Oh Tuesday, you wicked tease. You're not a hump-day and you don't suck as much as Mondays, yet you're kind of just there. Making the most of this Tuesday was a tall order. For some reason I'm just tired. Like body/mind/soul tired.
My exuberance over the sunshine has been at an all time high. I think it's a combination of excitement about feeling the heat on my skin and knowing that I'm at a weight that's the lowest since before the baby boy was born - and he's going to be ten years old this summer. Now, don't get me wrong. I have no plans of parading around in a bikini anytime soon - I haven't lost that much. But I do feel like I'm finally at a more "normal" weight. Not morbidly obese, not obese looking. And so there's a whole world opening up in front of me. This world has always been there and I probably should of been strong and confident enough to experience these things no matter the number on the scale ... but now I have the energy for it. I never thought 35 lbs. would make that big of a difference but it really is major.
The biggest difference has been on the running trail. My body still absorbs the impact when I run but it's nothing like it used to. And I'm hoping that with each pound lost, my running will be less and less uncomfortable. For now - 3.5 miles today has left me with sore knees and muscle fatigue.
I'm realizing that during the past few months, while my body lightened up, my mood did as well. But that lift was temporary because the confidence I was feeling has since faded. I look in the mirror and I'm back to seeing nothing but my faults and imperfections. I'm fearful that no matter how much I lose, it'll never be enough. At what point will I finally accept myself?
When I was 8-years old I used to spend a lot of time at my Grandparents - they were my whole world. I had my own room with floor to ceiling mirrors. I have vivid memories of examining my appearance in those mirrors, acutely aware of my shape and size. I would lay down on my back and suck in my stomach so that my bony ribs would protrude straight up and I remember thinking, "this is what I'm supposed to look like" and then standing up and thinking how far I had to go to get there. Little 8-year old girls shouldn't be thinking about such things. But thanks to some very broken and mean spirited young girls in my Catholic school, I was painfully aware of body's imperfections at a very young age.
I guess my point is - I have to do the serious internal work so that I don't end up being the 33-year old version of that little girl on the floor in front of the mirror. Without learning to love myself - the number on the scale is only a small victory. My desire to live long enough to watch my baby boy grow into a man will carry me to my desired weight. But that's only half the battle.
I must fix this broken heart of mine.
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