I haven’t whined about my body lately, so I shall now break the silence:
Sometimes when I whine about my body it’s justified – like when I exercise daily and eat right for three months and lose a whopping 7 pounds. But today I whine unjustifiably.
I’ll wait here while you sigh and click over to a different blog.
I’ve been carrying around 40 extra pounds for a long time now – about 5 or 6 years, depending on your math. I gained about 40 pounds with both my kids’ pregnancy, and lost all the weight after Ruthie was born.
But after Thomas, I didn’t lose a thing.
I was on anti-depressants, birth control, and mint-chocolate lattes at the time – none of which provided a way to lose the birth weight.
I have a pretty realistic vision of how I want my body to look. I know I can’t return to my pre-marriage weight – age, two kids, and gravity are working against me. But when I look in the mirror I don’t feel like me. I don’t recognize who I am. I still gasp when I see myself, as if I went to bed looking one way, and woke up looking like this.
I’ve searched for the motivation of my heart. I want to feel comfortable in my own skin, and for the most part I do. I don’t like the way I look, but I’ve accepted it.