Chronicles of a Late Bloomer

In the transtheoretical Stages of Change model, the first stage of change is called Precontemplation.

photo credit: serhio

Precontemplation is the stage before you are even thinking about making a change. Change isn’t on your radar. Maybe you aren’t even aware that a change needs to be made, or not willing to consider options for making change.

This is all just a nice, fancy way to say “denial.”

photo credit: Esther_G

When you’re in precontemplation, you sort of sail along. You may concoct workarounds for your problem — justify it, rationalize it, make allowances for it, whatever — but you don’t really think about actually changing anything.

In essence, you embrace the comb-over.

photo credit: Generation X-Ray

I documented snippets of my precontemplation (here, here, and here, as examples). Basically, I gave up the weight-loss fight after my complicated surgery. I just needed to recover. I rationalized that I should allow my body the energy it needed to heal and get better — rather than pushing or straining.

And then I let go, and I bobbed along that way for virtually an entire year. Sure, I’d notice from time to time that my clothes were getting tighter, that I was digging into my “fat stash” for something to wear on a Saturday night, and that Cold Stone Creamery had returned to my self-soothing repertoire. But, for whatever reason, it didn’t matter. I was pre-contemplating. In denial.

Sometime in the early fall, after I passed my licensing exam, my precontemplation ended. I remember the moment vividly. I was in and out of a Saturday afternoon nap on the couch, sandwiched between two sleeping dogs, when suddenly I slipped into a vision.

Okay, I don’t know if it was a vision per se. It was a daydream, or a half-dream, or an imagination run wild or whatever, but it felt very real.

I was walking down a street — like a pedestrian mall. I was window-shopping, and I remember coming to a store with a large front window that was dark on the inside. Standing there, I caught a glimpse of myself in the window’s reflection. There I was — definitely me — but thin. Thin! It felt so natural, so normal. There were my facial features, but more defined. My blue eyes blinked out of my own face. My clothes hung well, and they were clothes I would definitely wear. They were my style. My hair. My shoes.

photo credit: Joseph Robertson

I have never been thin. I don’t think I’ve ever even successfully imagined myself as thin. But, after all of these years of therapy and of resolving my food issues and accepting myself the way I am and working toward a general state of health, there remains deep within me the hope — the belief — of a thinner me. Some part of my brain can even conceptualize it. I’m here to tell you that it isn’t the everyday part of my brain that understands this concept. Even now, it’s difficult to re-conjure the image.

But the image was there. And for whatever reason, on a Saturday afternoon, I could believe in it. It felt good. Like I could inhabit that body. Like I could still be me and look that way. Like it would fit.

And that was the end of my precontemplation.

This entry was posted Tuesday, February 2nd, 2010 at 4:07 pm and is filed under Metaphysical, The 2010 Experiment. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.