On the Five Stages of Grief and Weight Loss

Okay, so I only use this blog when I'm upset and no one else wants to hear about it. Like now.

Turns out that I'm not just overweight -- I've crossed over into obese. Mind you, I'm six feet tall, so I coasted for quite a while. I have places to hide fat that you don't even know about. But eventually, I hit a tipping point, and become roly and poly.

Hi, I'm Mom... and I'm fat. ("Hi, Mom!") Yes, fat. The kind of fat that causes Scandinavian children to stop, gawk and take pictures of us in American airports. (Ooh. I just Googled, "I Sinterklass thin?" and got an eyeful of Swedes in black face. Ooh. Bad.) Yes, I'm not just fat, I'm American fat. Greatest-Nation-In-The-World fat. Fat.

I did the math. If I give up all white foods, sugars, and fried foods, I can lose a pound a week, and be only "overweight" by, say, September. If I keep it up through Christmas, I may sneak into the top of the "healthy" range by spring of 2016. Then what? Then, I get to keep it up for the rest of my frikkin life? How much does that suck?

Unless I'm mistaken, I've moved past the "denial" phase of weight loss and straight onto the "anger" phase. Next up? Bargaining: "If I go gluten-free, will that take care of it?" And everyone's favorite, depression. "Oh God, how much does this SUCK?! Kill me now!"

So, bear with us here. I'm hoping we get to acceptance soon...