The Great Chocolate Easter Bunny Massacre

There comes a time in each of our lives when we must be honest with ourselves. These little gems of “self-honesty” serve as personal revelations every bit as meaningful as any religious experience one may have on a mountaintop or hallucinating in the wilderness for 40 days and 40 nights. For me, it came during one Holy Week, that week of high holy days beginning with Palm Sunday and culminating in the glorious spectacle of Easter. Not particularly religious, I was visited with an annunciation of my own, nonetheless.

Merely a month after my husband had demanded a divorce, I remained firmly lodged in denial, filled with utter certainty that I could effect a reconciliation through sheer force of will. Having packed the kids off to my sister-in-law’s for a long-anticipated overnight stay, I bought a bottle of my husband’s favorite wine, prepared some delicacies and lit some candles to set the appropriate mood. Thus loaded for bear, I waited for him to come home.

The minutes ticked past in larger increments until he finally entered, 45 minutes later than even on his latest days. My mood nearly as dark as the twilight sky, I sat in flickering light, frozen with a glass of Rioja in my hand, hors d’oeuvres cooling on the damask-draped coffee table and waited for him to come upon this awkward tableau.

new beginnings

In 2006, I lost 85 pounds over a 9-month period by following the South Beach Diet. I kept all that weight off for almost 2 years, but a series of serious real-life stressors prompted me to fall face first into a bowl of guacamole and reach for a Family Size bag of Tostitos as a life preserver. Since May, 2008 I have put back every pound I lost and added 15 extra for good measure. Now, at age 45, I am beginning to manifest some health problems as a result of the excess poundage. At my highest weight, I was 225 pounds and only 5 feet 2 inches tall. Although BMI is not the best indicator for overall fitness, it is what my doctors use, and these measurements rounded me out at 41, or morbidly obese. I am fortunate in that the way I carry my weight, that people can never guess my weight, but this is actually unfortunate because my fat is located in my midsection, the unhealthiest area for overall health.

Again, overall up until this point in my life, I have been healthy, with excellent results in cholesterol, liver labs, blood glucose and general bloodwork until recently. A series of ultrasounds found excess fat deposits in my liver, indicating the beginnings of Non-Alcoholic Fatty Liver Disease. On a positive note, the bloodwork indicates no inflammation, meaning that this is in the early stages, likely with no permanent liver damage.

But the time has come. It is time for me to reverse this. It is time to lose weight again, but permanently. I know I can lose it;. I’ve done it before. I even know that I can, under normal circumstances, maintain the weight lost. What I need to do is find better coping mechanisms than comfort eating when times get stressful.

I plan on writing about the  myriad issues I have surrounding food, body image and whatever else may rear its head as I embark on this journey.