In her post, Helen wrote of her frustration at not fitting into last summer's bermuda shorts. My comment was "I hear you on the clothes. And I wanna just slap myself." Until I wrote those words, I honestly didn't think I was that mad at myself for putting on some pounds. But I am, and here's why:
I truly did not appreciate how good I looked last summer. Don't get me wrong - I was thrilled with fitting into the size 6 bermuda shorts, but did I focus on that? No - I couldn't stop seeing my extra belly flab. I'm sure this stems from always having in the back of my mind that I still weighed a lot for my height - my lowest low was 146 pounds, but obviously a lot was muscle, because that is the only way I could have fit into such small sizes. WHY didn't I appreciate my body then? I'll tell you why...decades of dieting.
Never being done.
Never hitting "goal" - whatever that was.
Never having the inner strength to say "I like how I look and feel now" - never quite standing up for myself.
I am so mad. I just want to go back and say "You dope! Enjoy what you've achieved!" and I know that I'm not showing self-love, but so what. Sometimes I need a reality check. And my reality is that I was obese for 20 years. The very fact that I was able to lose so much weight was a freaking miracle. And the fact that I couldn't let myself be done at 146 pounds - that I couldn't accept that I was at a healthy size for ME - oh, I am angry.
My mother is happiest with herself when she weighs in the low 120's.
My best friend is happiest with herself when she weighs in the low 130's.
I should have been happy with myself when I weighed in the mid 140's.
Three people, all about the same height. All different body types. All active, healthy people. All who look freaking amazing at those weights. And one who is dealing with 20/20 hindsight.
Me, last summer, at my lowest weight, wearing the size 6 bermudas that don't fit at the moment. Not seeing the belly flab that I couldn't stop focusing on, either. Big, big sigh.