I thought I’d give a little update on my weight loss. I turned over the control on this to Master several months ago (January, I think…). This is something he should have the control over for my emotional well being. I’ve dieted in the past, and the pressure seriously fucks with my brain until I sabotage myself rather then fail.
I am all about success and meeting goals. In fact, I spend a lot of time mentally preparing myself for the day, just so I can have goals and meet those goals. It gives me purpose. It use to be primarily subconscious until Mr.R and I went D/s. Then there was the fateful day where we both realized how important it was to me. It came down to our activities for a Saturday. We had double-booked the day, and I was waiting for Mr.R to take the lead on this one, and make the final decision. The two options were seriously different, and required a seriously different mind set. We had begun talking about the day almost two weeks in advance. Master couldn’t make up his mind. The morning of the Saturday in question he switched his mind several times, first telling me we were going one way, then ten minutes later saying the other. It was so frequent and so fast, I never had the chance to think about my day, to make plans, to make the little subconscious goals that fill my day with success. When he finally set his mind, I felt totally unprepared and lost it. This would never have happened in a vanilla world, because I would have forced the decision the night before, or early in the morning, and it would have stayed. This back and forth was different, new, and unexpected. I had a melt down, and was inevitably punished. (At my request, honestly. I needed it to feel settled.) It’s never happened again, and I know Master would never let it happen again. We both learned something about me and my inner workings that day.
I need to have goals. I need to meet those goals. I need success.
Another aspect of my personality is to do the right thing, not only morally, but also to the best of my ability. There are perimeters, lines, expectations, a level of perfection that must be met (*see Queen Elinor in Brave for more).
Now imagine applying my need for success, and my need for perfection to all the variables of dieting and weight loss.
Here’s what I would do:
- step on the scale.
- decide it’s not right. I should have lost more.
- step off the scale, and wait for zero.
- step back on the scale.
- step off the scale, shaking my head.
- wait for the scale to power down.
- stomp on the scale to turn it back on.
- step back on the scale. “That can’t be right!”
- step back off the scale, and shift the it two inches to the right.
- go pee, just in case that’s the problem.
- go back to the scale, stomp it back on, wait for zero, and step back on.
- feeling defeated, I get in the shower.
- spend the entire shower thinking about the scale.
- get out of the shower, dry off, ignore my thirst and refuse to drink water because it might up my weight before getting back on the scale… feeling absolutely parched.
- No change. Get off the scale.
- drag the scale to another spot, wiggle the scale with my foot to make sure it’s level
- stomp on the scale several times to turn it on
- get back on the scale
- cuss at the scale
- spend the rest of the day thinking about the scale, and wonder if I should try again
- look at the scale every time I go in the bathroom, reminding myself of my defeat
- repeat the next day. and every day…
The way it works now is better. I’m not allowed to know my weight. Master knows. I don’t. I wear a blindfold when I get on the scale, and I’m only allowed to step on the scale once a week at weigh in, usually Sunday mornings. He keeps track of my weight in a handy dandy spreadsheet I made for him. If I ask, he will tell me how much I have lost over the week, or if I sustained. Sometimes he helps me set goals for the week, like how many fast days I should do (I do the 5/2 diet), or how many times I should get on the treadmill (3).
When I started I wore size 12, but they were too small. (I was probably actually a 14.) When one of my size 12 pants gave me an unsightly camel toe, and was too tight to wear, I decided it was time. I ran the 5/2 diet for a couple months before giving control over to Master. During this time we didn’t have a scale. I also didn’t have very strong goals. I literally told myself I was going to just do x number of fast days for the weeks from that point until the holidays, and that was it. Since we didn’t have a scale, I didn’t know what I weighed, and if I didn’t loose weight, it didn’t matter because my goal was the fast days, not the loss. It actually worked pretty well for me. I don’t know how much I lost, but enough I wanted to keep going.
After the new year we got a scale, and I gave control over to Master. Just knowing the thing was in the bathroom freaked me out. I didn’t want to know what it would say, fearing I would be a failure. I asked him to do it for me, and we worked out the protocol later.
With Master in control I was able to maintain it much longer, with greater consistency, through holidays, stress, and sickness. Best of all, it taught me some things about myself I never would have known otherwise.
For one, I loose weight in leaps, not gradually, as I expected. So, I may go a week or even a few without major loss, even though I am doing everything right, and then suddenly make a huge numerical loss – like 4 pounds at once. If I was weighing myself, I never would have known this. I would have sabotaged myself before the major loss, because I would have felt so defeated. in the flat phase, even though that is a natural pattern for me. Another thing is that weight loss doesn’t always coincide with size loss. One week I lost considerable size, but nothing showed on the scale at all. The following week, I didn’t loose any size, but lost pounds on the scale. I know, weird right. (I found this all out much later when I crossed his data with mine looking for significant patterns, of which there weren’t any, at least not anything predictable.)
Another thing I have learned about myself is how much my mindset plays into my physical body. I think, in the past, I always thought I wanted to loose the weight, but was subconsciously sabotaging myself. Recently, I’ve noticed the pattern, the line of thinking that sets me up for failure. I’m not sure what about me giving away control has pushed it into my metacognitive mind, but I am aware of it now, and never was before. I can sense in myself a mental block when I don’t believe in myself. In the past, this is when I would have quit, or indulged in eating high calorie comfort food, knowing I wouldn’t meet goals, and satisfying that with sabotage.
Now, my Master’s belief in me gets me past this. If I believe that he believes – which to me is shown by having really high standards, and expecting nothing less then the best (*see above note on perfection) – then I can push myself to do it.
Fear of failure will keep me from reaching lots of successes.
Last month Master took me out to get new clothes. I’ve lost so much weight most of my clothes look ridiculous. Like all of my coats. (No one ever told me how expensive it was to loose weight!) I didn’t really want to get a lot, but at some point the large clothes were just making me feel worse. My bras were all way to small, making them annoying and painful for my shoulders. I felt sloppy in shirts that dragged across my butt, sometimes hitting mid-thigh. I couldn’t put up with it any more. Enter the fabulous sales lady. And guess what?
I got size 8 jeans!!
Yup, 8. Down from 14. The goal Master originally set for me is smaller still, size 6 by June. He has total confidence in me, but I’ve hit a snag. I’m sure it’s totally mental, but it’s still there. I afraid there’s an invisible line I can’t cross, a very specific weight that is the smallest I can get. Like cellular memory, only meaner.
I’ve hit this wall before. In the past, I’ve gotten down to a similar weight, and then that was it. Like a true yo-yo I could get down to a certain point, but that was it. Once I was even going to the gym 5 to 6 days a week. I was no lightweight at the gym either. I didn’t have a job, and got totally obsessed, bought books, pushed myself – hard. The people at the gym even had serious hardcore nicknames for me and my weight lifting badass (including variations on Rambo, Conan the Barbarian, and just being plain badass). I also counted calories, watched my diet, and participated in active hobbies in my free time. I did this for a year to no avail. Total stalemate. (I’ve since discovered there may have been some hormones fighting against me, but whatever.)
Now I’m there again.
In my head there’s a mental fight going on. Two demons sitting on my shoulders shouting back and forth. One is all happy for me, “Girl, you’ve done your bit. This is good. You look good, you feel good.You’ve lost enough – you’re fine! Be happy!”. The other is fear,“Forget it, you’re never going to make it, so just quit now, you’re going to fail anyway. Call it good.” Neither of them tell me to keep going. Neither have higher standards for me that say I can keep going. Neither believe I can make it to my ideal weight, or even within 10 pounds of my BMI. It’s all quit, no go.
And, hence. I’m stuck.