Distance

I realized that the amount of weight I want to lose is, for me, more about distance.

The more pounds I lose, the more distance between me and "that girl."

The one I was. The one who haunts my pictures. The one who shows up in my imagination as I look in the mirror. The one who tries to hand me back all the shame... the raw shame... that she carried.

Carries.

Will always carry.

I fight to put pounds of distance between us so that it's harder for her to hand it over, so I don't have to handle it anymore, as long as I'm unwilling to reach accross the distance for it. I want her to keep it all. She has plenty to go around. She has plenty for herself then, now, and forever. And I don't want it. And she's already been carrying it for so long. Maybe if I put a big enough number between her and me... maybe then she'll be out of the frame, and you... I... won't see her anymore.

I think that's why when someone mentions how much I've lost, I don't know how to sort out the compliment. Because what is in there with the nice thing they're saying is a reminder that everyone saw her and she's still lurking behind me. "You look so good!" brings with it a shadow that also says, "Remember how fat you were?"

I do. I remember. God, do I remember.

I think it's still hard because there isn't as great a distance yet as there needs to be. She's close enough to touch me. To force me to help carry her load. Because it's weighing her down so painfully.

I think back to that post from before... where I listed all the things I wanted... all the things that broke my heart... where I dissected out all this shame and begged future me to help me carry it. And here I am, unwilling to help unless I have to. Looking back with spite.

But it's me.

"Remember how fat you were?" they say by accident. I do. But remember how it's still me? Remember how before I put these pounds between us... how it was the same person standing here now? To point at the shame she carried is to point at me today, because things have changed but it's the same person.

She's already hurt and broken, weighed down, hopeless. She doesn't know it will ever get better. She's weak, tired, and just so, so sad. I don't know how to tell her to chin up, that I'm coming to get her. To lighten the load. I don't know how. I pray God forgives me for how I hated her. Yes, hated. Because He loved her as much as He loves me now, and I'm no less broken.

Put it down. Put the shame down and stop picking it up. And stop asking me to hold it. Neither of us have to carry it anymore. No one is asking us to.

Jelly Roll

I'm in a weird place. And not just because I had cake this afternoon, and am even now wondering why.

But that's a good place to start.

I had loosely planned what is called an egg fast for today and tomorrow. Basically, for us who are too wimpy to all-the-way fast, there are single-food fasts that have similar benefits without it being so hard. Today's was supposed to be eggs.

Only I forgot to bring my prepped eggs with me, so I immediately gave up, and went to get some chicken. I had a very healthy plan. Rotisserie chicken. It sounded good, it WAS good. But to get to the chicken, you have to pass by the bakery. Which I didn't used to be able to do - I'd stop, I'd get a thing or 2, and would love every second eating them, even if I ended up hating myself for it.

Then my life changed, and suddenly I could walk by and ignore them.

Today I couldn't ignore. I got a jelly roll, and decided I wouldn't eat it if it wasn't good. I'm calling the fact that I nearly also got a cookie, but restrained myself, a victory.

... but it was SOOO GOOD...

So I ate half of it... and then had a mental tug-of-war about it. "Are you really going back to being a person who eats a whole piece of cake on IMPULSE?"

Anyone watching me would have seen plainly I was in an internal battle. Wobbling back and forth between the trash can and getting back in my car at the Arco station.

Shoulder Angel and Shoulder Devil were duking it out, and before I heard the end of the shouting match, my own hand mechanically forced me to put it in the garbage. I got in the car, part of me going "Heyyyyy, I didn't say you could do that," and part of me, out of breath from the fight, whispering an inaudible thank-you.

It's that question that rings in my ears. "Are you really going back to being a person who eats a whole piece of cake on IMPULSE?" I thought that was over. I thought I'd beaten that girl. The one who thinks that because no one's watching it doesn't count. The one who looks to cake to redeem boring, empty days, or to stave off feelings of pointlessness. I thought I'd won that battle.

