I am grateful and appreciate all that my body has done and currently does for me, but it doesn't mean I have to love it. Yes I will always have stretch marks, or cellulite, or scars, but those can help remind me to be grateful that all my parts work. I try really hard to look at things differently, like when my back hurts after cleaning the whole house or doing yard work, to be grateful that I have a home and yard to clean. Or when my feet and legs are swollen from to much sun and flying, to be grateful that I had the opportunity to spend a week in Hawaii with family. Or when my shoulders get sore, to be grateful that I am able to go outside and play basketball with my son and husband.
I have been dreading the day where I got the courage to step on a scale and see where I was at. Was it going to be as bad I feared? Is it possible that the number hasn't changed much in the last year? What am I going to do when I see the results? What will people think when they know? So this morning was the day I gathered up the courage and stepped on the scale (first thing in the morning and naked of course). And then stepped in the shower wanting to cry and beat myself up. But I didn't, I honestly thought about what I need to do.
First thing I need to do is be honest and open, especially with my friends and my husband. I don't know if these classify as an eating disorder, but I am a stress eater and a closet eater. I eat and hide it. Try to throw away wrappers so no one will see them. I crave crap food when I am stressed or not feeling well, like its going to make something better. I have a few friends that I can be very honest with and tell them what is going on, and I admit I have a problem, I know I have a problem, and usually end it with, well I could be worse. So there is some honesty in the phrase "I could be worse", but I need to train myself that "I can be better" is a better approach.
So back to this morning, as I patiently and nervously waited for the number to appear on the scale, dreading what it is going to show me, I looked in the mirror (and for one of the first times not in disgust) took a deep breath and looked down. 301. What the hell. When did that happen? I didn't even weigh that much when I was pregnant with a 10 pound baby. Last time I checked I was 286 and I was angry at that number. Now I am furious. I am sad. I am disappointed. I am determined. I will not be the girl that cried wolf.
*now to find the courage to hit publish...
