Not making myself do things

"Today is the day I make myself exercise," read a post in one of my weight-loss surgery support groups this morning. I've spent enough years in therapy (many of the years since I was 19, and I'm 41) to automatically reframe that to "Today is the day I exercise." I'm not good at making myself do anything. 

It's a fine line. Sometimes I have to muscle through something — but usually not with brute force.

Making myself do something — using force — requires a great deal of energy. In the years when my depression was severe and I had very limited energy, I learned to conserve. I evaluate how much energy something will take and whether I'm willing to spend that energy.

These days, I have much more energy. My depression is in a good place, and I'm carrying around almost 80 fewer pounds. For years, I blamed my low energy solely on my depression. Right before surgery, I acknowledged that weight probably had a lot to do with it, too. If someone handed me 80 pounds in weights and asked me to carry them while going about my day, I would use a lot more energy.

Still, even with more energy to use, I don't force myself to do things. I choose to do things. I decide to do things.

Yesterday I was dressed for my session with my personal trainer when he texted that he was stuck in traffic and we needed to reschedule. Instead of changing back to regular clothes and vegging in front of the computer, I asked Paul if he wanted to go for a bike ride. Strike while the iron's hot, they say, and I was physically and mentally prepared to work out. We rode 7 miles in about 50 minutes — my best ride yet.

Part of me admires people who can force themselves to do things — but for me, it's not sustainable. I'm in this for the long haul, and figuring out how to make this my life, not a temporary state, is key. I'd rather invest my energy in creating long-term healthy habits than forcing myself to do anything.

Moderation — or the cookie post

For the past few weeks (maybe even a month?), I've been wanting a chocolate chip cookie. When I told Paul, he asked me why. "I want the chocolate, and the butter, sugar and flour," I replied after thinking.

Rather than eating a junk cookie from somewhere, I decided to bake. I'll eat 1 (or, realistically, 3), Paul can have some, and the rest will go out of the house so I'm not tempted to eat more. I'm not using a sugar-free recipe — I'm talking lots of sugar, butter and chocolate chips.

I decided to bake today because I have the day off and my in-laws are coming for supper — so there'll be extra people to help eat the cookies. The cookies look and smell delicious, but I haven't had one yet. Most days, I don't eat breakfast — it takes a while for my tummy to wake up, it seems — and today is no different. I know that if I eat a cookie on an empty stomach, without a foundation of protein, my blood sugar will tank and I'll feel miserable. As I sit sipping my protein shake, I'm wishing all choices were as easy as this one.

Late last night, lying in bed before I fell asleep, I wanted a snack. Specifically, I wanted 15 Kashi 7-Grain crackers (or 1 portion). Instead, I meditated and fell asleep. That wasn't an easy decision, but it was another healthy one. 

Even without the crackers, I went over my calories yesterday thanks to two margaritas, and I've been going over my calories a lot lately. I've been content to rest here for a few weeks, but now I'm refocusing. I'm much healthier than I was, but not as healthy as I'd like to be.

So why eat a cookie (or 3)? Because I'm not on a diet. This is my life; this is my forever. I have to learn to make food choices that fit my goal of health. For me, deprivation does not work forever; moderation is a much better bet.