Weight is a weird thing. Sure, scientifically, it’s all about gravity and mass and blah blah balh. It’s just a number. It’s not a measurement of your worth.
Yadda.
Yadda.
Yadda.
I know.
But fat. Appearance. Confidence. So much is tied into that arbitrary number on the scale. The circumference of your waste.
Psychology.
I’m getting lost in the mire of all of it and it’s all tied to that number. As I struggle with the importance of the number and what it means to me I’m finding twists and turns I’m finding questions and concerns and confusion.
Lots of confusion.
Lots of… not sure what I’m finding.
Me? Maybe?
I’m okay with what I’m finding. And I wouldn’t say I’m UN-comfortable with it. But I’m not sure what’s going on.
I’ve never read the self-help books or joined the group therapy, or one-on-one therapy, or done much more than surface based “lose weight.”
I’m finding that it’s so much more than getting to the gym, eating carrots, skipping creamer in the coffee, and buying clothes a size smaller than last time.
I’ve been stuck between the same sizes (XXL and XL women’s cut) for years.
In those years I’ve:
-Quit a soul sucking job
-Realized my previous career was soul sucking
-Met an amazing man
-Married that amazing man
-Put myself outside my comfort zone
-Found myself doing really well outside my comfort zone
-Realized that I’m a different person than I thought I was
That last one, that’s the one that gets to me. As an aspiring writer, my main characters have to some extent been some idealized, idolized, aspired to the version of who I thought I wanted to be. I’m slowly becoming that person and…. And I’m not sure what that means or how I feel about it.
I’m more confident now that I’m at a job that I excel at and truly enjoy. I’m more confident now that I’m not spending 9am-5pm trying to fly under the radar and just get the work done. I’m more comfortable with me now that I’ve stopped worrying about the radar and not rocking the boat. Being somewhere where I’m surrounded by artists I feel… NORMAL… for the first time.
I’m average.
I’m like everyone else.
I’ve never felt like that before. I’ve always been different, strange, and an outsider.
I was never bullied (well, there was seventh grade but even that’s not a normal bullying story). I always had friends. I was never alone. I was never left out.
But I was never like everyone else.
I was the person that fit in with the most groups. I was in the band, orchestra, choir, theater; I grew up playing league sports with the jock; I was artistic; I was a nerd, and somehow the popular girls were nice to me too.
It’s like I’m dead center in the Vin Diagram of Life. I’m a little bit like everyone but not just like anyone.
Until, somehow, now.
Until now I’ve always had the “different” label. Somehow, deep down, that’s been a shield for me. Now that I don’t have that shield. Now that I’m “normal” I’m starting to wonder about the rest of me.
I’ve been trying to lose weight since college. If I’d really been trying I’d have done it by now.
If I’d been putting actual effort into it, I’d have done it by now.
If I’d been doing more than the bare minimum, I’d have done it by now.
There’s a reason I haven’t done it.
Me.
Me.
Me.
I’m the reason.
Why I’ve been playing games with myself, I don’t know.
Why I’ve been pretending and half-assing it… I don’t know.
But somehow, somewhere, sometime, I’ve started changing when it comes to health, too.
I’ve been talking myself out of stopping for junk food instead of into it. I’ve said no to birthday cake at a 3-yearl-old’s party. I’ve said no to the beer in my fridge. I’ve said no to the brownies at work. I’ve been drinking water. I’ve been drinking coffee with no creamer or sugar. I’ve talked myself out of Starbucks.
I’ve been trying to say yes to the gym instead of ignoring it or pretending I don’t have time.
I’ve turned a corner I didn’t even know was there.
I’ve had a revelation I didn’t know I’ve been approaching.
I’m suddenly confused, excited, scared, and nervous.
But I’m happy.
And I’d like to get down to a Large.
Yadda.
Yadda.
Yadda.
I know.
But fat. Appearance. Confidence. So much is tied into that arbitrary number on the scale. The circumference of your waste.
Psychology.
I’m getting lost in the mire of all of it and it’s all tied to that number. As I struggle with the importance of the number and what it means to me I’m finding twists and turns I’m finding questions and concerns and confusion.
Lots of confusion.
Lots of… not sure what I’m finding.
Me? Maybe?
I’m okay with what I’m finding. And I wouldn’t say I’m UN-comfortable with it. But I’m not sure what’s going on.
I’ve never read the self-help books or joined the group therapy, or one-on-one therapy, or done much more than surface based “lose weight.”
I’m finding that it’s so much more than getting to the gym, eating carrots, skipping creamer in the coffee, and buying clothes a size smaller than last time.
I’ve been stuck between the same sizes (XXL and XL women’s cut) for years.
In those years I’ve:
-Quit a soul sucking job
-Realized my previous career was soul sucking
-Met an amazing man
-Married that amazing man
-Put myself outside my comfort zone
-Found myself doing really well outside my comfort zone
-Realized that I’m a different person than I thought I was
That last one, that’s the one that gets to me. As an aspiring writer, my main characters have to some extent been some idealized, idolized, aspired to the version of who I thought I wanted to be. I’m slowly becoming that person and…. And I’m not sure what that means or how I feel about it.
I’m more confident now that I’m at a job that I excel at and truly enjoy. I’m more confident now that I’m not spending 9am-5pm trying to fly under the radar and just get the work done. I’m more comfortable with me now that I’ve stopped worrying about the radar and not rocking the boat. Being somewhere where I’m surrounded by artists I feel… NORMAL… for the first time.
I’m average.
I’m like everyone else.
I’ve never felt like that before. I’ve always been different, strange, and an outsider.
I was never bullied (well, there was seventh grade but even that’s not a normal bullying story). I always had friends. I was never alone. I was never left out.
But I was never like everyone else.
I was the person that fit in with the most groups. I was in the band, orchestra, choir, theater; I grew up playing league sports with the jock; I was artistic; I was a nerd, and somehow the popular girls were nice to me too.
It’s like I’m dead center in the Vin Diagram of Life. I’m a little bit like everyone but not just like anyone.
Until, somehow, now.
Until now I’ve always had the “different” label. Somehow, deep down, that’s been a shield for me. Now that I don’t have that shield. Now that I’m “normal” I’m starting to wonder about the rest of me.
I’ve been trying to lose weight since college. If I’d really been trying I’d have done it by now.
If I’d been putting actual effort into it, I’d have done it by now.
If I’d been doing more than the bare minimum, I’d have done it by now.
There’s a reason I haven’t done it.
Me.
Me.
Me.
I’m the reason.
Why I’ve been playing games with myself, I don’t know.
Why I’ve been pretending and half-assing it… I don’t know.
But somehow, somewhere, sometime, I’ve started changing when it comes to health, too.
I’ve been talking myself out of stopping for junk food instead of into it. I’ve said no to birthday cake at a 3-yearl-old’s party. I’ve said no to the beer in my fridge. I’ve said no to the brownies at work. I’ve been drinking water. I’ve been drinking coffee with no creamer or sugar. I’ve talked myself out of Starbucks.
I’ve been trying to say yes to the gym instead of ignoring it or pretending I don’t have time.
I’ve turned a corner I didn’t even know was there.
I’ve had a revelation I didn’t know I’ve been approaching.
I’m suddenly confused, excited, scared, and nervous.
But I’m happy.
And I’d like to get down to a Large.
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