Victories and challenges

About a week and a half ago, I checked Ray LaMontagne's tour dates. The concerts in our area were a week later, and my husband and I decided to go. This was a big deal for me. I love music but haven't been to a concert in about 10 years.

I've never liked crowds. I'm sensitive energetically and pick up other people's junk, and then when I became morbidly obese, I hated crowds even more. So many people to be bigger than. So many people to mock me or judge me or pity me.

This past week, though, I've been excited to go. Getting into the city from our suburb was easy (I grew up in the country, so driving into Boston always slightly stresses me), the walk from the parking garage was easy (at one point, walking just 3 blocks would have been challenging), and standing in line, I felt like a normal person.

When we were let in, Paul and I got a glass of wine and stood leaning on a table, overlooking the water, appreciating the afternoon sun and our date night. I was so happy — I wasn't worried about fitting in the seat, I knew I wasn't the biggest person there, I wasn't worrying about what other people were thinking of me. During the concert, I didn't worry when I squeezed by people sitting next to us — I knew I would fit fine. I danced without worrying what I looked like. 

Then we got home, and our elderly dog Roo was bleeding. Roo is almost 15 and has cancer in a few places. We've been considering him a hospice patient for the past few months, happy for each day we get. The tumor we had surgically removed in late January is back and bleeding again. We won't operate again. That means it's time to say goodbye. 

I'm heartbroken and grief-stricken. I feel flat and in pain. 

I had my session with the trainer this morning. Having something to focus on helped, but when I came home to lie down for a nap, I told Paul I thought about buying a big bag of chips and eating them — but I don't want to do that. 

It helps knowing that I've lost more than 67 pounds since July and more than 51 (!) since surgery. It helps that I physically could eat a small bag of chips, not a huge bag. But there's more going on. 

I'm committed to creating healthy habits, a foundation that will carry me through the times when my stomach has expanded and I CAN eat more than a small bag of chips. I'm committed to my health, including my mental health — and right now, that means finding a healthier way of dealing with my grief than eating. I think I need to just be with the grief when it rises, as painful and raw as it feels.