One Year.

A year ago today I anxiously awaited my very first surgery. I had never had one before and I was so terrified that something bad was going to happen.... then they gave me the good drugs and I didn't care anymore, I was ready to go. haha jk.... kinda.

As I've stated in all my surgery related blogs, this surgery journey was years in the making for me. When I first found out I was infertile 5 years ago (omg 5 years???) the doctor practically begged me to have weight loss surgery. I was very opposed to the idea, I didn't want to wait the required 6 months of pre-op diet and year post-surgery to try to have a baby. I wanted a baby NOW. Well, joke was on me because I didn't end up getting that baby. (Which now I see was 100% a good thing. How dangerous and selfish of me to try to have a baby when I was 400 pounds.) So I fought the idea of having surgery. "I can do it on my own." And I did, a little. But then I gained it back. And then I gained more back... and I felt like a failure. But then I noticed that God started putting women in my life who had had the surgery, and I gave in. I stopped fighting. I decided to give my stubborn ways a rest and do what God obviously had intended for me to do. I had the surgery.

My surgery went great, smooth. I healed quickly and despite a rough patch of having a hard time keeping food down, I made it through easily and created a whole new, healthy life for myself. The weight fell off of me so easily. At my 6 month mark, I hit a bump. I got cocky. I started allowing myself to "cheat" and the weight loss slowed down BIG TIME. And so I beat myself up about it, I got depressed, my anxiety sky rocketed. Everyone kept complimenting me and telling me how amazing I was, and I felt guilty. I felt undeserving of their praise. And so I'd beat myself up about that too. Told myself I was a liar and that I was letting people think I was amazing, when in fact I was a failure.

And then the months close to my one year anniversary started inching closer. I knew at the one year mark Charles and I could start trying to have a baby again... so I started self-sabotaging. I became so controlled by my anxiety, I began binge eating. I would make myself so sick and then berate myself about it. I'd tell myself what a failure I was and I would cry. I would cry in my bathroom, I'd cry in restaurants, I'd cry in HEB. Why? Because that meant the day was coming that I was actually going to find out if I'd ever get to have a baby. What if I did all this and still didn't get to be pregnant some day? (Guys, please don't comment on the fact that I adopted a beautiful boy. I know I did, I cherish him so much, seriously. Doesn't change what every fiber of my being craves. And yes, I'm aware that without a pregnancy, I am still so much healthier, I know.)

So I got professional help in the form of my amazing therapist. Y'all, I've probably seen 6 therapists in my life, ones I never felt like helped me. I'd stop going because I felt like I was exhausting them, that they were sick of hearing about all my ridiculous problems and I was bothering them. More lies I'd tell myself, feelings of unworthiness and self hatred. But this one... he's awesome. I anxiously await my next appointments. And he helped me understand that I have an eating disorder. So I'm working on that. It's something I've obviously always known in the back of my mind, but never really took it as the serious thing it is.

Then my mom died.

I gained about 10 pounds back. I gained those pounds back so quickly. I looked like I was handling things super well on the outside, but alone I would eat. I would make myself sick and I would cry.

And then I had my one year appointment yesterday. They praised me for all I'd done. Told me it was ridiculous to beat myself up for gaining weight when my mother had died. That it's normal, that it's okay, and that tomorrow is another day. And if it takes 30 more tomorrows to get back on track, then I try again the next tomorrow until that tomorrow is the final one. The one where I pick up all my pieces and I get back on track.

It wasn't a perfect year, it was hard, but it was an amazing one too. It was one where I got to do a million things I never got to do before. I got to buy clothes in regular sizes, I got to sit in chairs without worrying if I would fit or break them, I got to experience my baby boy wrap his arms AND legs around me, I got to put together furniture on the floor, I got to play on inflatable bounce houses with my kid, the list goes on... Most importantly, I survived. I took my life back. I know for a fact I'd be over 400 pounds by now if I hadn't. It was a year where I got to learn things about myself, some things weren't great things I wanted to learn, and I lost the woman who made me the way I am.

This next year is a scary and exciting one. It's one where Charles and I do the fertility stuff again. It's one where we get that final yes or no. But something tells me that no matter that answer, we'll survive that too.

Oh and all that failure stuff? The parts where I feel unworthy of praise, unworthy of love (especially from myself)... I'm working on that. And sorry, parents, I got another tattoo today in honor of my anniversary. One to remind me every minute of every day that I am worthy. I'm so worthy of all of those things and more. Do I fully believe that yet? No. That doesn't come in a day, it's 30 years worth of people making me feel unworthy and telling myself I was unworthy to undo, but it can and will be done. Be patient with me on that.

