One of the things I hate most about this whole process are the people who simply don't understand what it means to be on a weight-loss program. Actually, it's more the people who think they understand, and in reality have no idea that what they're saying or doing to you is more destructive than helpful.
2 examples from recent days:
1. Last night I went to a favorite restaurant with my mom, brother, and 2 of my mom's close friends whom I have known for years. I order the sweet and sour chicken dish, sauce on the side, with as little oil as possible on the veggies, as well as a side salad with dressing on the side. What happens? My salad comes, drenched in ranch dressing, which I can't eat. So I sit and wait for another salad, which comes somewhat quickly. Then, when our entrees are served, my chicken comes to me swimming in sugary sweet and sour sauce with the excess oil from the veggies floating at the top. I immediately send it back, only to receive a plate with the sauce on the side and veggies even more oily than before. As I am feeling like a terrible person, my brother calls the waiter back and uses his restaurant manager lingo (it's nice that he's studying hotel and restaurant management and knows how to talk to people in this situation) to demand the plate be taken back and the manager be sent over to our table. Finally, I get my order the way I ordered it, the price of the plate taken off the bill, and a gift certificate for another visit.
Meanwhile, everyone else at the table was finished and watching me eat my chicken, which I felt the need to fork down as fast as I could (though everyone repeatedly told me to take my time.) And I felt like a huge bitch for putting the poor waiter through hell and probably forcing him to take a pay cut for the night.
2. Just a few minutes ago, I was chatting it up with a friend (the same cynic of a friend from a few posts ago...) who is moving back to St Louis a few days before I leave for NYC, who is in town right now to apartment hunt. We're going to see Mamma Mia tomorrow night, and she suggested we get ice cream afterwards. And I say something to the effect of "Sounds good, as long as we can go somewhere where I can eat, too." She begins to tell me how she doesn't like WW because of moments like this, where you can't cheat and have that ice cream cone and just hop back on the next day, and blah blah blah. I interrupt her mid sentence to ask her NOT to go on, and not to tell me the reasons why my program is bad. I tell her that the program is working beautifully for me, that most of the time I am content with it, and that all I need her to say are things to the effect of "Yay, Tracy!"--words that respect my lifestyle and wishes. She can eat whatever the fuck she wants, but she needs to accept the fact that my choices are just that: MY CHOICES.
Once again, I felt like the biggest bitch in the world.
Except I know that I'm not a bitch. I am FINALLY standing up for myself and what my body, mind and soul all deserve. I am worth sending back a few plates and sticking up for the program that is teaching me healthy habits. I am worth my friends' or waiters' momentary discomfort and/or dissatisfaction.
I am even worth pissing people off now and then.
Especially when I go into a store and buy a perfect little black dress, and for the first time in my life consider wearing the sleeveless dress without a sweater over it. Hasn't happened yet (just bought the dress yesterday...) but I have a feeling it's coming.
I am so worth it all.