I don’t think a single day has gone by in the last 30 years where I haven’t stressed about my body. I’ve been 300 pounds, I’ve been 150 pounds- and every number in between. Since having baby Lucy at the end of November, I think about my regain a thousand times throughout the day. It gives me panic attacks, it messes with my depression, and can even send me manic.
Last month my therapist told me I needed to see an eating disorder specialist. It didn’t make sense to me. It DOESN’T make sense to me.When I think about eating disorders I immediately think of underweight girls- definitely not a category I fit into. She tried to find a provider who takes my insurance, but it hasn’t been easy. I was kind of relieved that it bought me some extra time. She put in a ton of work over the course of two weeks, and finally came up with a list of three names. Last monday she handed me the list and asked me to contact someone to schedule. I left her office, and put the list on my passenger seat. There it has stayed for the last five days, untouched.
Now I have really dug myself a hole. I have to face my therapist Monday morning and tell her I didn’t try to follow through, after all of the work she put in. Today being Saturday, I can’t even really slap together a last ditch effort without revealing that I waited too long. Do I lie? No, Lying only makes things worse. I have to bite the bullet and be honest that I wasted her time. It’s just another thing to be anxious about.
It doesn’t feel like I belong in this kind of treatment. If anything, I SHOULD be restricting myself to lose my remaining 27 pounds of baby weight. I wonder what the other people in the waiting room will look at me and think. I wonder if the therapist will take a look at my case and decide I don’t need to be seen. I’m embarrassed to present myself to this kind of therapy, and I don’t feel deserving of help. A big girl isn’t going to fit in with the other clientele. I don’t even know if I’ll be able to walk into that office, I know I’m going to be eyed and judged harshly.
I don’t want to go. I don’t think I fit in. I don’t think I’m deserving of this kind of attention or help. I don’t want to face any of this. Part of me is even thinking of no-showing my regular therapy appointment on Monday, I just don’t want to admit that I dropped the ball. That’s a lot of “don’ts.” I have one “do.” I DO want to set a good, healthy example for my kids.
I worry that I will mess up my kids. I don’t want them to go through everything I did as an obese child, but I also don’t want to raise them to obsess about their weight. Neither scenario is healthy, but both are anxiously playing in my head. Constantly. How can I help them when I can’t even help myself?
I’ve always carried so much guilt with food. Guilt when I diet, and stress about staying within my calorie goals. Guilt when I binge, and stress about going astronomically over my calorie goals. I don’t want the kids to think this way, or be weighed down with the negativity that I feel every time I eat.
This treatment is so awkward. I still don’t understand how someone who is mathematically, medically overweight would need to see an eating disorder specialist. I’m anxious, and dreading every part of this.
Getting these words out of my chest and into writing has already brought some clarity. Time to put on my mom jeans and get over myself. I took some time between proofreading to run out to my car and grab the list. I emailed one provider. At least it’s a start. I don’t want the kids to fear food like I do. I don’t want to put that on them. I still don’t feel like I categorically should be in this kind of therapy, but I’ll take any help in keeping my kids healthy.
Deep Breath. Ugh. Cringe.