Forty pounds is the weight of an average 5-year-old, or a Brittany Spaniel. Or an industrial-sized bag of...whatever. Impressive, right? Maybe not.
I'm trying to be optimistic, but trying keep this all in perspective, because, see, I went out last night, and photos were taken. Despite the fact that two people whom I'd not seen in months rushed me and told me how good I look, the proof is in the photos: I'm still a fucking cow.
Forty pounds is a big accomplishment. I get that. But in the grand scheme of things, really, it's nothing. It's a drop in the bucket. There was once a time in my life when a 40-pound loss meant big changes (and even complaints from the boyfriend about being "too thin" if you can believe that). But now...ugh. Okay, I know. I look better than I did 40 pounds ago, but it's going to be another 40 pounds before I really start feeling like I look good. And even 40 pounds from now I'll still be fat. In fact I'll still have 50 pounds to lose beyond the next 40. So...what the fuck. It all seems so futile sometimes.
Don't mind me. I know that every destination is reached not by giant strides but by baby steps, and that every pound matters, but I just hate it when I feel like I'm making progress and then I see a photo that screams "FATSO!" staring back at me. It's not exactly the most encouraging thing. I'm trying to love myself every step of the way, but it's not easy.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
2 comments:
I know what you mean and I know how frustrating this is. However, remember that the camera adds weight. Some people say 10, some say 20. Whatever. When I look in the mirror, I do not look as bad as I look in pictures. Ever
Also, we're always harder on ourselves. Ease up on yourself if you can.
You inspire me. I have been keeping your success in my head when I'm having trouble getting motivated. Hang in there.
What she said.
-Your 2nd biggest fan ;)
Post a Comment