I have a little time off before I start my new job, so I took the morning off today from studying/paper-writing/discussion-board-stalking to have a cup of coffee and watch something on Netflix. I watch a lot of cooking competition shows (I promise no one shouts at the screen like I do when I watch "Chopped"), so a lot of my recommended programs are food-based. The documentary "Fat, Sick, and Nearly Dead" came up. I've heard about it in the past and thought "Eh, why not?"
It follows the journey of one man who uses juicing to change his life and essentially cure himself of a rare autoimmune disorder he had previously been taking steroids to control. He juices for 60 days, traveling across America and meeting real people and talking about people's relationship with food in this country. He meets a truck driver in Arizona named Phil who later reaches out to him for help. Phil juices, adopts a new lifestyle, and loses a lot of weight. Phil had some ups and downs after the film came out, which you can read about right here.
That article made me cry in my kitchen as I diced some butternut squash. Big tears so, no worries, I put down the large chef knife because I like my hands the way they are. No, I'm not a 400lb man who drives trucks, but what he said resonated so deeply with me that I have to get this out. If you don't want to read some #deeptalk, no worries. I'll post some yum recipes later this week when I'm avoiding homework again. If you want to get real, read on.
Some of you know this, most of you don't, but I have struggled with an unhealthy relationship with food for as long as I can remember. I have no exact reasoning behind it. I grew up with the MOST AMAZING family with a mom who always made dinner for us. No, it wasn't salad every night, but her meals were nutritious and so good. The thing is, I got chubby and then overweight, and then (according to BMIs) obese. It could be a slow metabolism, maybe a thyroid thing, but I've never gotten bloodwork done about it, so I'm not sure. I grew up playing softball, tennis, lacrosse, and I swam. I was never an amazing athlete, but I wasn't awful. All I know is that I never looked like my friends, the majority of whom were tall and thin. I don't remember a time where I felt comfortable in shorts or a swimsuit. In high school, I distinctly remember a guy tell me in the cafeteria that I should "go take some diet pills or something". I was 16 years old.
When I got to college, it didn't get better. I went to a school known for having beautiful, skinny girls with credit cards with no limits. I will never, ever regret the time I spent there (I still consider it home), but I became a product of my environment. I was obsessed with how I looked, what I wore, etc. I'd eat healthy (healthy-ish) in front of my friends, then I would drive to a suburb about 30 minutes from campus and binge-eat Zaxby's because for some reason, it made me feel better.
After I moved to Houston, my weight continued to increase. I ate whatever, I worked out rarely. Every now and then, I'd start some crazy diet, lose a few lbs and then get back into my old habits. I put up with a lot of really bad relationships because I was grateful that somebody wanted to date me when I barely wanted to look in the mirror. This past January, I decided I was tired of feeling that way. I was tired of feeling tired and sluggish. I was tired of my stomach always hurting. I was tired of getting migraines. I was tired of going shopping and never wanting to try stuff on because I didn't think it'd fit and I was embarrassed to ask for a bigger size. So, I did something about it.
I'm not going to tell you it was, or is, easy. That I wake up every day and juice some kale and smile like some weird commercial. Or that I put my shoes on every morning, ready for my workout. That's not true. It's hard. I have worked my butt off to get my Masters and I'm working on my Doctorate and it a'int easy...but this, this daily battle I have found myself in, is the hardest work I've ever done. There are days that I don't win. There are days when I drive up to the Zaxby's in Cypress, eat this massive meal, and cry the entire way home. There are days when I eat to the point of getting physically ill and then I feel better, as if pushing my body so far that I get sick means the calories are simply erased. But, more often than not, there are days where I scramble up some egg whites with arugula and drink coffee on my balcony. There are days where I do a quick, 30-minute workout (see my last post!!!) and then even have some time to go to my favorite kickboxing class at the gym. There are days when my wonderful, sweet boyfriend makes me Chicken Tikka Masala and gets whole-wheat naan because he knows how important this is to me. It's funny because those are the days that I feel the happiest. Those are the days that I sleep better. Those are the days that I am a better nurse, better friend, better sister, better girlfriend, better daughter. Taking care of myself lets me take care of the people (and patients!!) that I love.
So, if you are reading this and think no one else knows what it feels like to feel fat, looked down on, weak, sad, tired, frustrated, defeated, or depressed, you're wrong. I've been there and sometimes I still am there. Every day, you have opportunity to treat your body well. Make small changes, then make bigger ones. No one else is going to do this for you. You owe it yourself to feel happy and beautiful <3
Happy Holidays
S
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