Prompt: Who knows about your weight loss journey? What do they think about it?
Those closest to me – The hubster and the boy, of course. My Boy. Members of my extended family. I suppose there are probably others who know about it in the sense that they understand that I’ve lost a bunch of weight. They did not know me when I was fat so I’m not sure how real it is for them.
The boy doesn’t haven’t a real understanding of what it is to lose weight and when the majority of this happened he wasn’t cognitively aware of it.
The hubster just wants me happy. If that means supporting my food plan then he’ll do that. If that means, on days like today, when all I want is chips and doughnuts, he’s the first (only) one to offer to run out and get them. Tonight’s conversation is a perfect example:
Hubster: Honey, what’s wrong?
Me: I had a really long day with my Boy.
Hubster: Was it that bad?
Me: Yes. It was that bad.
Hubster: Is there anything I can do?
Me: It’s nothing a dozen doughnuts and a big bag of chips won’t solve.
Hubster: I’ll go out and get you anything you want. Just tell me.
To which I replied with a mixture of exasperation and desperation.
Me: No! You’re supposed to say, “Honey you’ll feel better in the morning. You’ve worked too hard to throw it all away now.” That’s what you should be saying!
Looking wounded, he repeated this like an obedient parrot and this pissed me off all the more. Poor guy. It really wasn’t his anger to own. He was just trying to help. He and I have had variations on this same conversation more times than I care to count. It would be great if he could be supportive in other ways. Run me a bath. Make me laugh. Both, zero calories.
My sister knows and is sort of supportive in an I’m glad you’re happy. I wish I could do that. kind of way.
My mother insisted for a very long time that I must be dying and keeping it from her because I was “so thin”. When she finally believed the weight loss was voluntary and desirable “You aren’t going to lose any more are you? You’re just so thin.”
My Boy is my unflagging support, even when he is lovingly tormenting me with graphic descriptions of the doughnuts he is eating. He knows my triggers. He knows what to say when the doughnut monkey is on my back. I firmly believe he is the reason for my sustained loss. Most days, he is my bag of chips. On the days he isn’t, he listens to me cry when I’m convinced nothing will fix me like the junk I promised myself I wouldn’t eat. I don’t know what I would do without him.
I love you, Boy. Thank you.