My current body image sucks. After coming through from the other side of PTSD and PND (even though I’m not better yet, I just cope better with the flashbacks), I look at myself much more critically than I did in months gone by.
I’ve never been a small person. By small, I mean size 8. I was always a 10-12 without trying. Since having my thyroid go underactive and having the baby, I’ve been a size 14-16 and well, I hate it.
When sickest with my PTSD, I couldn’t cook. So healthy meal options didn’t happen. Now I’m paying for that.
Since coming home from Canberra , I’ve been eating really well and exercising. Today though, I blew it. I ate a quarter pounder burger from McDonalds. I was standing there in McDonalds, consciously making the decision to buy and eat all those disgusting calories. Knowing that in all likelihood, I’d get to my destination today and not be able to exercise. I was right. It was 35 degrees and a storm was blowing in. I couldn’t take my daughter out in that heat. She’d get sunburned.
Talking to my husband tonight, he was saying to me that he doesn’t want me to feel guilty about eating food. It’s not that I’m hating myself for being ‘fat’, but more hating the conscious decision to put that processed and all nutrient sucked out of it, food into my body.
I’m turning 30 in two and a bit months. If I don’t get serious now, I’ll be turning 40 and being diagnosed with diabetes. Or turning 50 and having a heart attack from high cholesterol.
So I bought a treadmill. I want to use it every day. No excuses not to walk or run. I will be able to use it any time.
Also, talked about getting another psychologist today too. I read on twitter the other week a man has had PTSD for 58 years. I can’t have it for 58 years. I won’t be able to live with it for that long.