Thank you all for reading these long, emotional updates. Thank you all for giving me praise when I needed it, for making me feel like I wasn't a complete failure when I was telling myself I was, seriously. You all are so much a part of this, more than you know.

xo

Aftermath pt.2 and Creativity!

Wow, you guys. HI! Welcome back... or welcome here for the first time. <3

It's been a month since I posted the emotional look into my post-surgery life and it has been amazing. Not, amazing because all my problems went away, but amazing in the fact that I have been approached by so many of you who read it. I got personal messages, hugs, tears, and praise beyond belief. Thank you guys, thank you.

I noticed that everyone who approached me called me strong and brave. Thank you. Thank you so much. I do know that I have the amazing power to be strong and brave. I don't always remember that, but deep down, I do know it. And I do want to clarify the reason I wrote the post... I honestly wasn't even thinking about me and what I was doing. I wrote it because prior to it, people would approach me and say things like, "You're doing so amazing! I'm so horrible at losing weight" or "Ugh, I am just doing awful at this, and you're doing so great! You're amazing!". And you know what? I immediately thought of how I feel when those mom's (you know those kind) who post pictures of themselves with their kids all in matching pajamas on a Saturday morning eating cookies and watching movies or making crafts and everyone is smiling and happy at noon. And my child is SCREAMING and throwing tantrums and saying "YOU BE QUIET, MOMMY!" And I'm like, wow. I'm failing at motherhood. These women have figured this out with their perfect little people, and my child was awoken by the devil, himself this morning. And by noon it's taking everything in me to not to leave him on the neighbor's doorstep. And I suddenly got a rush of guilt thinking, "Am I making other people feel like failures?" And I never ever want to make anyone feel less than. So I wanted to make sure we were all on the same page. Also, if you're a mom like that, I know you don't mean to make anyone feel like that either. I'm fully, 100% aware that it is my wacky brain that thinks that way! Go about your happy life, truly. Enjoy those moments and cherish them. I have them too. I've been known to post a picture of my child happily baking cookies ... right before he spits on one of them. I'll spare you a picture of that part though. You're welcome.

You are all amazing men and women. Failure is human, and trying again and again is brave and strong.

ON ANOTHER NOTE:

I finally finally finally have my own space in this house. Hubs has the garage, the yard, the giant shed... the bathroom? I don't know, men spend a lot of time in there... Little Boy has his room AND a playroom. And I had no where set up for me. (don't say the kitchen, you jerks) What was supposed to be my office/craft area/writing space has been filled with boxes and no desk until a few days ago.

I finally got a desk. I finally set up my office. I finally have my own space. And let me tell you, the creativity is flowing. If you know something about me, let it be known that I have dreamed of writing a book for as long as I can remember. As a child, I used to fill notebook upon notebook of short stories, journals, poems, crap. (I don't have any of them. ANY OF THEM. Tragic, I know.) As an adult I've longed to be brave enough to write a collection of essays as a memoir of my adult life. Stories of finding love (that was a hot mess), infertility, adoption and so forth. Funny and tragic and therapeutic. Oh how I long for that. And where I was blaming the lack of actually doing that on not having a creative space, I know that deep down it's because I'm terrified of rejection. I haven't mastered bravery in that area. You see, I can bare all, no problem, on a blog. But publishers? Actual readers? That's scary. But anyways, I feel the fire burning. I'll do it you guys. I'll do it and it'll be written right here:

hopefully with a more comfortable chair

So, hopefully some day you'll get to read that, to buy it and share it with all your friends and give me all your money. Sound good?

Also,
Possible book name: Hot Mess: How I haven't murdered everyone I know and eaten all the Blue Bell ice cream in Texas on a Tuesday night.

No?

Fine, I'll work on it.

<3 Tabitha

The Aftermath.

Ohhhh wow. This is awkward. Has it really been 7 months since I've updated this blog? 8 months since my surgery? I'm pretty disappointed in myself. Ah, well. Here we go again.

I'm not going to pretend that I don't know why I haven't been blogging. I know why. The excuse I could give you, is that I turned 30 and then we bought our very first home and I've been so busy with that. But, let's be real people, my anxiety forced me to be unpacked and ready to go a week or two after moving in. And being 30 isn't any different than being 29. You know, other than that old woman grunt I do when I get out of bed now.

