My Cups Over Flow With Irrational Thoughts

So here I was, trucking along doing the Whole 30 food plan and Boot Camp.  Loving how they are both making me feel.  Staying on top of having groceries and stuff cooked up so that I am always one step ahead on my meals.  Buying my own weights for boot camp....and not dropping one of my own head.    Walking the month of January like a proud big dog on a leash when
                 BBBBAAAAMMMMMM!
stupid bras made me cry in the Kohl's dressing room.  Bras really are powerful things.  They have caused me to cry in several dressing rooms.  But this one was different. I was not expecting it.  It snuck up on me and caught me by surprise.

When I went to see the surgeon about the reduction, he asked me what size I would like my breast to be.  I told him that I wanted to be a C cup.  He looked me in the eye, looked at my chest, looked even lower to see more of my chest, raised his head back up and told me that there was no way that he could do that.  He talked about size and the risk and dead nipples and I kinda blanked out at that point.  He did promise me that he would take me down as low as he could possibly go and still keep things healthy.  I was good with that.

After the surgery, I had to wear sports bras for awhile.  Then I graduated to soft stretchy t-shirt type bras.  I finally got to the point where I thought it was time to get some real bras so that I can show these pretty things off. I am pretty danged proud of them if I do say so myself. .    I had envisioned pretty lacy bras in all colors.  I cannot remember a time when I wore a pretty feminine bra.  Women of size know that you are limited to industrial bras that are sold by Lane Bryant and you can take off and use as a fan belt for your car in an emergency.

I cheerfully flung bras in my cart of all colors and designs.  I knew I was not a C but I figured I was a D.  So those were the bras I took in with me.   Whipped the first one on and MY.CUP.RUNNETH.OVER.  Not once.  Not twice.  But with every damned bra I picked out.  Then I thought I would try other brands.  NOPE.  Same thing.  Even though I hated it, I picked out two DD bras and tried them on.  One is cream and the other is black.  They are matronly looking and they fit.  F*ck.  I sat for a little bit in the dressing room and cried.  I felt really sorry for myself.  I finally got up and out of the dressing room and went and paid for bras that I did not want.  Even though I had other errands to do, I bailed and drove home.  On the way home I started talking to myself doing my positive self talk.  My breast really are amazing.  They have not looked this good since high school.  They are up where they are supposed to be and I can see both of my nipples at the same time!  I know you know what I mean.  I am taking much better care of myself.  I am eating healthy.  I am exercising.  Life really is good.  By the time I got got back to Plainview, I was better.  I thought that I was better.  That was on Friday.

On Saturday, I got the new workout shirts that I had ordered.  They fit me really great everywhere but around my tummy.  I looked like I was pregnant and carrying high.  I hate things that are tight around my middle.  I said to myself "That's ok.  I'll just hang these up and will get into them in no time.".

I should have sent them back and gotten them out of my house.

That Monday I began to have a really negative feeling. I knew it was because of hormones, Tamoxifen and  menopause.  But just because you know why you are feeling something does not make it go away.  It just gnawed on me and would not let go.  I told my friends so that they could help me.  I made a gratitude list.  I ate my lunch and breakfast.   I went to work out.  At boot camp, one wall is mirrors half way down.  You would think that would really bug me but it is actually very helpful.  When I get behind, I can look and see where everyone else is.  When I am trying to get better at doing something, I can look at myself and my form.  I am prancing around to the best of my ability (when I cannot do it exactly like I am supposed to, I tend to break out into interpretative boot camp), minding my own business, when I look into the mirror at myself and this voice in my head says "You look hideous.  Your mid-drift has gotten even bigger and fatter.  You are disfigured.  You should be so ashamed of yourself that you have let yourself get to this awful place.  People don't like you....they pity you.*

Those 5 sentences jumped into my head and scared the shit  fat  ever livin' daylights out of me.  You see, I KNOW better.  I really really do.  But when I chase that rabbit down that dark hole, it is never pretty and it rarely ends well.  

I just keep telling myself that I  am eating good. I am making good choices.   I am working out and seeing my strength and stamina increase (bonus!  I shave my legs more now that other people are having to see them!).  I am keeping up better.  I actually ran a couple of laps.  I love kick boxing.  Never in my life would I have thought that I would ever say that I love kick boxing.  OMG....maybe I have gone crazy.

I am better, much much better.  The gray cloud is a whole lot smaller.  I let week 3 come and did not reward myself even though I have been doing very well.  I had decided Monday that I was not going to work out.  The irrational thoughts wanted to score another point.  My bonus daughter, Katie, also started working out with us this month.  I told her I was not going.  She gently nudged me and told me that I would feel better.  

I went.  I went and I stayed the whole time.

Last night's workout was hard. I *glowed* a lot. I used my legs in ways that they have not been used in years *wink wink nudge nudge*.  I ran.  I hurt.

After we were done, Katie gave me this with a note.  She called it my non-food reward.  LOL One of my hashtags has been #notadog.  I read something at the first of the month about not rewarding myself with food because I am not a dog and it stuck.   FLASHBACK   When I was in weight watchers, if I had lost weight that week, I would celebrate by going and eating a chicken dinner at Chicken Express.  lol  I AM my own worst enemy.

The mug says:  Designed to dream....created to be beautiful.   The card says *You are so beautiful.  In time you will know it.  I love you so much!  Katie Jo.

Camille sends me text about how amazing I am and what matching tats we are going to get.

I hope my peeps never get tired of talking me down off the ledge.

I am one lucky duck...this I know...cause my children tell me so. 

It is day 26 for me. Between my kids, family, friends and you....it's all going to turn out just fine.  



......I never once told you I was sane.  ;)