I've been doing so good, eating right, working out and staying active, and keeping my mind healthy by attempting to banish the nasty thoughts that pick at me while I try to attempt this difficult feat. I use the myfitnesspal ap and website to help me track my calories, exercise, and progress. It is so handy and almost always has the food that I'm wanting to log. Yesterday, I was bored and poking around in the history of my myfitnesspal account. The program will track your weight all the way back a full year. I couldn't believe what I saw. At this time, one year ago, I weighed 161 pounds...161.
Somehow, in my brain, I had convinced myself that I had only gained 20 pounds or so. That I was only a little off track and just needed to kill a few pounds to get back to where I was. In one year, I gained 50 pounds!! How did I not notice what I was doing to myself, how did I not catch myself and fix the problem before it got so out of hand? I just started hating on myself so hard. There is was right in front of me. There was the evidence of my failure, how gross I was...I started to spiral out of control in my head. I didn't fully realize the difficult path that lay ahead of me. My wounded ego welcomed those voices in my head. They told me I was no good, that I couldn't lose the weight or be healthy, that I was just going to be fat because I always go back to the pizza and taco bell...I could literally feel myself sinking into that crappy place where I wasn't good enough.
Then I took a second. I looked around the room. My boyfriend was sitting next to me playing on his phone. That reminded me of the day we decided to have our phones on the same contract (relationship step!). He doesn't care if I gain a few pounds, or fifty! Not once during this last year had he made one single degrading comment about my weight. He loves me, and that is way more than some silly insecurity buried in my brain and surfacing when I started to backslide.
I looked at my brother, sitting on the other couch. I had convinced him to leave his couch hopping days behind him and join me in sunny San Diego. I supported him, helped him get a car, a job, and a place to live. I did all of that and it had nothing to do with my weight.
In the past year, I received two AWESOME promotions at work. I went from making eight bucks an hour to 35,000 a year. I worked hard to get to where I am, and I did it while I was fat.
Being fat doesn't define me, it doesn't hold me back or stop me from getting what I want. I am trying to be more healthy overall, and that means accepting myself for where I am and what I can do, and slowly making progress in the right direction. It means confronting my demons and the voices who say I can't and telling me that they don't matter to me.
I am proud of me for what I can do. I have to learn to love myself regardless of what I look like. This journey will just be one more thing that I can love myself for.
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