Today is interesting. I feel a changing. Like the first moments of a sunrise, where the horizon is only just the littlest bit orange on the edge, and you’re not sure when the sun will actually break through. This is not the same as the feeling has been in the past few months. In these silent months, I’ve been a ball of anxious feelings and failure, intending that every single Monday will be the first day of getting my life back on track, and getting my health in check. I think I’ve been so desperate to find my motivation again that I’ve been taking every inkling and trying to force it to be enough motivation to overhaul my life. The problem is, it hasn’t been enough to overcome excuses, doubt, fear, and self-directed criticisms.
I’ve been compulsively drawn back to when I first found my motivation—when I found Medifast, when I felt circumstances pointing me to success, and when I found a well of determination hiding in my heart. Why was that different than every preceding moment in my life, and different from every moment thereafter? If it was special favor from God, I’d have been better equipped to maintain my stamina. There is also the fact that God will always desire the best for and from us, and that doesn’t change—His desire for my success was no stronger then than it is now. So… what did I have, how did I lose it, and how do I get it back?
There is a dichotomy that I cannot resolve in looking back—part of the loss of footing was produced from a lowering of my expectations. When this all started, when my doctor looked me in the eye and told me that I could be as thin as I wanted to be (and I believed her), I envisioned an athlete at the end of the road. Strong, formidable, and even impressive. After traveling along, it changed to wanting to be average-sized. Then to wanting to just stop shopping at plus stores. Then to just wanting to feel less like a balloon, which is the least motivating goal a person could have. Simultaneously, though, I came slowly to a halt at my halfway mark—50 lbs. down, and 50 to go, and there hadn’t been enough visible change to make me happy. In 50 lbs., I had only lost about 2 dress sizes and that didn’t compute at all. The number on the scale went down, but the result of that was nowhere near the tangible evidence I expected. People say “I lost 35 lbs., and 5 dress sizes!” all the time. My goal actually felt further and further away, the closer I got to it. Or maybe at least more like a fairytale.
Setting goals is a little like setting expectations, it seems, and the experience of reaching that mile-marker was not anywhere near my expectations. But the ridiculous thing is that my response to this disillusionment was to fully derail and gain it all back, as if being halfway to my goal wasn’t at the very least better than being 0% of the way. I guess it just felt that the payoff wasn’t what I’d hoped for and I was incredibly disappointed and decided the fairytale was over.
I keep thinking “I should have been content with my half-success!” and I also keep thinking “what moderate, non-fanciful goal can I set for myself where I can be at least happier than I am now?” These seem like reasonable thoughts, but then I read this:
“Don't settle for being content. Push yourself! Yes, it's hard! No, it's not always fun! But it isn't impossible. Why not go a little further as to say, "I want to be someone I never thought was possible" and then set out and do it!”
This blog is amazing, and I highly recommend it. This girl really digs to the heart of things without over-thinking or over-stating (like yours truly does). To read more from her, Click Here.
More to the point—I think that was where the “magic” was. It was actually in believing the fairytale, because it is entirely possible, is mine for the wanting, and is at the end of the journey… somewhere. All I need do is to push past where I think I can go or deserve to get to, and just keep going. That athlete is waiting there, but all these other people are also waiting along the way—the me that doesn’t feel inflated an uncomfortable, the me that doesn’t need plus sized stores anymore, the me that feels more confident in pictures, the me that can borrow my mom’s clothes, the me that can lend clothes to friends, the me that wears 10 whole sizes fewer than I do right now are all mile markers of increasing “contentment” on the way to that athlete.
I’ve just finished re-reading my previous posts, and suffice it to say… I guess I’m just starting the same process all over again—I was so full of certainty! Hopefully I’ve learned enough about myself to build upon and make it further.
More to come!
