I often dreamt about the moment when I could proudly announce that I reached my weight goal. That I was now officially healthy and fit, feeling good and looking good. Finally able to wear those flirty sundresses and sleeveless shirts that I’ve long admired but never felt flattered me. It would be a proud moment. This is not that moment. Nor a proud moment. It is a time of frustration, disappointment and sadness for me because my get healthy journey is stalled. And it’s all my fault.
A few weeks ago I shared that I had regained some weight and shared my plan to get back on track. Even though I meant it at the time, it never happened. I have excuses, of course, but they all boil down to one, concrete fact: I didn’t do the work.
Because I didn’t feel like it.
And I was tired of being “good” with my food choices. Stressed. And I am emotional eater.
Mostly, though, I was still scared of what healthy means.
It felt like something I had to live up to and I didn’t know if I had it in me to do so. It made me anxious. Anxious about failing. Succeeding. Disappointing you, me and everyone.
Occasionally I felt excited and hopeful too. And proud. But mostly anxious. And scared.
Some of you probably don’t understand what’s scary about being healthy. In fact, you see being unhealthy as something to more deeply fear.
You are not wrong.
But I have been overweight for a long time. It’s become a comfort. One that I don’t necessarily want or like. But it’s become a part of my identity and a weapon I wield against really putting myself into the world. An excuse to stay on the sidelines of life.
I don’t have any sage advice or wisdom to share. No tips or real plan of action. Yet. Even though a part of me is chanting give up, give up, I won’t. Fear isn’t going to win the war. It may win a battle or two or five but I do believe love trumps fear and hate.
So I’m choosing to love myself while also being honest. Because honesty, even a hard truth like you haven’t been doing the work, is a loving act. It doesn’t mean I need to berate myself over my mistakes, but I must acknowledge my fear that I’m not worth it. I know it’s a lie. A lie that I use as an convenient excuse. But I am worth it and I’ll prove it to myself by doing my best to honor and respect my body’s needs. And forgiving myself when I slip and make a poor choice, while also dusting myself off and pushing forward.