stalker vs. butterfly

I am battling so many demons in this process of losing weight. For a long time, I refused to try. I am a big believer in loving who you are, even if it’s not something I can achieve, and that weight is not always a measure of health. I didn’t want to be one of those girls who counted calories & was committed to their workout schedule & seemed to have their weight as the focus of their life.
The truth of the matter is that depression & emotional eating got the better of me over the years, and having lax eating habits only compounded the problem. Yeah, it’s true, I love healthy food, and I eat pretty well most of the time. But I’ve never watched my caloric intake before, never concentrated on an exercise regimen before, and those are necessary parts of undoing the weight-gain damage I’ve sustained.
The impetus for starting this was seeing the scale tip over 200 lbs. That scared the shit out of me. I used to be 130 lbs, and thought that was a pretty good weight. 70 lbs over that?!? That’s like adding a half-grown child to my body!
The other motivating factor is belly dance. Belly dance is a type of dance that requires immense core strength & stamina. It does NOT require a lean body, however. In fact, most originating countries of the style of dance that America takes belly dance from prize voluptuous women over thin ones. BUT. They type of belly dance that I find myself leaning towards is a more American style, and it is very technical. My body really just isn’t up to the task in its current form. Not that I would necessarily have to lose weight to get to that level of physical ability. I would, however need to work out more, which is how that fits into all this.
Soanyway. I still wrestle with the demons surrounding my self-acceptance every single day. I still tend toward emotional & compulsive eating. I am trying to change with every breath, but I make bad choices at every turn. Sometimes I don’t even realize I’m making them. I feel like I would have chosen differently, if I had realized what I was doing. I’ll find myself finishing off fries, when I didn’t even realize I’d stopped to get some, or eating sweets that I had no intention of consuming. It’s bizarre. It’s like those people who sleep eat, and never even realize it. I think I have hypoglycemia. When my blood sugar dips, I do crazy things to bring it back up. Irrational things. French fries or brown rice? Fries every time. The healthy choices are there, but I don’t seem able to reach out for them. The bad choices find me, follow me, stalk me. Fried food is like an abusive co-dependant relationship. I love it, but I clearly don’t understand love. It damages me deep down, yet I seem unable to break the tie.
How did I develop this relationship with food? I don’t even see the path that led me here. Some people can point to habits that were cultivated or observed in their upbringing… but I can’t. Maybe I just don’t see them yet. This is all so new, only 5 weeks old. My newborn babe, my new life. Change takes time and children take nurturing. I have to keep plugging along & be consistent with my little one. She is the butterfly inside me. I know you are there, heart barely beating, eyes glued shut with layers of fat. I will set you free. I will slough off this cocoon, and watch your wings unfurl.