If you read my blog posts "Hoe Vegetables Almost Killed Me," you may remember that back in November I convinced my parents to agree to take me to Build-A-Bear if I reached a milestone weight before Thanksgiving break. Yes, I am a nineteen year old grown-up, but I still love stuffed animals. Like I'm only on sentence three of this blog post and I've been writing for half an hour because I keep getting distracted looking at the clearance items on Build-A-Bear's website (because spoiler alert, I named my bunny Peeps and they have a ton of Peeps-themed Easter merchandise). Over the summer while at Build-A-Bear with some friends, I saw that they sold a bunny and realized that never in my life had I had a stuffed rabbit. Considering how much I loved rabbits as a kid: Thumper, the Velveteen Rabbit, Peter Rabbit, the hares in "Guess How Much I Love You," I couldn't believe this! And after watching one of my friends stuff a bear, make a wish, and kiss the little cloth heart before placing it inside, I had my sights set on getting one of those bunnies.
I pushed myself as hard as I possibly could to get to XX pounds before Thanksgiving. I had started gaining weight consistently for a good few weeks, but plateaued a couple pounds shy and just couldn't get the scale to tick up in time. My lack of progress that November was devastating for many reasons, I won't go into too much detail since you can read about it in my original post, but this bunny became practically the only thing motivating me at a time when it felt like everything else in my life that I was looking forward to was once again being ripped away from me. So you can imagine how disappointed I was, mostly in myself, when I didn't get to my goal weight.
To make a long story short, travelling and illness over Christmas set me way back. Meanwhile, my sister had her heart set on making sure I got the bunny and had given me a Build-A-Bear gift card for Christmas. We went to the mall a couple weeks later and she wanted to stop in to make my stuffed animal, but I couldn't bring myself to. It was supposed to be my reward, and even though now it was a Christmas present it somehow it felt like cheating to get the bunny before I reached my goal. I told her we'd have to wait.
Of course, I didn't expect the wait to be quite so long, but fast forward to April 15th and I finally reached this magic number I'd been working at for what felt like forever. I sort of felt really stupid for being proud of myself. I was supposed to have gotten here a really long time ago. I won't say who, but someone really close to me even admitted that they were having a hard time being happy for me because they were just angry with me for taking so long. But despite all of that, it didn't make the process any easier. I felt like every time I'd finally start to gain a couple of pounds, my body would quickly get used to the amount I was eating and I'd plateau again. Each time this happened, I'd make changes to what and how I was eating, gain a pound or two, and then have to start all over again. By the end of March when I was finally maintaining steady progress, I had completely given up on trying to eat foods I liked or minimizing my stomach discomfort. There were nights when I was so nauseous I could barely move, but that didn't stop me from finishing my meal plan for the day. For three weeks I didn't sleep more than six hours because I needed to be awake long enough to fit in that day's food. And this was off eating peanut butter sandwiches and chocolate milk and Hostess cupcakes (which I never had growing up but learned I really don't like; if you do you've never tried our homemade chocolate cake!), not off eating salad and apple slices.
So yes, even though I acknowledge that at I should have gotten here much sooner, I did feel proud of myself. Because it was hard. I really wish that everybody could have the experience of trying to restore weight, even just for a few days. I don't blame the people around me for not understanding how much work it really takes, because I'm sure a few years ago I would've thought the same thing. All you have to do is eat, how hard can it be? I'm proud of myself for the many, many times that I kept eating when I felt like my stomach was going to explode, or resisted the temptation to sleep instead of getting up for breakfast. I'm proud of myself for piling cheese on my sandwiches and eggs even though I can't stand the taste, and for giving up the frozen yogurt that is my favorite dessert in the world in exchange for the biggest ice cream sandwiches I could find at the store. And I'm proud of myself for pushing through the many times when I felt like I couldn't live my life because I had to eat. At least once a day I feel like an idiot because every time someone asks me if I'm available to hang out or help out, every opportunity that comes around, every time a work meeting needs to be scheduled or a family game night planned, I have to carefully consider whether I can feasibly participate and suggest strict time blocks that will allow ample time for meal breaks. If I don't eat at least every two hours, I know I won't get in enough for the day. I HATE that food has to be my top priority, but I've learned time and time again that one off day can set back an entire week of progress, so all I can do is try my best to focus on the big picture and remember that it will all be worth it when I can finally feel like I'm just eating to live, rather than living to eat.
I've always felt that there's sort of a stigma in society around being proud of oneself. I think humility is important, but I also think there's a balance. If somebody expresses that they think they did well at something, it's my perception that we are far too quick to judge them as cocky or egotistical. I certainly have been guilty of that in the past. For a long time, the expectation was engrained in me that someone would go deliver an incredible performance or get accepted into their dream school and then belittle their accomplishment: "You really think I sang well? I thought I sounded awful!" Or, "I just got lucky, they probably didn't have as many people apply as they usually do." If someone believed they deserved something, I'd assume they thought they were better than everyone else. But as I've gotten older, I realize that this judgement was the result of a deeply engrained fear that if I expressed pride in myself, I was not being humble and therefore a bad person. If we can't be proud of ourselves, how do we expect ourselves to accomplish anything? I think it's impossible to be happy if everything you do is to get the approval of others. I'm a huge people pleaser, but that's not a sustainable way to live because it is impossible to please everyone.
I don't have a solution, but I know that somehow it needs to become okay for people to feel good about their accomplishments. Praise, incentives, rewards are all much more meaningful when you actually feel you've earned them. When I finally got to go to Build-A-Bear, it was special because I knew I deserved it. Sure, it was just a stuffed animal, but my bunny was also tangible proof of the progress I've made, that everything I have been putting myself through is worth it because I've finally reached this goal that seemed impossible so many times. I still have a long way to go, and I don't think I could continue without acknowledging how hard this process has been. Every time I feel hopeless, desperate to have my normal life back, I can remember all of those times I've felt the same way before, and know that if I got through them then I can get through them now.
I also just want to say that I think we should all have parties for ourselves more often. I mean, maybe not literal parties, but we should celebrate ourselves even if it seems trivial. I planned a whole "Bunny Day party," and while the day went nowhere near according to plan, it was still a much needed break from the monotony of the daily weight gain grind. I'm lucky enough to have a family who will do practically anything for me, and my parents fit in time to participate in the baking competition I set up and meet me at Build-A-Bear. My mom even bought me balloons (besides stuffed animals, I also have an unnatural love of balloons. That's probably why I like Winnie the Pooh so much!) Ashley was unexpectedly unavailable most of the day, but still took me to get ice cream even though she'd been having an ice cream aversion all month (don't worry, it was finally cured when we went to the most amazing frozen yogurt shop ever while visiting family in Ohio last week). But even if you can only celebrate on your own, you should still reward yourself, whether for big things or miniscule. Have a project at work or school that's been stressing you out for weeks? Decide you'll have a movie night once you finish. Finished your morning workout even though you felt much more tired than usual? Make yourself your favorite breakfast after. There are so many little things we can do to motivate ourselves to keep going or remind ourselves that we are doing a good job, and I think these are really important. When we're stuck in the thick of challenges, it's really difficult to see that we will one day come out on the other side, so allow yourself some relief along the way. Allow yourself to feel like you deserve something, and then go ahead and give yourself whatever that is. Ultimately, we are the only ones who can decide whether we lived successful lives or not, so go and recognize the success you have, no matter how insignificant it may seem.
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