Fear

I want better for myself, but I'm too afraid to go after it.

There it is: the ugly truth.

I have spent so much time analyzing what's going on with me and my weight. I've been chasing down possibilities and trying to come up with solutions like a mad woman, and I feel like that's exactly what I've become: mad. Oh yes, definitely angry, but more along the lines of stone cold crazy. That kind of mad. I've bounced from diet to pill to shake to juice, and I've even considered going gluten free. REALLY, AMANDA?? I've had my thyroid checked and scanned, my blood drawn and my hormones tested. I went to my doctor and then went to a different doctor because I didn't believe my regular guy was getting to the real root of the problem. This type of behavior is beyond ridiculous even for me, and as anyone who knows me can attest, I can be pretty ridiculous. In an endearing way, of course. Wide awake and staring into the darkness, the epiphany came around three a.m. one sleepless night last week: I AM MY OWN PROBLEM. I let fear stand in the way of my own success. Not my thyroid, not my post-pregnancy hormones, and certainly not my extreme hatred for vegetables. It's all me. No glossing it over, no sugar-coating. Just BOOM: FACT.

I've been this way my whole life. I've wanted things, I've started to go after them, and as soon as the road gets a little rocky, I quit. I don't even make it to the forks in the road because I've already detoured and doubled back. I've let the few big hills become my daily little speed bumps and rather than cruise right over them, I take the long way around. The thing that has brought this into focus has been Spin class. I love Spin. Love it! For the past couple of months, I've been thinking about becoming an instructor. I've talked to Linda about it and she thinks I should do the RPM training in January. Bo thinks I can do it. Sometimes I think my body can do it, even where it is now. It's my brain that's having a hard time getting on board. As enthusiastic as I am, I'm scared out of my head. "Who wants to take a fitness class from me? I'm way too big to teach Spin. How could anybody take me seriously?" Negative, negative, negative. The more I want it, the more I talk myself out of it. I don't know what happens when the groundwork has been laid in your head that makes you think you're not good enough, but once you've received that signal, it's hard not to keep tuning into it. Even if the only person sending that signal is you.

I deny myself good things. I starve on health because I binge on junk. I kill myself in a workout only to give in to the voice that tells me, "You'll never be an athlete so have another cookie." I mangle my good intentions and my well-being suffers. Lately I've felt as if I'm fraying around the edges with only a few solid threads holding me together and I'm trying to understand that FOOD ISN'T GONNA FIX IT. It doesn't pay the bills or take care of the piles of laundry on the couch. It doesn't spend quality time with my daughter or figure out how we can afford Christmas presents. It most certainly doesn't take away fear. That I have to figure out on my own. Actually, I have a lot to figure out, but getting rid of the fear is now at the top of the list. Once that happens, I can make way for those good things.

Now, how do I do that? I'm scared.