No... I haven't been blogging because I don't want to tell truths. And I made a promise that I'd never put on a show here, or sugar-coat anything. If you know me, even a little, you know that I'm an open book. I'm not afraid to share my struggles, my experiences. And lately I've felt a strong pull to blog. So, time to own up.

I've mentioned before, that prior to this surgery, I viewed it as being a 'cop-out', the 'easy way out'. But, I am now very remorseful for ever thinking that way. It's so hard. Not any of this has been easy. Well, I mean, losing weight was easy at first, as long as I followed the rules. I lost weight when I stayed 100% on task. I lost weight when I cheated a little. I lost weight when I took an extra stroll around the local Wal-Mart. But then around the third month it slowed down, which is normal. I still lose, just not as fast.

But then I discovered that eating "naughty" things didn't hurt me like I thought they would. It all went to hell at Easter (funny). Those Cadbury Eggs really did it to me. I ate one and nothing happened. So I ate two....and then three.... and then my stomach would hurt. So I learned that one or two didn't hurt my stomach. So I'd eat that many. Every day. And then the weight loss stopped. And I mentally beat myself up. The same thing happened with bread. I discovered how much I could eat without making my stomach hurt. And again, no more weight loss. And the mental beatings get worse.

So do you know what I do? I upload pictures of myself to Facebook. Not because I feel fantastic, but because I want people to tell me that I look fantastic. I need my ego boost. But then I feel guilty. I feel guilty for putting on a show, for making people believe I'm something I'm not. I hate that.

Now, let me explain that part. I am happy. Oh, I'm so happy. I am currently smaller than I ever was in high school. Isn't that insane? I am currently at a weight and body shape that I have literally no memory of ever being at. That is a weirdly amazing feeling. No one reading this blog as ever known me at this size. I promise you have no memory of it. Because I skipped it. I gained 100 pounds in less than 10 months when I was a Junior in high school. There are some pictures I now see of myself that I can't stop staring at. Like this one:

Is that BOTH of my shoulders in one frame? Yeah. Yeah it is.

And so I upload a picture like that, and everyone praises me and I get 100's of likes and everyone thinks it's all fantastic. And yes, I look very pretty. But I don't post the other parts of that. Like, the parts where I literally cry over food I know I can't eat. Or I cry when I shove so much food in my mouth that I make my stomach hurt, because it's an addiction that I still can't fully break. The surgery only changed my physical self. It did not change my mental self. That I'm still working on every single day. The parts where I still go into stores and feel crazy uncomfortable in the "normal" sizes. Like I don't belong, or know how to function. Or how if I'm around another overweight person, I feel an extreme rush of guilt. Like I somehow cheated and am living a life I didn't deserve, I should still be suffering. Because Mental-Tabitha is still that person, how dare she not look like her anymore. I also get an extreme rush of guilt when I leave food on my plate. Like I'm being wasteful. And then I start to long and mourn the food left over. I can't explain why. It's how my brain works.

Note: I am not saying that everyone with the surgery struggles the same way. That's what 20 years of being overweight will do, you guys.

I cry as I write this blog. Because I know I'm about to post it for all my family and friends. Because I'm afraid of you knowing the truth, because I think you'll feel differently towards me, or think I'm not as strong or brave anymore. But I write these blogs because I want to educate people. Just like when I used to blog about my infertility. It's real. Everyone needs some real.

I am strong, I am happy. I don't regret a moment of this journey. But I'm still a work in progress.

And I do relish in the fun stuff:

Like, I can now sit in ONE theater chair next to my husband at the movies, instead of two.
I can buy clothes at stores without even having to try most of them on first.
I could now ride a roller coaster if I wanted to. (NO.)
I don't even have to think about weight limits on things anymore.
I can workout and hardly break a sweat anymore, instead of how I used to break a sweat just walking into the gym.
I can borrow clothes from friends. Did you read that? I CAN BORROW PEOPLE'S CLOTHES FOR THE FIRST TIME IN MY LIFE.

There are so many exciting things to come in my life. If I didn't have this surgery, who knows how far past 400 pounds I would have gotten. Now I'm only 25 pounds away from having a 1 in front of my weight. A ONE.

I hope I didn't scare you all off, or make you all think I'm having some sort of breakdown. I'm not. I promise. I'm just telling you the truth.

Much love.
Tabitha