A few days ago I talked to someone I trust, and they asked me what I "go to" to manage life stress, sadness, fear, etc. That has had me reeling ever since.

I used to eat something. Bland days in my cubicle were magically improved with thoughts of going to get a cookie, a donut, muffin, etc....  But now, it doesn't do the same thing for me as it used to. The emotional attachment isn't what it was. I don't look forward to it, and I can't ignore the aftermath. I can't blissfully and vacantly order and eat a cupcake anymore. It's like a spell broke.

I used to shop. I had a store I loved to shop online for clearance and sale stuff. I was strategic, I knew what I liked and what I was looking for, when the sales were and how to maximize them. It was a hobby, almost. I wouldn't buy often, but I was on there daily to see what was new and what was on sale. But now 54 pounds smaller, that store doesn't work for me anymore. Sure, they carry my size, but my shape has changed enough that their version "my size" isn't flattering on me. Honestly, I don't even know where to shop anymore, plus I can't really afford to. There's no escape. No magic. I'm in a weird in-between place.

I used to binge-watch Netflix. HOURS at a time. Then I moved somewhere that doesn't have sufficient internet to support streaming. I have basic satellite TV, but anyone who is used to watching a whole season of Downton Abbey straight through knows: live TV isn't the same.

The only leftover of my used-to's is mindlessly scrolling through social media. Which I technically hate. But that's another conversation.

Why am I reeling? Because I'm realizing I had all these crutches I employed to keep from growing up emotionally, or from facing the "meh's" of life. And one by one those crutches have fallen away. Imagine a toddler who has had their pacifier, teddy bear, blankie AND bottle taken away. I feel adrift. And reaching for that stupid jelly roll? What was that but me grabbing for an old pacifier?

I have read Andie Mitchell's book "It Was Me All Along" twice. And a HUGE part of what she gets into (second half of the book) is the psychology of having lost the weight. Part of that is food fear, which I don't currently struggle with (a kind of orthorexia). But the rest of it is the panic of not having that emotional crutch anymore, and at last facing the task of emotionally maturing. When I read it, 50 pounds ago, I didn't get what she meant, though I thought  I did. I had identified what food was for me, and I thought that was what she'd meant. I did the mental/emotional work first, it seemed, and all that was left was to lose the weight. False.

Ok, so I'm not done. I'm halfway through losing the weight. But still, I'm stripped of that self-soother I readily reached for, and starting to feel weak without it. I'm finding that in many ways I've never known who I am, exactly, as an individual. I've always postponed finding out until I got "thin enough." And I think you can do that for a while, but at 35... I can't put it off any longer.

All those years with crutches... I've atrophied. So my knees are (figuratively) wobbly, and I have to learn to stand without leaning. And it's scary. And it will be tiring. And I won't always feel strong. But it's time.

It's time.

Worth It

Every day... EVERY DAY....  I have the thought, “Why is it taking so long for me? Why do some have their bodies transform in a month or 2, and yet my progress is so gradual?”


And I have to say back, every day, that the path is still worth it. 


When I reach my goal, even if it takes me a year or more, it won’t be worth less to me than if it happened over night. It might be more precious to me, in fact. I won’t loath the slowness then, will I? How absurd that would be! I won't look down at my new self and say "What took you so long?!" (except, maybe, when I think of all the wasted years that came long before). 


No. I'll say to myself, "At last."


I’ll only celebrate the victory.


This is just a little dose of encouragement in the “loving the process as much as the results” battle. Every time I step on the scale and I'm not where I used to be, even if I'm not where I want to be yet, and even if I'm not as far as I'd hoped yet, I have to conciously love how far I’ve come. Even when I'm only a third of the way to my goal. I'm doing it. It's happening.


Just. Keep. Going.


Moreover, I repeat to myself daily that even if I never lost another pound (not likely - I have a lot I can still lose!), I am happy with how I eat, how I feel, and what I know I'm doing for my future self who will one day inherit this body. Even if what I have now is all I get out of living this new way, it is still worth doing. 

