I'M OVERWEIGHT!

 I'M OVERWEIGHT!


 That's right, OVERWEIGHT.  I never thought I would be happy to be overweight.  Actually, I have spent years of my life in the past, dogging myself and over-critiquing my body, thinking I was "overweight" when in actuality, I was not. 

Before we get into the reason for my excitement, let me clear some things up: yes, I know that we should be happy in the skin we're in.  Yes, I know that a BMI test does not test muscle mass, the size of your heart, or your self-worth.  Yes, I have seen the Special K commercial where the scale says sweet things when you step on it.  Well guess what?  I don't have that scale, and I'm not that warm and fuzzy.  Anyone can say that they don't really care what the scale says, and if you ask me, I think they're fibbing.  I think almost EVERYONE cares what the scale says.  And if you don't you should.  Not as a be-all, end-all measurement, but a "I'm doing something right," or "I may need to work on something," or even a "something may be wrong" measurement.  Skinny people worry about the scale because they may want to gain weight.  Bodybuilders and weight lifters consult the scale to see if they've made an numerically measurable gains.  Obese and overweight people consult the scale to see if they've lost or gained a few.  Maybe it doesn't dictate your life, but you care. 

So here I am, three years into a pretty intense health commitment to myself, to get healthy and strong, and to lose these "extra" 47 pounds I've gained with Hashi's.  I started at 216 pounds (well, technically I "started" at 169 pounds, but then gained up to my 216).  I was OBESE.  At 5'8, I was, honestly, pretty comfortable at 169.  I exercised regularly, ran good healthy numbers, still looked good in a swim suit, and had a little extra in all the right places.  So when I began this journey in August of 2011, I was dead-set on losing that 47 pounds.  And that was it.  I didn't really care if I got stronger or healthier.  I just. wanted. to lose. the weight. 

And so it began.  I went to spin class five times a week.  I ran on the treadmill before spin to get "warmed up."  I joined Weight Watchers and counted points until I couldn't think of counting anything else.  And I lost 21 pounds in a year.  It was by far, the hardest 21 pounds I have ever lost, every single one of them.  The pounds did not just drop off like they used to, they inched off.  Crept off.  Slow as molasses.  I had never had to lose that much before--maybe a pound here, a few pounds there, but never a big chunk like that.  I had a whole new appreciation for people who lost tens of pounds.  It took serious self-discipline and dedication, and I was proud of myself, 195 and proud.  Never thought I'd see that day that I was so proud to be 195.  When Weight Watchers and spin class was no longer doing the trick, I enlisted the help of Christie Nix, of FitNix fame.  By that point, I had gained a few pounds BACK (thank you, Hashimoto's), and was seriously depressed about it.  I was becoming OBSESSED with losing weight.  I HAD to be 169 again, and I'd take even less than 169, if I could get it.  So I began working with Christie, and something strange happened.  It wasn't all of a sudden, but gradually, I began to care more about how I felt and how much I could lift and what my body could do, rather than the number on the scale.  I stayed committed, and watched my body change shape, even when the scale didn't move.  I learned how to love myself again, without association with a number or what everyone else looked like.  And it felt good.
Fast forward to now, October 2014, and I'm still committed.  I've completely cleaned up my diet.  I've eliminated the foods that my body (and my Hashimoto's) can't tolerate.  I'm careful and committed to getting my fruits and veggies and good protein in.  I train hard and often.  And I can honestly say, I don't really get on the scale all that much.  I don't really care what it has to say.  The only numbers I really care about are on dumbbells and my blood work labs.  But last week at the doctor's office, the nurse asked me to step on the scale.  And I did.  And I didn't make the excuses that I used to before, as the numbers crept up, or feel the need to tell the story about why I weigh this much.  On the top of the digital scale, there is a strip of light going from green to red, with yellow in between, green being "Normal" (whatever than means) and red being "Obese."  As I stood there, I watched the little arrow go to the middle of the yellow, "overweight" area.  Standing there, I thought about how the me three years ago would have probably gone to the restroom and cried, and then harped on the fact that I was overweight.  But not this me.  This me knows how hard it's been to get from obese to overweight.  All the blood, sweat, and tears (literally all three) that I have let go of during this journey.  I cannot describe to you how good it felt to read that scale.  "Overweight" never sounded so good.  Crazy, right?  Know why it sounded good?  Because I'm doing everything I can do to be the best me possible.  I exercise, eat right, take my supplements, I RELAX, and stay up on all my Hashimoto's info.  So if I'm overweight, so be it.  There was a time I was obese.  Everyone starts somewhere, it's just where you let it that counts. 

4 Reasons Why Autoimmune Disease Makes You a Recluse

Really?  Really.  If we took a time machine back about seven years ago, my life looked vastly different than it does now.  I loved everything social--nights out with friends, gatherings at my house, coffee dates in the morning, you name it, I wanted to be there.
And all of a sudden, my desire to be a part of all those things came to an abrupt stop.  Not by choice, I woke up one morning, and didn't feel like getting out of bed.  When I was invited out to dinner, I would make excuses as to why I couldn't make it.  And although they were excuses, they were legitimate.  I was too tired, had too much to get done, needed to get ready for the next week.  The excuses went on and on.  And all of those were true. 

