A couple of years ago, I managed to lose a whopping 85 lbs! Eighty. Five. Pounds.
Then... Life happened, and I stopped going to the gym. We started homeschooling. My husband started a new job. And little by little, I gained back 75.
One handful of chips...
one Route 44 soft drink...
one extra helping at a time.
What happened? Where did my motivation go? How did I allow this to happen? Again?
I've been giving that a lot of thought lately. I remember a few awkward and apparently meaningful moments.
We were out to eat dinner, and I whipped out my phone to try and figure the nutritional information before I ordered... And my husband said, "Why can't you just relax once in a while? It's like you're obsessed with this whole thing." And I felt... embarrassed.
I was at work one day, and a co-worker, trying to complement me, said, "You're just disappearing!" And I felt... invisible.
I went to the doctor one day, looking for encouragement about the weight I had lost, and instead, he chose to talk about how far I still had to go. And I felt... discouraged.
I lost 85 pounds and my husband and I still fought too much. And I felt... unlovable.
I looked in the mirror one day, and was horrified at the loose skin hanging on my thighs from such dramatic weight loss, and I felt... Ugly.
And so now it's all back. And I'm paying the ultimate price. I'm now on medication for blood pressure. My back and my knees are in constant, chronic pain. I'm tired and cranky and feel pretty unworthy of love.
But... That's simply not true. I am worth it. My kids are worth it.
And worthy, no matter my genes, or the size of my jeans.
So today, I begin again.