Do Not Be Afraid
Oh, how I wish I could tell you that I’m one of those laid-back, totally chill brides who lets every wedding-planning difficulty roll right off her back.
Alas, that would be an EPIC lie.
With just 65 days to go until I officially become Mrs. Bachelor Girl, we’re past the stage where all we had to do was sit around and dream big about how gorgeous we want this wedding to be. Now we’re down to the nitty-gritty: addressing invitations, wording programs, making flower arrangements and baking and freezing 200 cupcakes (yes, I am THAT big of an idiot).
Between that, work and trying to lose weight for this wedding, I am a giant knot of stress that no amount of wine will untangle. Oh, wait, wine has a lot of calories, doesn’t it? SHIT.
Despite meticulously counting calories and doing the 30 Day Shred until I want to barf up my lungs, the scale hasn’t budged a bit. Not one pound lost. Not one pound, even though I go to terrific restaurants and order salads. Even though we go to friends’ birthday parties and I don’t have so much as one cupcake or a single beer, or if I DO have said cupcake or beer, I’m wracked with guilt for three days afterward.
People, that ain’t cool. I’ve never had an eating disorder or struggled with food issues of any sort, but I started having thoughts like, you pig. You deserve to be a fat bride. I saw people eating dessert and got blood-boilingly jealous that they could just sit there and consume all those calories without a care in the world.
By last Sunday, I’d had enough. I was so tense I was trembling when my fiancé and I sat down in church.
As it happened, the pastor’s sermon was about Luke 12:22-34, in which Jesus tells his disciples not to worry. Basically, we should do the best we can, then not worry about the rest.
Suddenly, I decided that’s exactly what I would do. I mean, I’m already doing everything I can. If I don’t lose any weight by my wedding day, I’ll still be OK. I may not look as svelte as I want to, but at the end of the night, I’ll still be surrounded by the people I love most in the world and, most importantly, married to the love of my life. And if I keep worrying about it (and every other tiny detail), I’m going to miss out on one of the most exciting and fun times of my life.
So no more worrying.
After church, my fiancé and I went to lunch at a restaurant we love, and rather than order yet another salad, which is what I would’ve done the day before, I decided to order Eggs Sardou from the brunch menu. Yes, that’s a pretty fattening dish, but I was HONGRY, damnit.
It arrived, and it was every bit as delicious as I had hoped. Rich as it was, I only ate about half of it, but I relished every bite. For the rest of the day (and the rest of this week), I ate normally. I tried to make good choices (nuts instead of chips and a chocolate energy bar rather than 28,000 Hershey Kisses), but when I was hungry, I ate. For the next four nights, I didn’t go to bed hungry, and I never got so famished that all I could think about was how many hours I had to pass before I could have my next 80-calorie snack.
I got on the scale yesterday, and damn if I hadn’t dropped four pounds.
Now, I’m not saying that I lost four pounds by religious faith (although after going this long without losing ONE MEASLEY POUND, I am rather inclined to see that four-pound loss as A Miracle From the Lord), but I think not worrying had something to do with it. Think about it:
Too few calories + Intense exercise + Excessive stress and worry = My body saying, “OH, HOLD ON JUST A DAMN MINUTE, SISTER. I ain’t givin’ up one single OUNCE of body fat ’cause YOU’S TRYIN’ TO KILL ME, BITCH.”
So that’s my policy from here on out – not just until the wedding, but forevermore:
I’m going to do the best I can and not worry.