This morning I was very, very close to throwing my scale off our 23rd floor balcony. But technically that's illegal, and I didn't want to hurt anyone, so I just kicked it back under the sink in the bathroom.
I was up .2 lbs today.
No, I didn't expect this. Yes, I had a big fancy dinner on Friday night - but I didn't order steak. I picked a more reasonable entree, points-wise, and it was delicious. I watched what I ate during the week carefully. I didn't overindugle on Sunday night - in fact, I didn't even eat half of my entree. I stopped when I was satisfied, not full - which turned into probably a quarter of my gnocchi.
This is what my week was like, points-wise:
I'm active most days. This, for me, means almost every day - 5 or 6 times a week. I don't go over my points. I choose healthy options first and treats second. And yet, in the last month, I have lost exactly .5lb.
I am frustrated. So, so frustrated. I'm angry. I'm angry at the scale, I'm angry at my body, I'm angry at Weight Watchers. I do not understand why my efforts aren't being rewarded. I can understand when losses are inconsistent, I can understand if I hadn't really been trying and have had lackluster results - but I have been busting my ass. If I put in the work, really honestly put in the work, should I not see results? Is that not how the world works anymore?
Yes, it's important to take measurements and celebrate other successes. The fact that I'm still here, still blogging, still following the plan is a giant success for me. This is the longest I have ever stuck to a diet and exercise plan. I joined a gym. I'm wearing size 14 jeans right now. I am starting to change the way I think about food and treats and exercise and lifestyle. And according to one of my friends, I've won the weight-loss lottery because despite dropping 20 lbs and 7 inches off my waist, my boobs are still the same size.
But honest to god, I am so frustrated that I could cry. This is hard. This is SO hard. And if I can't even see the scale budge a whole pound in four weeks, the motivation to keep going really fades.
I'm not at a healthy weight. I'm still obese according to the BMI scale. I'm still wearing what some stores consider plus-sized clothing. I'm so very angry and I have no one to direct that anger to, because I think right now if I blamed myself I'd dive headfirst into a plate of poutine.
So instead I will go to the stupid gym and take that stupid spin class and eat my stupid salad for lunch and go home and make a stupid grilled chicken and veggies (no added fats!) and get 8 stupid hours of sleep and drink 3 stupid litres of water and still see no stupid change on the stupid scale next week.
Thank you for listening.