Though I haven’t been blogging regularly for the past few weeks while I was finishing up the semester and then, enjoying my holidays, I have been following Twitter and Facebook. All through the holidays, people were posting recipes and talking about all the good food they were eating.
And then, once January 1 came, they were talking about how they were going to suddenly get into shape after eating all that high cholesterol.
I know I ate like a fool over the holidays. My mama baked two sweet potato pies and a red velvet cake and sent them overnight mail to me. I gave away one pie and ate a third of the other pie before I discarded it (but please don’t tell my mama). The cake? Well, I tried to cut it in half and put the rest in the freezer for later.
By later, I mean, immediately after I finished the first half. And that second half was so good after sitting in the freezer for two days, even better than the first half. Y’all should try that next year.
But you know, I didn’t trip on how much I ate, because it was the holidays. And I decided that when the holidays were over, I would not go into Rambo mode trying to lose the five holiday pounds I gained, either. I would just flow and lose it when I lost it. I know this seems kind of like a recipe (excuse the pun) for getting to be a big, fat, Black Southern Belle. But as someone who has obsessed about my weight since I was seven years old, I decided to stop.
Yes, I’ve gained a few pounds right after my fibroid surgery, and I haven’t lost that weight, but whatever weight I am, I know I had enough clothes in my closet to cover it and look completely fabulous at the same time. I decided to stop worrying about the weight and simply enjoy my good health for a while, and ease back into a fit-for-life routine.
I’ve already done that with becoming a vegetarian (back in early August) which naturally added more fruits and veggies to my diet. Since giving up meat, my skin is clearer, I feel better, and strangely enough, my breath seems fresher. And though I haven’t exercised as much as I wanted to recently, still, I try to break a sweat in some way daily, even if that means doing light housekeeping or shaking my booty for ten minutes to Inappropriate for a Radical Black Feminist hiphop music. I figure, no, it’s not an hour workout, but it’s better than sitting on said booty in front of my TV, which doesn’t have cable anyway.
I was a great weight even with fibroids a year ago and I think I can/will be again, but I know that the reason I gained weight is that I didn’t have a life plan together for post-surgery–at least a plan that didn’t include my being absolutely perfect.
It didn’t matter that other women had told me that after their fibroid surgeries that they had gained weight and it had taken time for them to get full energy back. No, Ms. Honorée Fanonne Perfectionist told herself that weight gain and loss of energy might have happened to other, lesser human beings, but not to her.
Sidebar: By the way, I just recently–two months ago–realized that I was a perfectionist and it blew my mind. All my friends knew, but none of them told me. I felt like the joke was on me.
Still, I worried so much about not being the weight I was before, and then I said, you know what? I haven’t been doing what I need to lost the weight with the worry, so why not just be the same weight without the worry and have some peace of mind and still feel pretty? That doesn’t mean I decided to let myself slide into downright obesity. But it does mean that I don’t want to get into a feast or famine, binge and purge mode, because when that happens, my perfectionism kicks in. And then, I’m miserable. And who wants to be miserable–even if you’re miserable with really good skin?
I’ve been pretty much the same weight since February 2010, but I gotta be honest, it’s been hard to lose those post-surgery pounds. My body is different and so are its requirements and I haven’t figured out how my body has changed yet. Compared to what my body (especially my tummy) looked like before I had fibroid surgery, though, I’m feeling a little too gorgeous these days no matter where I jiggle. Meaning, my flirting has been a bit out of control.
I actually blew a kiss at some child in his twenties the other day at the grocery store parking lot and I had to speed away in my car because he rolled down his window, called me, “Shorty” and asked could he “get that number.” And I was actually thinking about giving him my number before I recovered my senses because, well, he was really cute.