Most of you have probably heard of the Five Stages of Grief. You know, you or someone you know has died, or perhaps is dying, and there are five very specific emotional stages they say you’ll go through as you try to cope: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance.
So with that little nugget of information, you can probably guess that my weigh-in this week resulted in some decidedly grievous news.
I just don’t understand my body anymore. I know that due to my pre-5 miler freaking out I may not have been watching what I’ve been eating quite as carefully this week, but it’s not like I was going on Wenders or anything (that’s a Wendy’s bender, btw. I just made that up. You’re welcome.)
This morning’s encounter with the scale left me on an emotional roller coaster that I’m sure many of you can relate to all too well. I would never, ever suggest that something like weight loss could ever be compared to true grief, of course. That being said, I can’t help but draw a few parallels between the five stages of grief and the emotional state I was in after my weigh-in this morning.
First, there was denial.
Pshhhh, no way. No. Fracking. Way.
Please, pleeeease say it isn’t so.
There may have been some slightly more desperate bargaining that followed.
Nope, not melodramatic at all.
Then finally… acceptance?
Very, very reluctant acceptance, perhaps.
My acceptance face might need some work, since I’m still having a little trouble, er, actually accepting it. I know that there are a bunch of factors that can impact a full 2.5 pound weight gain in a week other than eating 9,000 extra calories: hanging onto extra water, my monthly frenemy coming to visit (sorry boys), lack of sleep, stress, blahblahblah. Buuuut… the fact of the matter is that I still gained, even if tomorrow the gain happens to be less severe than it is today. Poop.
I guess all I can hope is that the changes I’ve made help me to win in the long run, and in the meantime I have to try not to let these bumps in the road get me down, right? (Try being the operative word, of course.) And I have to keep reminding myself that despite not being where I want to end up, I’m still lightyears further than where I started (and have pics like this one that Ben took last night to prove it!)
I think I see those extra 2.5 libbies…
The puppies don’t hurt either.
What’s your post-bad-weigh-in (over-hyphenate much, Gretchen?) emotional roller coaster ride like? Or, in more coherent language, how does it make you feel when you let yourself down? And how do you pick yourself back up?