I run my hands against the different fabrics in my closet. This is my ten-pounds ago blouse. I fit into it just last summer, but today it is snug and unflattering. And here is my 20-pounds ago dress. Even when I fit into this beautiful thing, I felt fat and unattractive. Up here are my jeans that span across six different sizes, including my 50-pounds-lighter-pants.
My closet is a reflection of my life-long battle with my weight. Reluctant to get rid of old sizes, I allow my guilt to set in because I can no longer fit into them. With a dedicated focus on my health, I hope that one day soon I will return to these smaller size clothes.
This was a journal entry from a year ago.
For the past 25 years, I've struggled with weight. But if we're being honest, weight was never the issue. My real problem was lack of self-acceptance.
If we hate any part of ourselves, then nothing is ever good enough. No matter what number I was on the scale, whether my chest bones were poking out or whether I had so many rolls on my body I couldn't fit into a public seat comfortably, the issue was never the weight.
But it was much easier to blame my body than to take responsibility for my own insecurities and examine my lack of self-worth. The weight roller-coaster was a reflection of my imbalanced thoughts. If I felt unworthy and unloved, my body would turn into my enemy.
No matter my weight, my doctor would always tell me I was healthy and fit. But in my mind, well, that was where the real battle was. When you hate any part of yourself, it doesn't matter what others say about you. You won't believe them until you feel it for yourself.
For decades, I used my body as a personal punching bag, abusing it with my thoughts. I'd say things like: