We are going to have a little bit of truth today.
I know that it’s been a while since I’ve posted anything. Honestly, it is because I haven’t felt very inspirational lately. In fact, truth be told, it’s safe to say that I’ve been #depressedAF. My last post was in October 2017 and I stated I was going to try the REAL ME again. I haven’t found her. Truth be told, she is lost. I need help finding her.
I will spare the pity party that has been the past three years of my life. Let’s just say… There have been a total of seven surgeries since June 2016 (reference to previous blog). There were not suppposed to be that many. As one of my surgeons said, “Anything that could go wrong, did go wrong.” And my personal favorite, “This happens to 5% of people, but if it happens to 1% of people, it would happen to Sylvia.” What can I say, we all knew I was special.
With all of the surgeries we learned one thing about my body. We learned that if our doctor told us four to six weeks of recovery time, my body needed eight weeks of recovery time. This was a new reality… One that I did not like! I was trying to figure out this new normal. Not only was I dealing with the pain, I was also dealing with hormone changes. My last surgery was the worst. It was the most painful; even the graze of a t-shirt caused pain. Not to mention that I fell down on my surgery sites.
I waited the four to six weeks that the doctor told me to wait before I could work out. BELIEVE ME…. It was a horrible twitching, itching sensation down in the pit in my stomach that I felt. ENDORPHINS ARE REAL Y’ALL!
So, here I am and the results are that I had gained 130 pounds (I know some people are laughing at me because of this… HATERS), I lost a job that I loved because they did not think the surgery was necessary (a friend, btw) and it took me a while to find another job (on the plus side, they are very positive people).
I have lost 22 pounds since I was released from my last surgery (June 7th). I haven’t been able to loose any more weight since then. I went to a workout class right after I was released from my doctor and I fainted. It was humiliating. The “The Tabata Queen” can’t even complete a 50 minute class. I’m embarrassed that my past clients have seen me in my state. They have seen my previous before and after picture, but now I feel like a failure. Like I let them down. I would rather sit in my room with my shades drown and lights off than see anyone. I see myself waddle in the reflection of a glass and I just want to cry. This is not who I am. I see pictures of myself and I cringe.
My niece posted a picture of me on FaceBook. Of course, I was not a fan of it. In fact, I haven’t been a fan of any pictures posted of me in the past year. Have you seen the animated movie Big Hero 6? It has the inflatable, vinyl Betamax. That’s how I feel when I look at pictures of myself. Or like I’m allergic to something and that something has made it into my body and I need an epidermic needle…. Like STAT! Ok. I don’t want to get a ton of comments about “positive body image” but I am expressing my feelings right now.
When my niece posted the picture, I commented immediately “Can we burn or delete me out of this picture immediately, please?” I was waiting for some really smart ass response. Instead, she replied with the following: “No, because when people take pictures of you, it’s about how much they love you and how beautiful they see you despite how you see yourself. I see a strong woman at a hard stage of her life, that she is working to take back control of. I don’t see what you see. I love this picture of all three of you.”
I’m am trying to hold onto those words when things become more challenging. I need to find the motivation that assisted me motivate others. I have to believe that she’s around here somewhere. I did this once. I HAVE to do this again.