Be You, Do You, Love You

Hey, how’s your weight loss going?

The question, as of late, has made me extremely anxious. It has induced stress and anxiety. I wish I could pause time Saved by the Bell style so I could eventually un-pause and provide a better answer to it.

I long to share that I’ve lost another couple pounds. And then another few. And a couple more. I can’t wait to post those amazing photos where you stand in a pair of you old pants and hold the waist out away from you at arm’s length because they are now that big on you. I can’t wait to shout to the world that I’ve lost 100 pounds…and I’m still going!

Internally, my response is that I am still here. Still stuck at 60 pounds. I still can’t run more than a mile even though I’ve been trying for over a year. I still shop mostly in the plus-sizes, I still make poor food choices and don’t always work out consistently. I am still very, very overweight. I feel guilty when people tell me how good I’m looking because at some point, that will all stop if my weight loss doesn’t start back up.

Externally, though, I reply that despite being very, very stuck right now, it’s all going pretty well, actually. I mean, I know I’ve got to figure out how to get unstuck. And I know my journey is far from over. In fact, we’ve probably got ourselves a lifelong thang here, me and the weight loss.

But, as my frustration with that question and the stagnant scale has reached a boiling point over the past few six months, I’ve slowly begun to notice myself becoming more and more accepting of what’s going on with my body.

Is quitting an option? No, never. Not once on this journey have I even contemplated throwing in the towel. It just doesn’t cross my mind. Sure, I cry about the pounds not coming off. I go on weeks-long binge benders where I revert to old comfortable habits. I stress myself out worrying that I’m running out of time, that I’ll never get this right, that I’ll never really succeed at making my life, that I’ll  have to face that damn question for the rest of my life.

Eventually, though, my brain clears and I get back on track. I reclaim the small pieces of confidence I’m slowly accumulating. And these past few weeks have felt even more different.

I actually feel good. Some days great, even. I am confident more often than not. I feel mostly worthy of other people’s time and attention. I am aware and conscious of my moods, my cravings, and my triggers and I know I can choose how to acknowledge them. I’m getting more fit—certain moves are easier in my group fitness classes, and I no longer getting winded walking up a flight of stairs. And my body does look different, even though it weighs the same—I see my collarbone, I feel muscle and definition in my arms and torso, my calves are much leaner, more muscular. Hell, I’ve even looked in the mirror a few times recently and thought my butt looked cute. My butt, of all things!

I’m making peace with my here and now. I’m making peace with my body, with myself, as is. Flaws and all. And that is the first step to welcoming future change and love into your life. It brings with it a deep sense of calm, too. Like, no matter what does or doesn’t happen on the scale, at work, with that cute boy… it’s okay because you know it will eventually work itself out. And in the meantime, it’s all good.

So, ask me again. Ask me how my weight loss is going. Because it’s going great. I’m losing pounds and pounds of mental baggage.

It’s a beautifully freeing thing, this self-acceptance.

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