After a couple of days of wallowing in various stages of grief:
- Denial (this isn’t happening to me!)
- Anger (why is this happening to me?)
- Bargaining (I promise I’ll be a better person if…)
- Depression (I don’t care anymore)
I made a decision about the food and weight portion of the suggestions my physician made on Tuesday. This morning I went to Weight Watchers.
It’s a choice freighted with all sorts of old baggage. I worked the program very successfully many years ago, but got pregnant when just shy of my goal weight. Somehow that ended up feeling like a failure to me, despite the fact the difference was so small. And there is other emotional material attached that I will not share here, but say only that this felt like a tough call, weighing a known program that works against the emotions that make me a little less than rational when it comes to making this decision.
I stood in line and registered, then stood in line to be weighed. As I came around the corner and the WW employee came out of her cubby, I realized she was the old friend and neighbor who coached me through Weight Watchers the first time. My eyes filled with tears. She exclaimed excitedly, while I made embarrassed noises about how many years it had been and what a surprise it was to arrive on my first day and find her.
"It’s a sign," she said, "a sign from the Loving God."
I cried a little more.
"You know what to do," she said. "Make yourself a priority."
I’m not sure I know how to do that, but I’m going to try.
I guess this is Stage 5.
- Acceptance (I’m ready for whatever comes)