I expected a lot of stressful moments with this move, but not one of them had to do with self-esteem. And yet, here at the beginning of the move, that is exactly what has happened. The "packing up and sending our stuff off" part has actually been relatively stress-free, even hilarious at times with craziness and laughter and all kinds of new inside jokes and memories. Strangely, it was the move from our now empty apartment to the hotel that did it for me.
We spent last Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday stationed in the yard out of the way of the packers and movers as they packed and inventoried our stuff. It was hot and sticky and buggy, but necessary, We spent Friday and Saturday nights camped out in the former master bedroom around the flat screen that is going with us, lounging on the floor in the coolest room in the place. Which is't saying much, especially as we had no AC or fans. Yesterday, we moved to a hotel outside of post for a few days before Soldier Daddy signs out and we hit the road. After two days of sleeping on the floor of our empty apartment, the thought of a hotel sounded ridiculously lovely. And, at first, it was ridiculously lovely. All I wanted was a bath and some peace. And, as soon as we were settled in, that is just what I did. And that is when my issues started. This room is covered in mirrors, along both long walls and a huge one in the bathroom. For the last seven years, I have generally ony been able to see from the boobs up, relying on the glass door for full-body reflections. Not an option here. I can see all of me, all the time. Being naked in the bathroom did me in, TMI or not.
Several years of off-and-on chemo combined with a severe, and rare, mold allergy has caused me to seriously put on weight. It has killed my self-esteem, being a former skinny girl, even after 4 kids. I have seen the numbers on the scale, from time to time, but the numbers really don't mean much to me, I donn't care about that. What I care about is how I look, how I feel. And I guess having spent the last several years with only boobs-up mirrors has left my head stuck in the sand about how I looked. I was horrified. Seeing myself like that shocked me. I saw dimples in places I never had them, saggy parts where they used to be firm. It was awful. I proceeded to sit in the bath and just cry until it felt like my soul was dried out. That was yesterday, and I have had more than one moment of despair since. I have never been so ashamed of myself in my life. And the thing is, it isn't really food issues. I don't eat perfectly, but I don't eat horrificaly either. Nor do I eat a lot. And much of what I do eat doesn't stay there. One of the side effects to my allergy is that I am nauseous almost all the time. Half the time I don't eat because the thought of food makes me sick. The allergist tells me I have a ridiculous amount of mold inside me, and that it accounts for 90% of my excess weight. That is al well and good, but it does't change what I saw in the mirror and how crappy I feel right now,
A total setback for my goals of living more positively…