.
It wasn't until I was about 22 that I started making the choice to be healthy, to not worry about my weight while hiding and eating my emotions. Instead, I learned about nutrition, about exercise, about making a lifestyle change, and I had success. I became disciplined and enjoyed the pay off of my efforts. It became so natural to me that it was like breathing. Weight wasn't an issue for me anymore. But I still struggled with insecurity, with feeling like I wasn't "ok" because despite the fact that I was fit, I never hit that coveted 115 mark again.
And now pregnancy is putting me out of control of my ever-expanding waistline. There is nothing I can do to prevent getting bigger. Nothing. And I wouldn't want to not gain weight--hello, I'm not crazy; I know that a woman must gain weight (at least a little) to have a baby. But, well, I don't like gaining weight. I don't like the way it makes me feel. To complicate things more, I don't like the way I feel after giving in to one of my cravings (even though multiple people have assured me that once in awhile is not a big deal...). I know that, in theory. But it's like my mind is split on this: on the one hand, I know I'll be ok, that even if I do get a little chubby during pregnancy, I will be able to lose the weight after the baby is born. On the other hand, I'm afraid to get chubby in the first place. I want to be one of those women who doesn't look pregnant, who doesn't gain anything "extra," and yet, my behavior doesn't always match that. It's like I have a split personality.
So back to where this fits in with Joey's struggle. I learned that our struggles really are fairly similar. It's about lust, in a way. About being drawn to something that we intuitively know is not good for us, a weakness that can take over if we give it an inch. Just like he would naturally want to hide it from me if he "fell" and looked at some image he knew wasn't good for him to look at, I want to hide it from him when I stumble and have a burger & fries. I'm afraid he'll judge me, make me think I'm unattractive, and basically be disgusted with me and surprised by my behavior, like he'd wonder "who is this person--you're not who I married."
And yet, in those moments when he's tempted or has had a close call, he does tell me. Sometimes it takes him a little bit of time, but he still tells me because it's important to him not to hide it from me. No, he doesn't seek the stuff out, but sometimes there are things that pop up on the computer and his eyes linger a little longer than they should. But do I tell him when I stumble? Sometimes. Most of the time I don't because I don't equate food with lust. To me, food is just food, and having something not all that healthy is ok once in awhile, whereas lingering eyes on another female form is never ok, so to speak.
So what do I do with this? I'm not sure. I'm sitting here at (now) 4:30 am pondering this while all I want to do is drown my sorrows in a box of cookies and a glass of milk. And there's a part of me that thinks "Who cares? It's just a cookie. It won't hurt you." And then there's another part of me that knows that I won't feel any better after having eaten the cookies. Not even if it's just one.
Here's the thing that's getting me down tonight: if I'm comfortable enough to spill my guts out to the world at large, I should be comfortable enough to let my own husband know about it, shouldn't I? One would think. And yet being vulnerable with him about stuff like this is harder than writing about it here because he's really the one whose opinion I care about most. And yet, isn't he also the one whose love for me is most secure? He's the one who thinks I'm beautiful, the one who chose me, who is proud of who I am...and he's the one whose disappointment would be the hardest to handle (which is why it's so difficult...).
So I guess what I do is start fresh in the morning, choosing to make the wise choices (including telling my husband about how I'm feeling) and not beat myself up about not reaching that level of perfection that just isn't reality.
Being pregnant makes me feel crazy sometimes. I know it's nothing new and that most women feel that their losing their minds at some point in the process (right?), so I don't pretend to have stumbled upon a new idea here. What I didn't realize was just how "not myself" pregnancy would make me feel. There are certain things, certain convictions, certain choices I made a long time ago about myself, my body, my health that slowly seem to be being laid by the wayside for some reason, like my brain doesn't care what I've chosen before--it's going to take over and reverse all the good I've done for so long. Being healthy, living healthy, are things that have been an integral part of my life for several years now, so much so that it was simply a lifestyle for me. It wasn't a battle--it just was life for me. Making good choices and balancing my nutrient intake was not a problem (most of the time, at least). Sure, I'd have the occasional splurge, but that's just it: it was a splurge.
Today, I splurged. But it's more than that. I mean, I ate crap. Twice. The only veggie I had today was a pathetic little tomato on my burger for dinner. I didn't even have a scrap of fruit. And... I had two servings of french fries today (over the course of two meals, but still...). And you know what? It all tasted great. I didn't regret it after I ate it at first--it felt fine, like "ok, big deal--it's just one day out of life." Sometimes I feel like I need to give myself a break and just eat what sounds good and enjoy the process of being pregnant, not having to worry about every last calorie that passes over my lips. And yet tonight? Now all I can think about is how guilty I feel. How unattractive I suddenly am convinced that I am. How I'm gaining too much weight. How making once in awhile "exceptions" to the way that I typically live adds up, and I'm worried that the consequences will toy with my self-worth.
