Hitting Rock Bottom

Have you ever hit rock bottom? And I don’t necessarily mean just in fighting obesity… it could be with anything; an addiction, a habit, a relationship, anything that tore you down?

It’s not a fun feeling. In fact I felt like I couldn’t breathe. The realization of that rock bottom takes over, consumes you, brings on panic attacks, and breaks you down. To be honest, looking up is completely overwhelming. To see the light at the end of the tunnel seems so impossible, but when you’re sitting at the bottom, hugging your knees, trying to find your breath between your tears, you have no other choice but to stand up & begin the journey towards that light.

It’s an experience alright. And one I pray you never have to go through. But if you do, know you aren’t alone. So many people have had to hit rock bottom before they’re forced to find an escape. And that escape is a process.

My rock bottom? Was this past Saturday night. It was the first night since my birthday back in February, that we didn’t have any small people with us. Broden was at his mom’s, and the girls were with my parents. And we finally had a night to ourselves. And I couldn’t have been more excited for it. It was such a sigh of relief to have him all to myself.

I had dropped off the kidlets and by the time I got home, it was time to shower. We decided date night was Texas Road House {we had a gift card}, and there is no such thing as getting there early on a Saturday. So I hopped in the shower, and once I got out, I realized, for the first time, our towels weren’t wrapping completely around me. Not even close.

Oh well. I knew I gained weight. It wasn’t a surprise really.

But then it was time to get dressed. During the week I work at my in-home daycare… nice clothes aren’t required. I’m up and down all the time, running around, chasing and lifting little squirts all day long.

So it’s rare when I do get to dress up. And Saturday, my date night with my hubby was the first one in a long time. I knew my jeans were getting tight. Like really tight. But Saturday for some reason, it was especially hard to get those suckers on. I really wanted to blame it from still being damp, ya know the feeling: trying to put clothes on when you’re not completely dry from your shower can seriously be a daunting task. But I knew that wasn’t the real reason.

I finally got my jeans on… and it wasn’t pretty.

Next up was tops. I tried on most of the shirts in my closet. And nothing. Not one. single. shirt. fit. How does that even happen? And clearly… I had to find something… I can’t exactly walk out in public top less. So.. I just settled on something. Knowing damn well how awful it looked.

In the duration of the time, Jason was in the shower. And once I finally settled on something, I moved into the bathroom to start my hair. And it was taking all the strength I had to not start bawling. Jason was done showering, got dressed, and instantly knew something was wrong.

He tried to talk to me, he tried to get me to tell him what was clearly bothering me, but there was nothing to say. What was there to say? How on earth was that conversation supposed to go? I was hiding my tears while blow drying my hair and trying to control my quivering lip. I am obese. And there was no hiding from it anymore.  There was no more turning my head from the obvious.

I do not have one piece of clothing that fits. Not sweats, not underwear, no shirts, pants, absolutely nothing in my closet fits me.

Now typically, when one complains they don’t have any clothes to wear… everyone knows they are completely over exaggerating. You know they really have their closet full of clothes, their spare room’s closet full, and totes beyond your wildest dreams that are not longer in style as of last month.

I, however, am not exaggerating. My maternity clothes don’t even fit. And I think that’s what made the realization hit as hard as it did. I was pregnant with twins, in addition to four gallons of extra fluid, yet, the preggo clothes fit then, and now they don’t.

It’s just down right embarrassing. It’s an awful feeling.

As I finished getting ready, I continued on with my pity party. I cried. Had a few panic attacks. I sat and thought, & pondered how the hell I let myself get here. I remembered my totes I have in storage of all the clothes that I use to wear. My skinny clothes as I call them & I refuse to get rid of. I will wear them again. What’s the point in getting rid of them now anyway… they are 10 years old… completely out of style. But once I’m that small again, I won’t even care! Hell, I’m 30 with a small herd of children. I make my own damn style. I’ll just be excited because it’ll feel like a whole new wardrobe!

And that’s when the hardest part of my rock bottom hit, while I was wallowing in my own self pity, I manage to realize I have almost 100 lbs to lose. Just wrap your head around that. 100 lbs. 100 fucking pounds. I have never… ever… once imagined being able to get this big. Yet, that day I never thought I would see, is here. Que: my last panic attack for that day.

Then I decided it was time to buck up. This 100 pounds doesn’t define who I am. The person I am is hiding inside just dying to be released. This 100 pounds isn’t permanent. Just because it’s here now, doesn’t mean it’s here to stay. I can change this. It’s a giant climb out from the rock bottom, but it’s possible.

And I’m going to fucking do it.

Writing my last post, it hit me like a ton of bricks just what my first hurdle would be: doing this weight loss journey for me. Sure I said I wanted to lose weight in the past, who doesn’t? But I never wanted it for me. In fact, I always had a work out buddy. Which is great, don’t get me wrong. I highly suggest having one if it fits your needs. But make sure you aren’t using your work out buddy as a crutch. Last summer I worked out with my cousin, Beth, a lot. We rode bikes before work, sometimes hit the gym, worked out in my basement a couple times.

flipping tire

But every morning, I hoped and prayed she would cancel. I would listen for that text to come through and cringe just a little bit when it never came. But when it did? I would lay back, close my eyes, go back to sleep, and completely forget about the fact I was missing my workout. I would use my workout buddy as my reason for working out at all and also my excuse as to why I missed it. I never thought twice. If they canceled, I canceled.

I could have easily gotten up anyway and went for that bike ride. But didn’t. Because my crutch wasn’t there to ‘help me’.

I didn’t need help. I didn’t need a workout buddy to make me exercise. I needed me to want it. And I just didn’t want it bad enough. Because I hadn’t hit rock bottom.

This week, Kosoma started a 3 week free trial, and while at one the Campbell’s famous BBQ’s, my cousin Brett’s, girlfriend, Emily {are you following me?} told me about this free 3 week trial and asked if I would be interested in joining her. Knowing about my previous night, I just went with it. I was scared out of my mind if I am being honest. I heard Kosoma was tough. And I’m not in shape enough to be tough. But what did I have to lose? Besides weight? :)

Day 1: sucked balls. In fact, getting into my Yukon about made me topple over and fall to the ground. I could barley lift my arms to the steering wheel and switching my foot from the gas peddle to the brake and back to the gas… was almost impossible.

But almost impossible, almost fell, and barley lifting my arms? It wasn’t “I couldn’t”. It wasn’t “I couldn’t get into my Yukon” or “couldn’t lift my foot for the gas and brake peddle.” Which meant I couldn’t be as weak as I originally thought I was.

So I went for round two Tuesday night. And it hurt just as bad as night one. But I once again, walked out of there, got into my vehicle, and made it home. Without collapsing.

But on day three, my first giant hurdle was tested… because Emily couldn’t go to Kosoma last night. And for the first time in a super long time I didn’t even hesitate. I knew for a fact, I was going regardless. Because I was doing this for me.

And what made me feel even better? When I got home, my husband looked me in the eye and said “I am so proud of you. I know how bad you are hurting, and I know what the old you would have done when you received Emily’s message. And you went anyway. You’ve been talking about this for a long time & it’s time to just do it.” I have realized I am not using her to get my workouts in. I am just fully enjoying her as an actual workout buddy. What a work out buddy should be.

This is for real. I’m doing this. I may hurt for a long time. And I may have to fall down on the toilet because my legs can’t let me down easy… but I’m doing this. For me. And that statement is such a breath of fresh air. Which means I’m one giant hurdle up from that rock bottom.

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