So life’s all still a bit shit. I’d love to deliver you a positive and motivational Monday morning blog post, but the truth is I’m up one minute and down the next, and I haven’t really been overly focused on what’s going in my mouth. I’m desperately worried about my mum, who is home but still very unwell, so most of my energy has been directed towards her and her needs…assessments, risk assessments, care plans…you name it, I’ve been all over it and I’m doing everything I can to make sure she has enough support around her to give her a fighting chance of getting well.
We couldn’t even go visit her this weekend, because on top of everything else there’s a sickness bug doing the rounds in her residential home, so they’re locked down in quarantine, which hasn’t helped.
I left it until the last possible minute yesterday to step aboard HMS Shitbird. I was scared of what the damned thing was going to tell me so I did the whole ostrich thing and buried my head in the sand. I have a routine on a Sunday morning, you know? Get up, pee, weigh. Not yesterday. I got up, had a pee, ignored the Shitbird Scale and went to make coffee. Then I went for a swim without giving it a second thought.
I came home, did some shopping…walked past it twice as I was dotting washing around the house to dry, visited the bathroom several times through the course of the day and still refused to make eye contact. When I finally climbed the stairs to bed last night I couldn’t avoid it any longer…after all, I promised I would post my weight every week and it’s a cornerstone of my accountability. I was expecting a beasting to be honest, so just one quarter pound on was a relief.
I’m not even sure why I was expecting it to be so bad. I haven’t been really bad. I mean, I’ve had bad moments, for example on Saturday evening I won a big bag of chocolate orange segments in a pig-racing competition (not real pigs!) and let’s just say they didn’t go unappreciated. But, I opened them for everyone to enjoy whilst we were there, which was a much safer bet than me taking them home, right? I had my fair share but I didn’t have them all, in the chair on my own after I got home when nobody could see. And I enjoyed every last one of the ones I ate, along side my pie and pea supper.
I refused to feel guilty…it was just one night, and I needed to blow off steam with a bunch of friends. The week overall had been one big fucking trauma, so I wasn’t holding out hope that my conversation with the scale would buck the trend. But actually, if I really think about it, my eating wasn’t so bad.
I’d sort of kept a watching brief on what went in my mouth, even if it didn’t always make it into the food diary on MyFitnessPal. I made it to the pool five days out of seven. I wasn’t perfect but I kept control, after a fashion. All things considered, I’m claiming it as a victory. It’s fairly heartening to realise that I flicked the controls to autopilot because there was so much else going on, and the Asshole between my ears didn’t screw things up completely.
I’m not sure what this week will bring. I’m hoping mum will really turn the corner and I’ll get a decent night’s sleep without waking up every hour and wondering if she’s okay. I’m supposed to be going on holiday the weekend after next and I’d love to think she’ll be well enough by then for me to go ahead with the trip. It’s been a rough few months and I’m trying hard not to feel bad about saying I’m ready for the break, but I can’t remember the last time I needed one quite so much.
We’ll see. In the meantime, I graduated Sunday with a decent chunk of calories still on the table, so I’ve started the brand new shiny week as I mean to go on. I want to be back in the sixteen stones something next week…watch this space 🙂