Missing, Hoping, and What Isn't Even Real

There is a blogger, Andie Mitchell, that lost 135 lbs. 

She has one post called "What I Miss From 135 lbs Ago," and the sound of it resonates in my head all the time, and I feel like for those on here that are emotional eaters, it is deeply impactful. 

I hear Andie's words, which I discovered years ago, every time I think to myself, “Do I really think I can be happy without always having permission to have whatever I want? Do I really think I can sustain saying no to cupcakes?” Even just now I was thinking to myself "I'm going to MISS cereal. Is it really gone.... forever?" 

I think about how much I love to bake and love what I bake, and the power to treat myself whenever I’ve got the time and the ambition and the ingredients (which is always). I think about the sincere and profound joy that going out to eat and ordering to my heart's content brings me. I think of cookies and cupcakes and beautiful party foods, and holidays made of full tables and full plates and full bellies. 

And I wonder… can I be happy seeing all of those things differently? Really?

And I, honestly every time, hear her say (in what I imagine to be her voice, speaking directly to me) of missing "the reckless abandon." And I realize that the missing is part of it-- that the missing isn't a unique and unbearable experience to rescue myself from. 

And I remember that what I think I’m giving up was never real life. It was never any more than an illusion. And it isn’t happiness. The third cupcake, the biggest slice of cake, and the fresh bread at the bakery (eaten while still warm, nearly in its entirety, in the car on the way home to make dinner) were never mine to have. Even when I had them.

And they were always sneakily cruel to me. Ultimately those moments were stealing the happiness out of so many other moments to come.

But I will miss having no idea how many carbs I’ve consumed, I’ll miss the not caring. I’ll miss it all as if it was all a beautiful dream, but in exchange what I want is a real life.

(much of this is a comment that I posted on the blog post I'm referencing).

Backstreet's Back... Alright!

Stupid title. Sorry. Whatever. 

How about another round of "I just re-read my blog and feel like a loser?"

I'm 34, we did not end up buying that house or any other house. I didn't successfully rejoin Medifast, and dang am I happy I didn't. I did, however, spend the last 3 years in the "desert" I talked about. 

Funny thing about the Hebrews in the desert-- they didn't go back to the Promised Land. That's a little nuance I forgot. They all died off. God allowed the NEXT generation into the Promised Land because of the lack of faith in the previous generation. There's a dying to self metaphor there, but I'll leave it all there for now. 

So what happened in the last 3 years? A lot. 

The job I had that made me crazy stressed and feel worthless all the time came to an end (I got canned, by God's grace and mercy). I got a long overdue break. I started working for a boss and in a job that is not only well suited for me, but calls on my specific skill set. It also is building life into me in ways that are hard to explain. Imagine that a perk of your job was a highly skilled life coach, and that life coach was also your boss.

I continued my hobby in studying and researching nutrition-- Paleo, Keto, etc.-- and applying little to none of it. Why? I like pancakes, I guess. And pasta. And feeling like garbage, apparently. 

Full disclosure, I literally just went through and commented on my blog posts because it frustrated me a lot. Not frustrated at me now. Frustrated by how narrow my understanding of things was, and how darned hard I was on myself for not having willpower. You know what? I don't think there is such thing as willpower. I don't. There are a million factors nutritionally, physically, physiologically, emotionally, pychologically that go into food choices. Willpower is at best short, infrequent, unpredictable, unreliable, and subjective. It always runs out, and when it does, you fall on old understandings. 

So I'm at the beginning again, kind of. I'm knocking on 30 lbs lost since February through a way of eating that is based on the real needs of the body and the nutrition we are designed to thrive on. Bonus, the things that rob me of health? They actually taste kind of weird now that I've been off of them for a few months. They make me feel gross and sick, and I don't just avoid harmful foods out of sheer and non-existent willpower. I avoid them because of the harm I feel. 

