So it's been a few years since I've posted on this blog... in that time, my boyfriend became my husband. I put on all the weight and more that I lost just before I met him. I tried to lose some more weight before my wedding but was reasonably satisfied with where I was at - at that time. And I was happy.
In a few short years... my life changed significantly, and was ... is ... wonderful.
I got engaged in 2013, married in 2014 & we bought a house in 2015. I stabilized my business that had gone thru the roof in that time in 2016 and in January of 2017, I became pregnant with our baby girl, Shelby. All was right with the world.
At 24 weeks, with our baby due in just 3 short months, she was stillborn and I delivered her on June 26th. There is no reason. Nothing has been right since.
I have drilled the doctors and none of them will tell me the weight was the reason. That's all I really want -- is one of them to man up enough to flat out tell me I killed our baby because of the 100s of extra pounds. But no one will say it. In fact, they argue with me that it was NOT. The most I have ever been able to get out of anyone is that it can be a contributing factor to high blood pressure and that's not great for the baby -- but still not the cause in this situation because I very clearly did not have preeclampsia. Most of them in fact keep telling me how women "much much larger" than me have had perfectly healthy pregnancies. That's supposed to make me feel -- better? There's "no reason you can't try again."
I have read and re-read many of past posts on here and I can't begin to explain how ... elementary ... it all seems now. I started this blog MORE than 10 years ago ... I stated with a goal of completion of the weightloss by the end of '08.... right.
I am both a completely different person, and, exactly the same. I care about so much more - and so much less, now. I'm not sharing this so that someone else could benefit and feel "not alone." I'm not entirely certain why I feel the need to share these thoughts ... but if I had to wager, I'd say it's because I am SO angry with myself, and the world, that I need both an outlet to let out some of the steam to avoid explosion - or implosion. And also because, while this weightloss business was a lonely road before - it is a whole new kind of isolation when combined with a post-partum stillbirth journey. There is not a soul, that I know, that can possibly understand this quiet, relentless, personal hell. I can step outside of it for long, long periods of time, but it hasn't softened, yet. It usually comes at night ... around 9:30pm, and I can feel an ache in my back where the epidural was. There is apparently such a thing as postpartum post traumatic stress - I'm pretty sure I had it intensely in the first month -- that may have actually softened.
So, I can't go to a postpartum pilates class for pelvic floor disorders, because everyone there has a baby. And I can't really keep up in my old classes because I hurt in places I never knew about in my body. And I have to avoid the yoga class I really like because it is scheduled right next to the prenatal yoga classes and I can't possibly risk running into those women if I can't get out of there fast enough. And I can't commiserate with anyone about any of that pelvic pain because you only understand if you've been thru a delivery -- and if you've been thru a delivery then you have a baby, or child-- and pity in your eyes when you talk to me about ANY of the postpartum problems because how AWFUL it must be to deal with saggier breasts and larger feet and lose half your shoes -- which are all a fat girl really has to begin with -- when all of these ailments are supposed to be eased by the joy of having your baby. And you are right -- it is awful.
And good lord help you if you so much as breathe one word to me about your fucking miscarriage -- IT IS NOT THE SAME. I don't care how you frame it - I don't care if you say "I know it's not the same" before you try to tell me how it's the same - I don't care how many weeks or whatever the circumstances - if you are using the word "miscarriage" instead of "stillbirth" -- shut the FUCK up! You do NOT know. Also, if you are now pregnant, thanks for telling me, I appreciate that over seeing it in a facebook post. However, we don't need to talk about it after that. Save it for your mom friends or other pregnant friends. Do not invite me to your shower and do not invite me to anyone else's. Most certainly do not GUSH to me about how excited you are that it's a girl! When you are 24 weeks, imagine, just IMAGINE, having to go to the hospital right this minute to deliver your already dead baby, after having carried her for 6 months, and then tell me I should be on the mend and starting to feel better.
This January, about 1 week shy of the anniversary of becoming pregnant last year, I am 10lbs heavier than I was last year. Which is 20lbs heavier than where I was just after birth around the start of July. And I want to care but I just don't. I mean -- I care ... but I just don't have it in me to care enough to take the right actions. I want to eat whatever the fuck I want. And I don't want to work out. Because it is really painful to workout, do pilates, squat, or even walk more than 15-20 minutes. Also, I simply don't want to put in the work. That's really the bottom line. When I am willing to do the work, I see results. But when I'm not, I gain another 10lbs overnight. I'm just so tired.
And I've read a lot of my old posts - some were just like this - depressing & complaining. Others were super pumped up and inspired. Many of them were pointless. Many more of them coming from a place of hopelessness - and others were motivated & ready to try again. Even the rewards and goals and crazy structures & deadlines I built for myself were ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous! I should not have to create fake rewards for myself like designer purses or dream travel trips -- the reward should be getting to live in a healthy body -- not having to ask for a seat belt extender on a plane -- which has NEVER been true until I became pregnant but it appears that one's just not going away either with how my body has changed. The rewards are -- getting to live a long healthy happy life ... and for some reason I never truly "got that" before. I thought I had to reward myself with a new wardrobe but all that "crap" comes naturally when you actually lose the weight -- it should NOT be your "why."
And in a year when I've had the most business success I've EVER known, it is MEANINGLESS to me now. I can't even enjoy it. Oh and -- no one talks about the finances either -- I have to pay for this baby we don't actually have. We planned our insurance around it and tried to be responsible to minimize cost while allowing dr. selection thru a PPO because I was cautious and careful and wanted to make sure I'd have the best care while being fiscally smart. And knowing I was pregnant last January, we tax-planned around the baby too and all that has gone out the window of course. So I had to pay for this delivery too -- just like we had her healthy & happy. And we'll have to do it again -- g-d-willing -- if we become pregnant again.
So I sit and run #s just like I have my entire life ... if I lose 2lbs/wk that'll be 16lbs in 2 months / 8 weeks. If I lose 3lbs ... if I lose 4lbs... etc. until I decide none of it is attainable and throw it all out again. I've done it the other way around too, let's just focus on one week / one day -- what can I do today to be healthy ... but one day feels like it accomplishes nothing. And I know all about "the compound effect" but I just can't seem to buy into it around weightloss for myself. And, I can't even plan a year of weightloss like my OCD self would like right now because I also have to think about getting pregnant again relatively soon too.
I am pissed off that I should have to put in this magnitude of hard work at this juncture in my life to have something that most people have always had -- a normal sized, a healthy body. I genuinely don't feel that I eat truly differently than healthy normal sized people. In fact I eat healthier, and am more active, than a lot of people in significantly better shape than myself. But it continues to not fucking matter or make a difference.
And I am ANGRY about it. I'm angry about allllllllll of it. The time passes anyway.
