It seems like I have spent years getting ready for this moment. I’ve read literally hundreds of books, from straight diet books like “The Rice Diet” to books citing scientific research like “Good Calories, Bad Calories”. I’ve read weight loss memoirs, dozens of them. I’ve even read books on how to keep the weight off even before I lost an ounce.
I read books on self- help and how to value yourself. I did know that I needed to love myself enough to improve my health. Hating myself and my body sure wasn’t working.
I journalled. Hundreds of pages of angst and fear and hope and loathing and purging painful memories.
I attended group therapy for a year. It was, honestly, not as helpful as I had hoped. It never evolved beyond what I perceived as complaining. Nobody lost weight. I do believe that some useful seeds were planted at this time, however.
One of the pieces I took from “the group” was that a person needs to follow their passion if they want to be whole and healed. And most of us get it backward. We are broken. We think losing weight will heal us. Instead, it’s more like: We are broken. We need to heal ourselves by attending to ourselves and honoring our passions. Then we lose weight.
I started the blog, registered with twitter and Facebook. I am enjoying all of it even more than I thought I would.
Then I started taking Energy Healing courses (a whole other blog entry!) Reiki, Reflexology, Qigong.
But all of this preparation needed a tipping point, a spark if you will.
The day my 20 year old son said with genuine anguish in his voice, “Mom. Please! Take care of yourself. I love you. I still need my mom. I’m going to need you for a long time. I want you to be there for me my whole life, meet my kids. Please, mom, do you love me enough to take care of yourself?”
The answer is obvious.