I finished keto three days ago, I’ve been eating carbs, and – shocker – I haven’t gained weight.
I am much more conscious about what I eat, how much I eat and why I eat. I’m still watching the calories and not eating large meals. I’m still not eating or drinking much sugar. I still have 30 lbs to go.
I’m still a bit paranoid about binge eating and blowing my progress.
I’m generally paranoid/have severe anxiety about at least one aspect of my life, so I can probably assign paranoia about sabotaging my progress to some persistently fearful corner of my brain that has thus far been resistant to healing. It’s hard, because the more anxiety I have about eating, the more I want to eat, the more of a challenge it is not to eat, the more…
PTSD is hard. But I am going to get through it, one little bit of healing at a time.
I’ve needed some space to think.
I have big dreams, great plans and a love for life bubbling up from somewhere deep. I have creativity that yearns to be expressed and a comfortable in her hard-earned skin person that wants to be seen.
I haven’t given her the space to emerge, because I’ve been covering her up, first because I thought everything was a threat and then because my protectors were disappearing and I started actually hiding from the world.
I’m learning that one of the kindest things we can do for ourselves is meet our own needs. I’m doing that by taking a well-timed opportunity for quiet and space this weekend. I stepped away from my to-do list, my chores and my habits and placing myself in a comfortable space that is a bit of a mental void. There’s only what I bring in and what I allow to stay, and helps me engage with the practice of choosing what I want to bring into my life and what I want to stay. It’s a retreat of sorts, but I’m (for once) not retreating, I’m pausing and forming so that I can step forward and live in more light than darkness.
Be kind to yourself, and give yourself what you need. You’re worth it.
My boyfriend and I continue to have difficult conversations. I keep doubting I have the energy to keep going, but I keep pushing through.
We don’t have anything to hide behind. We don’t have money and job security, we don’t have a lot of time together, we don’t have a long history of trust and connection, we don’t even have a certain belief that we belong together. It’s fucking hard.
Because we don’t have anything to hide behind, and because we’re both sticking with the difficult conversations long enough to get past the darts and jabs, we’re starting to get honest. The kind of honest where you face shame and admit you’ve been hiding things because you’re not sure they’ll like you anymore if they know. The kind of honest where you say what isn’t ok. The kind of honest where you admit you might be the problem but this little bit is all you know and you haven’t learned enough to figure out the rest yet.
I’m not sure how many people ever get this honest in a relationship, but I don’t think many do it within the first nine months. It takes more courage than I knew I had. And I do it because I believe I matter enough to speak and hear the truth. To not walk away because I’m scared and this is really hard, but because walking away is the right thing for me. And I don’t know that yet because I don’t have enough information.
And there’s no backing down now, because we’re here, rumbling with the truth no matter how scary or how hard. AND IT’S HARD. I’m still not in neutral, and I’m not comfortable with some of the surprises I’m getting. I’m constantly in high threat mode and no one else is bringing me back down to my version of calm. While I’m rumbling with a really painful series of realizations about who I am and how I got here.
But worth it, because I’m worth it. And so is he.
I have the new phone, the new laptop is here and I’m still rigging my way around the challenges of staying with my grandma.
I unintentionally slowed my roll on mindless stress eating this week. I mean I know I cut way back on sugar and gluten, and I mostly quit snacking, but I don’t know that it was with some big diet intention.
I sit around a lot in a dark apartment, and this crisis wasn’t going to make me gain weight too, is all.
My PTSD brain likes sugar. So. Much. Sugar, carbs and fat are my drug of choice since I don’t smoke and rarely drink, and right now my brain is pissed that it’s not getting what it wants.
Y’all. I didn’t even get any food at Chick-Fil-A when I stopped by for my free bottle of water.
My brain is so pissed.
I had the idea that I could only did this when I was in a low stress time and could really delve into food and fitness changes. Once again I’m surprising myself with what I can do with mindfulness.
And a new makeup bag to fit all of my new makeup…