The first ever non-diet resolution (1/6/2016)

This is maybe the first ever time I have not started the New Year with some grand resolution of losing at least 10 pounds.

It’s not because I didn’t really make “resolutions” this year, but because I discovered the other definition of resolution was “contentious matter” and that’s what they seemed like to me.

No, I decided I wasn’t going to mention a diet at all this year.

Do I need to lose weight?

Oh, my thighs yes –I need to lose weight.

I always think I need to lose weight, even when I didn’t but this time, I did.

But this year, I wanted to be more mindful in attacking the objective instead of just writing at the top of a list “Lose weight.”

I wanted to figure out why I had gained weight to begin with.

There’s some behavior involved that if I don’t deal with it, will only keep recurring.

I knew my behaviors too well.

I am an emotional eater, which means if I am happy I eat; if I am sad, I eat; if I am nervous, I eat. Whatever the emotion – I eat. It’s much better than addressing the real cause behind the emotion, at least temporarily.

Add to that food allergies/intolerances and sensitivities and I have a perfect storm to be chubby.

I can eat something and blow up like a puffer fish.

I know this and I eat a piece of cheesecake anyway.

Then I spend days in agonizing pain, angry at myself for eating something I shouldn’t anyway.

Focusing on a diet that promises I will lose 10 pounds in two weeks is not going to help me.

“I don’t think you need to lose weight,” Mama said on New Year’s Day.

“Mama, the only female in this house who likes being chubby is Doodle,” was my reply. It was true. The pittie mix was proud of her curves. As a matter of fact, I need to get some of Doodle’s attitude. “I am going to get back to my normal weight but I am not setting it as a resolution. If I do I’ll give up by the third week of January along with everyone else.”
And then, when Valentine’s Day hits, I will just pig out on candy in red foil hearts because hey, I had already failed at my resolution, so I may as well eat 37 pieces of chocolate.

So this year, instead of trying to do some crazy crash diet and getting mad at myself because I broke down and had a spoon of Nutella at 10 a.m., I am going to be mindful.

I am going to listen to my body and myself – if I am eating out of an emotional response, what is the emotion?

I will be mindful in how I feel and respond to those feelings.

What do I need to deal with?

Is there a better way I can process the issue besides eating?

None of the stuff I know I can’t have, either.

My health needs to be a priority. Pain can be well, crippling. I have hurt so badly I could barely move. It’s not fun. My husband will tell me if something hurt him that bad, he wouldn’t eat it; I tell him I wish it were that easy. It’s not.

Probably most importantly, I am also going to stop hating myself.

Instead of beating myself up when I do need a spoon of Nutella – who doesn’t? – I will process it and move on.

I am not going to associate guilt and shame with food any more.

I’ve done it long enough and it’s probably a huge part of the problem.

So no more of that nonsense.

If I eat a piece of cheesecake knowing I will hurt for three days and be puffy, I am just going to eat the dang cheesecake.

Even more so, I am going to enjoy it.

Nope, I told everyone, I was not going to list ‘lose weight’ as my resolution this year.

Instead, I am going to take control of this whole torment with food once and for all.

It’s one resolution I can stick to.

 

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A mid-life clothing crisis (April 29, 2015)

Slowly, surely, I have been in the process of cleaning out my closet.

I was kind of amazed at the things I used to wear.

Some things were old and outdated – and if they do come back in style, someone should protest.

The best way to describe some of my clothing choices had to have been “trendy” and on “huge markdown rack.”

Some things were too small.

And some things were just bad.

There was a pair of Daisy Duke blue jean shorts I wore at some point.

Why, I don’t know. They didn’t look the least bit flattering.

Several skirts were tossed in the pile that were way too short.

“Did you ever wear these?” Lamar asked, picking up the tiny swaths of clothing.

I did.

Granted, it was when I was much younger and “Ally McBeal” was popular.

There’s no way I would wear them now.

I probably shouldn’t have then, but I was in my mid-to-late 20s and a lot thinner.

That’s my excuse for a lot of my mistakes – I was in my 20s and I was thinner. But age and weight can’t be blamed for everything.

Granny used to get her hackles up about Cher’s outfits, saying how she paraded around nearly naked and she thought that was beyond atrocious.

“If I looked like Cher, I’d probably go around in my undies and fishnet,” Mama said.

At the time, Mama was probably in her early 60s and beginning to get fluffy.

Granny had snorted at us and declared it just deplorable, for a grown woman to go around nearly naked.

“Her and Madonna – always gotta be showing something,” Granny had declared. “It’s disgusting.”

I saw Madonna on the cover of a magazine the other day. She had on a corset and pantyhose. I think she’s 56. She still looks good. If I looked like her, I’d maybe hope someone would put me on the cover of a magazine.

Does that mean she should be wearing her unmentionables for all to see?

Maybe not. But she is a celebrity.

Her livelihood depends on her being a tad bit over the top.

Granny would say she was 56 and needed to start dressing more respectable.

At what point do we as women say we are too old to wear some things?

I mean, I am not Madonna but some things just do not need to be worn in public regardless of age.

I used to think if it fit, it was fine. As I have gotten older, I’ve learned being able to squeeze into something didn’t mean it should be worn.

Not just to spare the eyes of the general populous either; have you ever been impaled by a too-tight pair of jeans? No one needs to witness that.

Some of my clothes no longer fit and even if I got back that size, I had enough self-respect to not wear them.

Like the cow-print suede skirt I don’t know what to do with – why did I even buy that?

But here I am, in my early 40s and I am wondering what I should be wearing.

I’ve traded in those short skirts for jeans and leggings, and instead of a fitted blouse, I prefer layered, soft t-shirts.

The softer the better. I am scared that comfort is now a factor in clothing purchases.

I am not sure if jeans and leggings are age appropriate, but that’s what I am wearing. And before someone tells me leggings are not britches, they are worn under a tunic.

I am not in a world that wears suits or hose anymore, so I can dress pretty much like a grown up five-year-old, minus the matching Garanimal characters.

I’ve seen some women who tried to dress way younger than their years, with mini-skirts, cowboy boots and tank tops. I didn’t know what to think of the grandma I saw wearing her ensemble other than she must have tremendous confidence.

Not every grandmother’s wardrobe requirements includes elastic waistbands like my Mama’s, just like not everyone is Madonna.

But trying to know what to wear is such a challenge for women after they reach some unknown age-post grad, post-baby, and pre-nursing home. We never know if we are showing too much, trying too hard, or just in general looking like a bunch of floozies.

It is a fine line we have to walk. Trying to look respectable, feminine and stylish.

If you shop in the ‘junior’ sporting wear, you spend most of your life at the gym and half naked; if you shop in ‘misses’ you want to audition as Dorothy in a remake of “The Golden Girls.”

We don’t know whether to be June Cleaver with our pearls or Madonna with whatever she is barely wearing.

No matter what we wear, someone has something to say. We may not be on the cover of a magazine but we’ve all got our critics.

By the time I get done, I should have plenty of closet space.

And time to figure out my middle-aged dress code.

http://www.dawsonnews.com/section/30/article/16370/