I weighed in at 177 today, up two pounds again. I'm frustrated with myself and yet still eat over my limit with great gusto. (Okay, I had rice and beans and half a chicken breast so it wasn't like I ate a whole pizza, but I needed to be eating a lovely fresh salad instead...)
The 175 plateau is getting old and I'm wallowing in it. I realized this week that most of what is going on is comfort eating. I'm in a place of great discomfort right now, a place of my own choosing. I have chosen to follow a creative path and to (somewhat) avoid the FX work I normally do. That job provides great income and I'm really good at it. And yet, my heart is in the writing right now and I need to be with my heart. But it's not a comfy place. It's dark and uncertain and scary and hard. And while I love every minute of writing and meetings with my creative team, I am reaching for solace in food. Yummy yummy, always there, always agreeable food. Throw a couple of glasses of wine in there from time to time and I'm the proverbial (though lately I feel like the literal) pig in sh*t.
The freelance life I'm used to. It's been ten years of that and I do great with it, love it, actually. But this new path is waaaaaay different. Failure is something I've experienced very little of because I worked my ass off to be a success. But not having failed much in my life means I have not risked much either and that makes me fired up to take more risks. So that's what I'm doing, taking risks. And eating to make it feel better.
I'm determined to get to my goal of 167 and stay there. That's ten pounds away from where I am today. Totally doable in a reasonable amount of time.
Help me Libra, help me find that balance.