Church makes me fat.

Bible study breakfast: homemade bread pudding, couscous salad, banana bread. All made by the sweet church ladies who have been married for more than 30 years and cook up a storm with one hand tied behind their back.

Filipino ministry lunch: complete with rice, chicken adobo, Filipino spaghetti and chicken sesame ginger salad.

Evening pie fellowship to celebrate the new couple who got married over the weekend.

I used to blame the carbs, the free creamers and coffee and all the scrumptious food made with love. I was 127lbs when I walked through those church doors. Now I click up and down the breezeway at 144.

I want to blame everything else, including my hysterectomy and the bitter secret that no one tells you that you will crave every sweet thing during your first year after the surgery. I want to blame the near-master chefs who put together the event dinners and holiday spreads for the bigger waistline and oversized sweaters.

I want to blame church for making me fat.

But that’s not true. It’s my fear that made me this way.

I was so scared to bend, reach, twist after my recovery. And even up to one year after I finished treatment. I had to admit that I had a mental block about working my core. And that I indulged all too willingly in those processed foods.

I have no big solutions in this post other than the process of taking responsibility for the small choices I should have tended to and that I overlooked the important decisions on meal choices. My “spiraling” has probably stopped but now I have to pick myself up and own up to what I left out during my recovery. I even felt entitled to reach for sweets/ processed foods because of “everything I had been through.” (Pity pastries, that’s what I call them. Hmph.)

Thank you for going through this journey with me, which seems to have a series of new beginnings. This one involves how I stop kidding myself. 🙂

Until next time,

Mahal

 

 

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