It started when I realized I hated having my picture taken again.
It struck me that I stopped taking a lot of pictures of Caleb and me together. I started to find it odd that, despite my father being a professional photographer, I have basically ZERO recent nice family photos. When the idea of taking new ones virtually scared me into seeing what I really looked like, I knew I had a problem again.
I think we all kind of have that “a-ha” moment in our weight loss journeys, the moment that kicks us back into gear and makes us realize we can do better.
My first weight loss journey back in 2012 started with me crying in my old apartment. I looked in the mirror and I hated myself. I knew I needed to make a change – a real change – this time around. I started on my journey and I didn’t look back.
After Caleb was born, I had a hard time. I lost some of the weight I had gained during the pregnancy, but fell off the wagon time and time again. I was too tired, too busy, too everything to care much. I made excuses. I told myself I was accepting myself the way I was, that we should love the skin we’re in. I convinced myself that it was okay. That I was okay.
After my ectopic pregnancy in February, though, things took a turn for the worse. I have struggled all my life with anxiety and depression but it tends to ebb and flow. After our loss, I kind of fell into a depression and I’ve been eating my way through it ever since. I’ve put on about 35 pounds since the ectopic. I would have kept going, too, I think, but I stopped myself.
I took pause. I re-assessed my life, who I was, who I am, who I wanted to be.
I didn’t want to be this girl. DON’T want to be this girl.
I don’t want to be the girl who hates what she sees in the mirror, who refuses to take pictures with her son, who feels (no… KNOWS) that the world is judging her based solely on her weight.
I think we SHOULD love ourselves. I think we NEED to love the skin we’re in. But the thing is… I don’t. I don’t know if I can ever love myself at this size. If I did, I’d be okay with staying where I am… but I don’t. I can’t keep going on this way. I look back at the times I was the healthiest and the happiest and it was when I was thinner and active, when I was prioritizing myself and my health. I STILL don’t know how I’m going to find time to get active again, but I know that I need to.
There are a hundred excuses. I work full time. I have a son, dogs, a house. My husband works nights so it’s just Caleb and me every evening, so how can I run or walk or hit the gym? Isn’t it selfish of me to take away the already limited time I have with my son so that I can exercise?
And these excuses are all valid. I DON’T know when I’ll find the time, but I will. It’d be more selfish of me to go on disliking myself and letting my son see that than it’d be for me to work out a couple of hours a week. No, I probably won’t be running another half-marathon any time soon because it took hours and hours of my time each week to train, but I can do SOMETHING. Something is better than nothing.
Right now, I am logging calories again. I am back on MyFitnessPal (which hit me with all the feels… so many memories of that time in my life when my world centered around MFP, like meeting Jerry there). I am cleaning up my eating, cutting back on my portions, and just generally giving a damn again about what I put into my body. I’ll try – slowly – to re-introduce exercise and hopefully, maybe even running again sometime in the future. I’ve kind of taken stock of my life and where I am and am working on heading back in the direction I need to be going in. I hope it will stick this time. I hope this will be my last first time of having to lose weight again. We will see where the future takes me.
I know I’ve done this before. I’ve tried to make my comeback a few times now, but I’ve continued to fall down time and time again. I’ve failed and I’ve given up and I’ve stopped caring. But I’ve finally started to realize that you can fall down, but you can always get back up again, too.