Remember that time you felt amazing about your body? That picture you love of yourself? That memory of the perfect outfit, that perfect night, that perfect time?
Why isn’t that everyday?
I wonder a lot why things are the way they are. It feels cruel sometimes. I’m a big believer in not blaming my weight on anyone but myself. My genetics call for me to be tall, big footed, blue eyed, and chubby. Both sides of family are at unhealthy weights, has histories of alcoholism, heart failure, high blood pressure, fertility issues, smoking, and cancer. Just my genetics alone should scare the LIVING SHIT out of me. My own health concerns are not only that I am, in fact, obese at 40.7 BMI, I also have previously had pre-cancerous cells on my uterus, ankle injuries, and then there’s, of course, the whole depression and anxiety thing. I can also struggle with drinking. I have to work hard to not drink when I’m upset, I’ve promised myself to not ever drink when I’m sad. I worry that my blood pressure will spike, my knees will give out, or that I’ll end up diabetic. Again, you know, should scare you into taking better care of yourself–right?
But, I look at everything above and I think…these are things I can’t control (besides the weight). I don’t blame my anyone but myself.
I’ve lost a significant amount of weight twice. Once in 2007 and once in 2014. They were both incredibly different situations. At 20 I was looking to impress a boy and at 27 I was just looking to impress anyone. Both were for the wrong reasons. I’ve been married twice, which means to wedding dresses to fit into–still no motivation. I went to France–no motivation. I went on a cruise– no motivation.
One thing I know for sure, I’m not motivated to take care of myself. This makes me feel a little at a loss.
I don’t think I’ll ever get anywhere without figuring out why.
“History is much like an endless waltz. The three beats of war, peace and revolution continue on forever.” – Endless Waltz