Back in 2002, I went to Weight Watchers for the last time. I was sure I was obese and was ready to be thin, again. I did all the work, counting points, exercising faithfully and attending weekly meetings. Within weeks I got into my size 6 jeans. I looked great, if I do say so myself.
Funny thing is, I didn't feel great. In fact I didn't feel any better emotionally than I did when I was heavier. Sure I had tons of energy and got stuff done but I wasn't really at peace on the inside. I was troubled, running--fueled by anxiety--from my imagined fears. My weight loss didn't make me feel any better than it had the previous four hundred times. Go figure.
It wasn't until I got medical treatment for my anxiety (therapy and meds) that I began to feel the peace I'd been searching for all my life. Religion didn't do it. Exorcism didn't do it. Losing weight didn't do it. Finding a hobby didn't do it. Getting treatment is what did it and although I'm undoubtedly overweight, I am happier and more at peace than I've ever been.
Reading about Joni Edelman's struggles in this HuffPost Article prompted me to disclose my own. Although Ms. Edelman and I have different mental health issues (mine is anxiety and OCD, hers is bi-polar) we both came to the same conclusion. Medication to target the problem is the answer.
While the boisterous "you're fat," "you don't try hard enough" and even "submit to the authority of Jesus Christ" messages abound in various circles, maybe it's the quieter voice that has the appropriate message.
What do you think?