breaking the rules
I compiled an "adult" to do list in my head soon after Dad2Amara and I married. It comprised basically of tasks or rules I felt were expected of those no longer mooching off their parents, those now establishing their lives and identifying who they want to be.
Many of my "firsts" occurred because of this list. My first margarita. A neighborhood knitting club. And I went in for a physical with my doctor.
I exercised (ir)regularly. I ate right. I tried to sleep seven hours a night. But then the doctor called me "borderline obese," and I went into near eating disorder mode. I was obsessed with not crossing the line into the "O" word. There was only one "O" word I cared to hear and honestly, I think the whole world could hear me too. This was in 2002.
It's no secret I've battled my weight, yo-yo'ing up and down. But recently, I lost so much weight in a short amount of time that even I was concerned. But with an eight-year-old, deadlines, and simply life, I ignored the pain and my friends' (and body's) pleas to see my doctor. And perhaps my obsessive impulses regarding the scale started to creep back.
But I received a rude awakening when I ended up having minor surgery. "It was ok," I rationalized. "I can map everything out."
Yet here I sit, seven days later. I had planned to write, blog, and read. That went out the window with the unseasonable temps last week.
And the weight I had lost? It perhaps was the first casualty. Because as soon as I realized I was semi-pain free and able to eat, I did. And continue to do so. I indulge in all the foods I couldn't have for months.
But this time, there's no nagging in my head. Because I'm healthy. Because I can.
But for now, breaking the rules never tasted so good. And I'm going to let loose for a little bit longer.