Awhile ago, Joey and I spoke very candidly about our big life struggles, the things that make us stumble, and how we are working toward wholeness every day. Our battles are very different and for the most part, I think we could have easily told ourselves that they are unrelated. The thing is, they are interdependent. What he struggles with is related to what I struggle with. Our struggles, unchecked, will feed the others' struggle and perhaps even make it worse.
While Joey's struggle is very typical of many men (perhaps even most men), I struggle with something common to women, perhaps even most women. Insecurity, self-image, weight--you know the toxic combination. The bottom line is that so often I don't feel "ok" with who I am. It all goes back to when I was in 5th grade and my mom took me down to our church where they had one of those huge clunky scales like they have in the doctor's office. When I stepped on, she said, "115. Alright, now if you can just stay here, you'll be ok." Ever since then, 115 has been that elusive dream that would mark me as "ok." I wasn't aware of my body or my weight before that point, but have been hyper-aware of it ever since.
It wasn't until I was about 22 that I started making the choice to be healthy, to not worry about my weight while hiding and eating my emotions. Instead, I learned about nutrition, about exercise, about making a lifestyle change, and I had success. I became disciplined and enjoyed the pay off of my efforts. It became so natural to me that it was like breathing. Weight wasn't an issue for me anymore. But I still struggled with insecurity, with feeling like I wasn't "ok" because despite the fact that I was fit, I never hit that coveted 115 mark again.
And now pregnancy is putting me out of control of my ever-expanding waistline. There is nothing I can do to prevent getting bigger. Nothing. And I wouldn't want to not gain weight--hello, I'm not crazy; I know that a woman must gain weight (at least a little) to have a baby. But, well, I don't like gaining weight. I don't like the way it makes me feel. To complicate things more, I don't like the way I feel after giving in to one of my cravings (even though multiple people have assured me that once in awhile is not a big deal...). I know that, in theory. But it's like my mind is split on this: on the one hand, I know I'll be ok, that even if I do get a little chubby during pregnancy, I will be able to lose the weight after the baby is born. On the other hand, I'm afraid to get chubby in the first place. I want to be one of those women who doesn't look pregnant, who doesn't gain anything "extra," and yet, my behavior doesn't always match that. It's like I have a split personality.
So back to where this fits in with Joey's struggle. I learned that our struggles really are fairly similar. It's about lust, in a way. About being drawn to something that we intuitively know is not good for us, a weakness that can take over if we give it an inch. Just like he would naturally want to hide it from me if he "fell" and looked at some image he knew wasn't good for him to look at, I want to hide it from him when I stumble and have a burger & fries. I'm afraid he'll judge me, make me think I'm unattractive, and basically be disgusted with me and surprised by my behavior, like he'd wonder "who is this person--you're not who I married."
And yet, in those moments when he's tempted or has had a close call, he does tell me. Sometimes it takes him a little bit of time, but he still tells me because it's important to him not to hide it from me. No, he doesn't seek the stuff out, but sometimes there are things that pop up on the computer and his eyes linger a little longer than they should. But do I tell him when I stumble? Sometimes. Most of the time I don't because I don't equate food with lust. To me, food is just food, and having something not all that healthy is ok once in awhile, whereas lingering eyes on another female form is never ok, so to speak.
So what do I do with this? I'm not sure. I'm sitting here at (now) 4:30 am pondering this while all I want to do is drown my sorrows in a box of cookies and a glass of milk. And there's a part of me that thinks "Who cares? It's just a cookie. It won't hurt you." And then there's another part of me that knows that I won't feel any better after having eaten the cookies. Not even if it's just one.
Here's the thing that's getting me down tonight: if I'm comfortable enough to spill my guts out to the world at large, I should be comfortable enough to let my own husband know about it, shouldn't I? One would think. And yet being vulnerable with him about stuff like this is harder than writing about it here because he's really the one whose opinion I care about most. And yet, isn't he also the one whose love for me is most secure? He's the one who thinks I'm beautiful, the one who chose me, who is proud of who I am...and he's the one whose disappointment would be the hardest to handle (which is why it's so difficult...).
So I guess what I do is start fresh in the morning, choosing to make the wise choices (including telling my husband about how I'm feeling) and not beat myself up about not reaching that level of perfection that just isn't reality.
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