1.  Just too tired.
I was too tired because I had become an insomniac.  Right when my body would allow me to fall asleep (usually around 6am), my alarm was telling me to get up.  I had too much to get done because I spent most of my day catching up from the day before, things that I'd had on my to-do list, but just couldn't muster the energy to do.  I needed to get ready for the next week because I knew at some point, I would "miss" one, two, or maybe three days due to fatigue, migraines, joint pain, brain fog, or all four. 



2.  Anxiety
On the rare occasion that I actually DID go out with friends or venture to do something outside of my new "norm", I was always met with opposition.  Suddenly, my usual "social butterfly" personality had now taken a turn for the opposite.  In anticipation of a social gathering with friends, even just a few close friends, would send me into an anxious panic.  I would become nervous, with heart palpitations and anxious sweats.  I would ask myself, "What are you so nervous about?" and try to laugh it off, but my nerves would get the best of me.  If I went to dinner, I would leave early because of an upset stomach or fever from my newly developed food intolerances.  All the while, I had NO IDEA what was wrong with me.  

   

3.  Brain fog and memory loss
Daily, I found myself struggling to focus, struggling to remember what I was supposed to be doing.  I had become disgustedly reliable on my planner (the old fashion kind, with pen and paper) that I carried everywhere with me, and referred back to for even the simplest reminders.  My husband was growing increasingly frustrated and alarmed at my short term memory loss.  At 9am he would remind me to do something, and by 11am, I'd forgotten we'd even had a conversation.  Even more scary, when he would remind me, I wouldn't have the faintest memory of the conversation at all, much less what the conversation was about.  Things were getting scary.



4.  Extreme Weight Gain or Loss
As if all of these symptoms weren't enough, the 47 pounds I was packing on for no reason at all made me withdraw even more from the people who knew me best.  I thought I knew what they were thinking - "What's going on with her?" - I had never been heavy, and certainly not FAT, but here I was, packing on pounds (once, seven pounds in one week) while killing myself in spin class and eating a clean diet.  What WAS going on with me?!

June 2011, we took a family vacation to Disney World.  I felt miserable and grouchy.  I was overweight, tired, and moody.  As fun as the rides and parades should have been, all I could think about was getting home to Atlanta and back to my new normal of hiding behind four walls and keeping to myself.   My relationships were suffering, and I was unhappy.  It was time to do something.  In August, I went to the doctor for a routine yearly physical.  While lying on the table, the doctor (a gynecologist, no less) discovered my goiter, and immediately referred me to an endocrinologist.  That visit got me on the way to wellness, even though it's been a long, bumpy road.  I still find myself "hiding" sometimes, and still get a little anxious leading up to a social date.  As a result of much research and conversations with other AI sufferers on blogs and Facebook, I learned how to tolerate and redirect my anxiety and my desire to hide behind my disease.  The moral of the story is, don't hide.  Even though it's easy, don't let yourself get lost in your disease and all the random, frustrating symptoms and side effects.  Don't let your autoimmune disease control you...the real you, not the AI you. 

Xoxo!

Healthy.  Happy.  Hashi's.

"But you don't LOOK sick."

How many times have I heard this?  Oh let me count the days.  Days when my elbows, wrists, and hips hurt so bad I could hardly move.  Days when I had the little "floaties" in my vision that I just knew would be followed by a migraine.  Days when I had been accidentally glutened and had to return home until the side effects subsided.  And especially days when the fatigue was so bad, all I wanted to do was veg on the sofa under a blanket.  Yep, all of those days.  I have often wondered why people feel the need to point that out, but then, I realized that the average person does not have any knowledge of "invisible illnesses".  I used to get really offended when people would say this.  I would often come back with, "Do you say the same thing to a woman who is eight weeks pregnant?"  Because she doesn't look pregnant. 


One day I came to a realization.  It is not a perfectly healthy person's responsibility to do the research on Hashimoto's, or Lupus, or Multiple Sclerosis, or any other autoimmune condition.  It would be nice, but it's not required.  And it isn't mainstream media's responsibility to highlight our illness like they do breast cancer or prostate cancer.  Those are big deal diseases, and I get that (although I do daydream about how great it would be for the NFL to have Thyroid Awareness butterflies on their helmets in January).  What is required, however, is that we are our own advocates.  When people ask questions, answer them.  When people say things like, "You don't look sick," explain it to them.  When I was first diagnosed with Hashimoto's in 2010, I had never heard of it.  I was referred to an endocrinologist after my OB/GYN discovered a goiter in my neck during a routine annual exam.  And truthfully, I didn't know what a goiter was either.  At the end of the appointment, my endo told me the ultrasound showed some "suspicious areas," and that my blood results had confirmed Hashimoto's thyroiditis.  He then told me it really wasn't that big of a deal, and very common, and then gave me a three paragraph Wikipedia packet about Hashi's and a prescription for Synthroid (yikes!).  So for the first six months, I was under-medicated and uneducated.  But slowly, I started to research what was going on in my own body.  What is it?  How did I get it?  What do I need to be doing to feel normal again?  And I'm still answering those questions. 
So the next time someone tells you that you don't look sick...take it as an opportunity to teach them what you're going through, because you won't get the chance otherwise. 

Healthy.  Happy.  Hashi's.