I've been trying to integrate exercise back into my schedule again, and I've had a very tough time of it. In addition to the expected challenge of keeping to a routine in a busy life, I still have to monitor my body's response. Sometimes, I have a bone-deep fatigue that wipes me out, and it can hit me quite suddenly. This is NOT the same kind of fatigue or pain that you're supposed to just push through; it's not that "just one more repetition; you can do it" kind of pain. This is my body saying "You need to sit down before I make you." I can't explain the difference well; there's just a specific feeling. In those moments, I could push just a little harder, but the results would be a certain kind of disastrous. I know, because I've tried it. I've also tried to get better faster than my body was ready to accept. That always sets me back at least a couple days.
What does that mean to the outside observer? It means I'll say I'm tired and excuse myself, because I've learned that this is okay. But even though it is okay, I sometimes imagine someone thinking "I'm tired, too, but I'm still here," or "Yeah, but you've got to work through the pain." This is a different kind of tired. I won't just have an extra cup in the coffee in the morning and be fine. My body is very sensitive to lack of sleep and to overworking; I would be a few shades of miserable for a day or two.
On those days when I'm starting to feel better or if it's just a good day, I try to instill some healthy policies on what I eat and how much activity I do, but it's very difficult to find a pattern. What's worse is that I've tried to start things multiple times, but have had to stop and start again, seeming to lose whatever progress I had gained. It's like being in the car with someone that has never driven manual before. Then the emotional game gets involved: I get caught in this way of thinking that "If I really loved myself, I would [work out more, eat better, not order that, etc]."
I don't specifically mention to Andy what efforts I try to make any more because I'm disappointed in myself when I can't follow through with them, because what I might be feeling today is not compatible, meaning that I might not have the energy to work out, might be in too much pain to work out, might have to eat X instead of Y because that's what I can stomach today, etc. So when I'm away from home or Andy's in the other room, I have started tricep dips. I'm trying to do at least some basic yoga again. I don't specifically tell him because I don't want that innocent question of "why did you stop?" to happen. I don't want him to find results that he's only seeing to make me feel better, because he's a sweetheart and would try to encourage me. It makes me feel more guilty.
"If I really loved myself, I would take care of myself."
I do love myself. I think I have a lot to offer, and I want to continue to grow into the best me I can be. I'm working on cultivating other skills and trying new things. But I do not love my body. I don't mean that in the traditional sense. I like to dance and move my body. I think it's a great tool. I have clothes that make me feel good about myself. But this massive blob of cells has betrayed me too many times for me to like it.
I have a different perspective on weight--I have lost between 30-40 lbs in a month and I can tell you that weight is just a number. I lost that weight at the height of a Crohn's flare, and I was in essence accidentally starving myself. Food didn't sound good, I was constantly nauseous, what I did eat flushed out, and overall it hurt more to eat than it did to not. I would not recommend that weight loss program to my worst enemy (whomever that might be). Weight can be an indicator of health, but it is not the end-all and be-all. I want to be more healthy and to better my fat-to-muscle ratio. I may or may not lose as many numbers on the scale, but that's okay. I want to have more energy and fit in my clothes a little differently. These are reasonable goals.
I've had to realize that taking care of myself means something different for me than it does anyone else. Not that I'm different from all others, but what is best for me is unique to me and always in some level of flux, just as what's best for someone else is unique to them. For example, some people do well on Paleo and Crossfit. I tell you truly that these would be very difficult on my body--it's hard for me to digest raw food and I don't have the umph to push through that kind of training. Are there things I could be doing better? Sure, and those are what I need to be focusing on. What changes can I incorporate? What changes might I be able to enact down the road?
Some days, all I have an appetite for is something profoundly unhealthy, but it might be the only thing I that sounds good and the only thing I might end up eating. The alternative of having to force oneself to eat is pretty terrible. On days when my appetite is fine and I just want to have some chocolate, is that wrong? I'm never quite sure.
Overall, I'm doing much better in some good ways. I have been freed from survival mode and into betterment mode. Symptoms do not slow me down nearly as much as they used to nor as long as they used to. I can do more overall and typically feel better doing it. But that's not to say that things don't get rough every now and again. Things are always in flux and I'm never quite sure when things are going to take an ill-turn (pun intended). I have a lot of cognitive dissonance on what I need to do; I have the usual problems of staying with whatever program I create; but I plan to do what I can in those windows where things work.
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