Lately, it’s been difficult adjusting to the changes happening to my body. I know that when I get to my goal weight (whatever that number may be), I am going to deal with loose skin, stretch marks, and saggy-ness. While I am coming to terms with this, I also feel overwhelmed by it. A part of me considers getting surgery, but the other part wants to live with it, because it’s a reminder of where I’ve come from and how hard I worked to get to that body… as imperfect as it may be.
Today was a little weird as I felt all kinds of emotions. I looked in front of the mirror in just a t-shirt and underwear. I saw how my hips have gotten smaller, how my legs are firm, how my arms have shrunk. And for real, my ass is looking fine. Because I’m totally weird, I had to yell, “I’m changing my life, ya’ll!”
My body isn’t perfect, and I suppose I still have much to learn from it. Because my fear isn’t what I think of my body, because I know I have what it takes to accept it. My fear is how others will accept it, if at all. And I know if people reject who I am, they’re not worth the time. But I’m not sure how I can handle that if it’s someone I truly care about. But if my relationship with this person is genuine, and we’re both invested, then my body shouldn’t matter.
This is my body, and this is the first time in my life I have ever been proud of it. And I’m not going to stop being proud of it because of stretch marks and loose skin. And any person who accepts who I am (wholly and without question)… well, they’re pretty fucking awesome.
I used to be very indifferent about my life. With the way I treated my body, it seemed like I did follow one extreme. I stopped caring before I discovered any reasons. But as I lost weight, I started see all of these little signs in my life. And sadly, these things have always been present. Last night, I looked like a total dumbass as I watched the sky just before night. It was red and blue and they formed into each other until it just faded into a complete black. And it was one of those strange moments where the music matches the moment, and you have some sort of epiphany about your life and the changes that have happened and continue to happen. This whole journey has been an understanding of what it means to be alive, because I was quite sure I was dead.
When I discovered the ability to see the positive in all things, everything changed for me. Because I stopped looking at what I had to do and focused on what I had already done. I strived for happiness and not prominence. So when this change happened in my mind, it started happening to my body as well. And it’s been slow, but that’s evolution. It takes thousands of years for cultures to evolve, yet we prove that wrong when we slowly take on the world for ourselves.
And as I take on the world, I get scared sometimes, because I’ve found my reasons to live. It took some digging, but I found them and fear letting them go. I fear losing my health. I fear losing the ones I love. I fear losing my discipline. I fear fading into my life like I did before. And there are some things I just can’t change. But I understand how to evolve into the person I want to become, because I know that person still fears those things but accepts the inevitable.
I feel these changes everyday, and it’s difficult grasping them. They’re fleeting, but they each match up to the one before. They just have slight changes. They’re slightly stronger versions of me that I try to capture each day.
Just because I’d forgotten the sky for so many years doesn’t mean it didn’t exist. And likewise, I forgot my body and mind, and I didn’t realize it was evolving on its own. It was waiting for me to notice it all along, patiently nodding when I was finally ready to evolve.
- January 2, 2012: 289.6
- January 9, 2012: 286.8
- A loss of 2.8 pounds.
I have been on a plateau for the last few months. A part of it was physical, as I feel my body was just trying to keep up with my mind. The other part is mental, and it was a struggle getting my brain back to where it needed to be. I don’t remember a time I was under 240 pounds and as I get closer to it, I’m not only discovering what I really look like but the person I really am. A part of me is afraid to discover this person but the other part knows there is nothing to fear. It’s just me trying to go back to what was comfortable.
But in February, I would like to see the 270s. Whether it’s in the beginning or end doesn’t matter. I’m ready to continue my progress.
This week, I am going to lose two pounds.
I have always had a major problem with late night eating. It’s the part of the day where my optimism crumbles. It’s where I’m alone, and I don’t have to hide binging. I am able to roam free and graze the pantry, the fridge, and freezer. I could easily eat enough calories to last a few days at any given night and if I were to calculate previous binges, I’m sure I would prove myself right.
Tonight, I felt like binging. It was overwhelming having that feeling inside of me. And I felt that the only way to release it is to give in to my wants. Tonight, however, was a little different. I am no longer allowing myself to eat food while doing another activity. Watching television, browsing the internet, even reading. It’s amazing how I try to ignore what my body says to me. For years, I would eat dinner in the comfort of my room and without knowing it, I would consume so much and not understand how it happened. Making myself devote my attention to what I’m eating makes me stop overeating the second it begins to happen.
I sat down to eat the food and was surprised by silence. I noticed that once I was done with my food, I was content. Not full but just content. I found that my anxiety began to rise, because I wanted to feel full. I stood up, washed the dishes, and walked into the pantry. I considered my options but instead headed upstairs to where I am at right now.
This is the most progress I’ve made since starting. All the weight loss, the work outs, the back pain… it all crumbles to the fact that I am not using my budding muscles but my self-control. I have given in every time. And this was the first time I didn’t give into food but into what my body was telling me.
I’m coming to terms with the fact that this will be an everyday struggle. I know it will be. I’m going to feel this everyday. But maybe someday the feeling will numb, or it will stay a part of me but get smaller and smaller until I realize it doesn’t exist anymore. I hope so.
Sometimes, excess weight isn’t fat, just the extra crap that holds me down. It isn’t a love handle or a roll or jiggle. It’s opinions, repressed memories, and unfortunate experiences. It just so happens that all of this is expressed physically on my body, ornaments of my past that I thought I was hiding so […]
Dear Jo of 2011,
I sometimes wonder if as time passes, we let go of pieces of ourselves. They are no longer a part of us but like people we used to know. And we release them as we form into something else, sometimes stronger, sometimes weaker. Because right now I feel like I’m looking at the reflection of someone I used to know, someone I loved dearly but knew I had to let go of them. They were both strong and weak, sometimes too strong to notice that they were weak. And sometimes, I hated them for that.
For the first time, I don’t find myself mourning that person. I am not afraid of being in this new skin, and I won’t be afraid to let them go as they are released back into the world as I form a new one. I find that I am not afraid at all. As I look at you, I see how you took on all of the pain thinking it was the only way to live but as you finally learned to release it, we saw all the years of us go freely into the world. Because as much pain they had to go through, maybe in some way they knew that it would bring us here. So the me of 2010 could finally see me smile. So the me of 2009 could watch me lose weight. So the me of 2008 could watch as I learned from mistakes. Because each year of us formed into this. We’re still growing, but we’re also letting go. And I hate saying goodbye to you, because you helped me learn so much, but the me of 2012 is lightly tugging at my wrist telling me we have so much more to do.
So, Jo of 2011, this is where I leave you. Thank you so much for helping me do what I needed. I don’t know how in the hell you did it, but it worked.
I love you,