(k)erimenopause

One broad's reluctant journey to the dark side of womanhood.

Days 1-25: My quest to release my inner Kerri before my 54th birthday January 14, 2015

Filed under: And so it begins,Losing Ground — kerimenopause @ 6:07 pm
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It started out how it always does: Great hope, great anticipation, great intention, great conviction. I suppose the bigger question is how I got here in the first place. I’d like to think I am unique some how and by some crazy twist of evil fate pounds packed on my ass. My thighs grew. And, don’t get me started on these damn boobs. But alas, that is not the case. The truth is the lure of food filing some void I was feeling superseded every desire to not gain any more weight.

For the sake of perspective, I’ll give you the Cliff notes on how I got wide, depressed, wider, more depressed, and finally ready (again) to find the skinny girl trapped in multiple layers of fat. First of all I’ve been very aware of my weight my whole life. I’m the youngest of four sisters. My mom, now 83, has been on a diet my entire life. Her mother criticized her weight every chance she got, including in front of us four. Actually, I was the ‘fattest’ sister when I finally graduated high school. I was 130 pounds at 5’6″ – yes, in my family that was fat.

I went to college and gained the obligatory 15-20 pounds my first year. But then I got it off, got really hot, and wavered between 130-140 for the next twelve or fifteen years until I was 35. That’s the year I got married. That’s the year I quit my very demanding, high pressure TV job to freelance. That’s the year I spent a lot of time alone during the days fretting about how I’d blown my career. That’s the year I confided in Wavy Lays and Vanilla lattes. I put on 5, then 10, and then 15. Then I got pregnant at 36. And then I ballooned into scary land.

I remember crying in the dressing room the day I had to buy double digit pants – who cared that I was creating a whole human in my body. I refused to get out of bed for two days when I looked down and couldn’t see my feet any longer. The day I went in to deliver our son, on one hand I was praying for a healthy body but, and I hate to admit, I was also praying for that immediate weight loss people talk about from breast feeding. Yeah, that didn’t happen.

For the next several years, I went down… then up… then down… oh, yeah, the up plus. Around the time my son was in 5th grade, I got super motivated and dropped down a lot. Partly because my husband was in Haiti two days after the earthquake. No contact for 2 weeks. I just worried and worked out. When he came home, I looked amazing! Then life kicked in again and our son’s move to Middle School was not as easy as I expected. I stress ate for the next 3 years. Tied in knots over his grades, his social status, his everything – while in his mind everything was perfectly fine. I misjudge his state of mind… or I guess I can admit I allow my state of mind about him form my neurosis. Now he’s in 10th grade and 25 days ago I weighed more than I have in 16 years. I can’t blame the baby weight any more. Sure, sure, I’m peri-menopausal. I have hypothyroidism. I”m sure my metabolism is shot due to the yo-yo dieting. I’m 53 (until May). None of that even registers for me.

Here is my truth: I am fat and that is all.

Just over 3 weeks ago I embarked on a new program for me. I decided after getting down to two pair of pants I can squeeze my Kim Kardashian-ass into;  it was now or never.  The ‘never’ in that statement is not an option.   I am not one of those really evolved women who is comfortable in her own skin, no matter what the weight.

As a sidebar, I feel very compelled to mention that anyone who feels they need to advise me on self-acceptance, or for those who know me who want to assure me that I’m great, beautiful, whatever, please don’t. I know those things. I actually believe them. I do think I’m amazing, beautiful, dynamic, smart, etc. I just want to present all of that to the world in a much smaller package.

I’ve listed all the million diets I’ve done before and won’t do it here. The reason I’ve decided to write in this format (sadly 25 days after I started) is so I can just puke up all the crap in my head that I don’t want swirling around as I try to stick to a program and get rid of my ass and ridiculous boobs. So let’s just get to what’s happened since I started…

First week – great. Easy to follow. The typical quick weight loss the first couple of days. Then, the ‘I know better voice started.’ Then, ‘just one ___________ won’t hurt.’ I actually not through the holidays and our son’s birthday without any weight gain. But you know what happened next… you’ve been there… we all have. The plateau. And here is where I’ve sat, on the plateau, for several days. you know how self defeating that is. So, what’s a glass of wine going to hurt?

Here I am now… 25 days from the day I started. I’m less than Day 1 – finally started losing again as of this morning. And then the greatest thing happened:  I went to the clinic where my program is monitored and had a long talk with Tara. Tara is beautiful, blonde, a size 4, about 5’11” – you know the kind of girl you don’t want to like. She opened her heart to me. She used to weigh 215 pounds. She’s lost 80 pounds and is raising two kids by herself. Suddenly she was just like me… an overweight mom, who just wants her health and her body back. Then she told me about her mom who has lost 100 pounds on the same program. *I won’t be sharing the name of the program here – unless they want to pay me for blogging about my success.

I’ve come full circle. I’m convicted. I’m committed. I’m hopeful. I can see the ‘other’ Kerri clearly and she is ready to come out of the layers of whatever. To that end, I figured it wouldn’t hurt to be accountable to myself via this blog. I promise to be funnier as we go along. But, hey, I’m 25 days behind so I’m just trying to get caught up!

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Are you ready? Yikes. Am I? August 19, 2010

Filed under: And so it begins — kerimenopause @ 1:58 am

Here’s the deal. I don’t even know if I’m peri-menopausal but it sure the heck seems like it. My current arsenal of evidence:

  • I’m quickly creeping toward 50 – is that too young?
  • I wake up a dozen times a night feeling like a breathing heating pad.
  • Some days I’m in a borderline vegetative state – attention span of a gnat.

I’m going out on a limb here and saying ‘yeah, this could be the beginning of the end of my reproductive life.’ Not that I’m sad about that fact. I am in no way contemplating having a child. Seriously, I’d chew off my own leg before I’d let that happen.

I am one of a gazillion women who will go through peri-menopause this year. So why have I decided that I should write about this road trip I’d rather not take? Why the heck not?

I’m going to spill the details of my personal journey… if and when I feel like it. I’m going to break all the rules of proper blogging. I’m going to blog at unexpected times, when my mood swings are on a creative high, when I’m feeling like crap and not wanting to talk to real people, and when my husband looks at me funny and gets on my nerves.

I’m not going to even try to please all the people all the time or, frankly, any of the people any of the time. ‘Cause this ain’t about you, it’s about me. It’s an outlet for my brain so it does not overload trying to figure out what’s next.

I invite you to read… I even invite you to leave comments. But, please, dear God, do not try to save me from myself or fix me. Peri-menopause is a fact of life… I’m just going to make sure it doesn’t send me to the loony bin by purging via this blog.

 

 
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