And for the first time, each and every choice I make shows up on the scale. I have never been able to say that before.

I have posted some cool stuff on a group page, and I plan to re-post them here in time. 

Here's to taking care of myself in the ways that matter, and weightloss being a natural byproduct rather than the thing I punish myself to obtain. 

Cleaning House

So, my next focus (inspired by a book I'm reading) is on boxes of regret, and the doing away therewith. 

Here's what I mean: I am currently reading a book on de-cluttering your house, and, by extension, your life. It asserts that most clean-up plans are really just storage solutions that rely on grit and determination to maintain. There's no storage solution that's user-friendly enough to keep my mail from piling up, or my laundry from getting crazy, or my makeup from re-distributing itself about the house. Still other plans that do emphasize purging belongings, it says, only scratch the surface in purging that which is trash, or that which you do not want. Yet another idea that it debunks is the idea that we need to de-clutter as a new, gradual, daily discipline: emptying a closet at a time over months, or purging a bag of stuff a week, or continuously de-cluttering important surfaces. It reminded me (and I'm fairly certain this book was written as a personal letter to me) that those who have sufficient discipline to defeat clutter this way have sufficient discipline to never have been cluttered in the first place. 100% accurate-- if I had it in me to keep up with this plan, I wouldn't be in this mess (literally, ha). 

What, then, does the book offer as a solution? Rather than getting rid of what we don't want, we keep only what we do want. Which seems redundant, but think about it-- a room of stuff is probably a third stuff that has meaning and value and purpose in our lives, and a third stuff we'd readily get rid of by some means or another (sell/toss/donate). But that middle third is made up of stuff we keep for other reasons, which can include fizzled plans, big intentions, guilt, duty, misunderstood need, lament... regret.... the art project we didn't start, the papers we mean to file properly, the books we hope to read, the gifts people gave us that we wouldn't have bough ourselves, things that cost a lot but never found their place, things you thought you wanted at the time, things you meant to fix but replaced, things that aren't quite used up... the list goes on and on. Essentially, it's the things you feel you ought to keep. None of that, in her words, sparks joy (or any other positive emotional response). This is the mass of items that makes the difference, based on her philosophy. It is what is kept in most cleanup efforts, and what causes the re-appearace of clutter after a short time, and what her method says must go. To the gradual de-clutter plan, she counters that this effort must all be done in one go in order to successfully de-clutter once and for all.

Click here for the book I'm talking about.

I feel like I now know why there isn't a solution or system or unpronouncable IKEA shelving unit in the world that can rein in my clutter for more than a week. It's that middle third of stuff-- it fills the drawers and cubbies and cabinets and bins, and it leaves no room for the things that get used and ultimately left around. 

What does that have to do with what's weighing on me? Everything. It relates to my dwelling on the past, and limiting my future success based on my past failure. It is the box of regret that's been sitting in my dining room for months. 

In a brief but determined cleanup effort over the weekend (spurned on by a chapter of reading), I came upon a box that put a lump in my throat and a burn in the bottom of my stomach-- an entire month of un-used, still good, could change my life if only I was determined enough Medifast food. I knew it was there, and I've felt it staring at me all this time-- it was filled with somedays, eventuallys, why didn't I succeed's, why did I fail's, why have I never's, and why can't I ever's. When I closed it up, I didn't realize I'd packed all of that in there, along with my sense of potential and hopes and dreams. For all my studying and investing in real, whole nutrition and healthy ways to lose weight, I always think "yeah, but if I could just go back on Medifast, that would be easier, and I already spent the money." But then I don't want to do that (for many reasons), so this box stops me out every time-- like the fact that it was still there and still "good" kept me from fully trying anything else. So I could either go ahead and do it, and endure the brittle hair and nails, the gastrointestinal distress, and the exhaustion; or I could leave it there to make me feel inferior; or I can get rid of it. 

So I'm getting rid of it. 

I'm not saying it's a bad system, or that it doesn't work, or that others shouldn't try it: it has changed and saved lives. I'm not even saying that it definitely is not my solution-- I may well end up going back to Medifast one day-- who can know? But this box, right now, today, is serving only to keep me from growing and moving forward. Until I deal with it one way or another, I will be stuck exactly where I am. It sparks no joy, and clutters my mind and my heart and my life. If I ever come back to Medifast, it will be with a new box with new potential, that hasn't been packed with regret and broken hope. 

As for now, this box has served it's role in my life and we both need to move on.

Makes me think of Hebrews 12:1, and throwing off that which entangles us-- sins and failures that hold us back from running with endurance. And also this: 

Philippians 3:13-14New American Standard Bible (NASB)

¹³ Brethren, I do not regard myself as having laid hold of it yet; but one thing I do: forgetting what lies behind and reaching forward to what lies ahead, ¹⁴ I press on toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus.

  

Obviously, this speaks of Godly living in the freedom of our redemption in Christ, but it sure sounds applicable to me.

 

Wondering and Wandering

The Hebrews wandered in the desert for 40 years with the wrong perspective, the wrong attitude, and the wrong expectations. 

I kind of wonder if that is what this has been—my desert. My time of refining. I just finished re-reading every word I’ve written here, and I can’t help but feel like a fool—how high my expectations were for so long, and how far I have fallen since then. I’m back at ground zero, having gotten to the wall around my personal Promised Land and having been overwhelmed by the task still ahead. And so back to the desert I went to wander and reflect. God has done wonders and miracles, and I’d nearly made it, but I let doubt overtake hope, and I turned away. 

Today we had a meeting at work, and the VP, of all people, today said the most inspirational thing I’ve heard in a really long time:

“Don’t let your future be defined by your past. Let it be defined by your intent, and by your dreams.”

Simple, trite, cliché… maybe in some ways. But honestly, it may be the key to everything I am battling.I can honestly say that most of the time, I define my future based upon my past and my present, which for me only undermines all the hopes I have in life. 

I may not be in the Promised Land yet, but for as many times as I have failed, and may stumble in the future, one day I'll make it. It will be awesome.

As dreamers do.

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!

 

Back at it

Well friends, it has been a weird few months of nutritional rebellion. To my shock and amazement I haven't gained back as much as I had thought I might have, but I certainly have added time to my journey. It is funny how much this is about truth and fulfillment and has such a deep reflection of the human journey for me. I grew weary of doing good because I wasn't getting anywhere with it. I felt that if making the right choices rendered no benefits then I could just cast off the restraint and end up with the same result-- more to the point, if skipping the donut had stopped helping me get what I wanted, then it was a double sacrifice. If I had the donut, then at least I had the donut.

A few times through these months I had the thought that my prodigal ways would need to end soon, but never could I say I was ready to get back to business. Even though I knew my first month back on track would render fantastic results. Even though I knew my sugary choices were the source of my general feeling of unwellness. Even though I knew what was driving me to my choices was really the root of sin and indulgence. Even though time after time, as it has my WHOLE life, giving in to the donut, the cookie, the cheesecake was never quite as amazing as I had hoped, and the pain of regret and disappointment in myself greater in portion than the joy of the moment. 

It is about truth because I knew this truth. I knew that all the hopes I would heap into my sinful lunch were false: that it would turn a bad day around, that it would change my outlook, that it would be a thrilling vacation from my lame situation. Deep down I knew that the truth was I'd be let down, that it wouldn't be as good as I'd hoped and even if it was, it wouldn't quite do the trick. 

It is about fulfillment because good food is wonderful but it is not fulfilling. And coming from me that is quite a statement. Few of you realize how much I adore good (really good) food. I read cook books. I have two magazine subscriptions for the tips and recipes. Im a snob, and will reject mediocre food, but when I'm  having a really killer cheesecake or a mind-blowing Alfredo or a steak that I will one day tell my grand kids about, I am in heaven. Literally I leave earth for a second. All of that to say, even amazingness of whatever it is, after the last bite I always feel a sense of "that was it?" It is like a roller coaster that is always too short, which makes you just want to get back in line. 

It is about the human journey because life is all about realizing how short lived the things of earth are, and the denial of self and of temporary happiness for future and lasting joy. In Christ, to take up our cross we have to first lay down our will. In family, we must set aside ourselves for the sake of the feelings, needs, and futures of those we love and for the good of the relationship. In life, we cannot expect to have enduring joy if instead we willingly place our hope and happiness in things that quickly let us down. 

Add to my weight gain the fact that I have basically felt like garbage for the past few months. Back pain, tiredness, sensitive emotions, reluctance to socialize, and many other things. I willingly endured these things, these avoidable issues, because I was afraid of taking discipline back on and missing out on the next good (no I'm not kidding) sweet treat or fun dinner or free lunch. I think of getting back on track and all the good that comes with that, but the first thing in my head are all the little things I have to give up. WHAT? It is like a "better the devil you know" argument in my mind, and I keep choosing wrong. It is the nutritional equivalent of living on credit and being in debt rather than saving up for the future. It is foolish. 

"No food tastes better than being thin feels" they say. I wouldn't know. I have never been thin as an adult. I don't know that I'll ever be "thin." But I know that it is worth the sacrifice, each time, to know I am going the right thing and choosing a higher path, and that in principle I'm making life decisions that follow what Christ would have me do. 

Seasons change and so do we

So, it has been a while and I blame school for that. Thankfully, that is now over and I’m moving to a new phase in my life. That sounds a lot more like I know what on earth I’m doing, but I do not. But for once I’m a little bit ok with that. Not a lot ok, but a little, and that is something. So, my news is that I’ve officially lost a total of 50 lbs since beginning my journey. In addition I’ve completed my Master’s degree, turned 30, and started escrow on my first home. November, needless to say, is a month of transition this year.

 

I’m most definitely not bragging, because every one of these things brings with it a scoop of uncertainty. So I’ve finished school: now what? I’m not even entirely sure what I’m qualified to do. So, I’ve lost half of my excess weight: now what? From this point it will take a different flavor of determination to get through the rest of the journey. So I’ve turned 30: so? What is the rest of my life going to be, now that I’m through the “prep” period of life and into the part where I’m supposed to be functioning based on that preparation? Our condo is in escrow: now what? I have no idea. The purchase process is a convoluted mystery.

 

The point is, these aren’t necessarily accomplishments, but turning points. I feel like I’ve been walking a steep mountain path and have just crested the hill and yet still cannot see what lies ahead for the trees and the fog. For all I know it could be more mountain. Where am I going? I don’t know—honestly I’m not even sure what I want the rest of this to look like. I know I’m tired of struggling, and have a lot of fears about the future and what it could hold. I need to pray for God to provide me a new job and a new passion for what I do with my day. I know we aren’t supposed to find fulfillment on earth, but I need to sense that I’m contributing in a way that uses what I am good at and what brings me joy.

 

Weight-loss-wise, I’m at an interesting place. I do not by any means feel skinny, and I still see all my faults when I look in the mirror, but I have reached a point where I am not afraid of cameras, and I can have a happy and relaxed conversation without worrying if the other person thinks I’m disgusting. I also don’t wonder why on earth they are talking to me as I conjure up a negative image of myself while I talk to them. That is pretty major. I have a general sense of normalcy, and am relaxed and at home in my own skin. That is a huge deal for me. I don’t constantly tug at my shirts and hide behind things like I once did. I don’t avoid occasions because I don’t know what to wear. I also feel like I see a genuine beauty in people that I didn’t see before—at least not very often. I feel like my personal space bubble is a little bigger and not just because I fill 50 lbs less of it.

 

I like how things are going so far with my 30’s, though I’ve only been here for a few days. There is more change to come, with work and moving and all, and I’m confident they are all good changes. Here’s to my next 30.