Two Words That Are A Punch in the Gut. Every Time.

     

Not easy to write about. At all. 

      I had no intention of ever writing on the topic. It felt too personal and embarrassing. However, recently I have felt the universe pushing me expose a tender secret. Having already shared so much of myself with my readers, what is one more skeleton ripped out of my closet. I share because I know I am not alone and connecting with others who feel the same is what I need to truly heal.

     I have already spoken about having PCOS and the side effects. I have not spoken about the infertility part of PCOS. I have not shared what it feels like to be a broken woman.  I feel broken, like my box did not come with all the parts. There is a part of womanhood I will never experience and I admit I am jealous of those who do. Jealous so much that when someone tells me they are pregnant or I see a post on Facebook it feels like a punch to the gut; like many, many punches to the gut by an angry boxer going for blood.

     My husband has a 9 year old son from a previous marriage whom I have the joy of calling my son. I do get to be a mom and I love my step-son with all my heart but it's just not the same. I did not get to do the baby part; my step-son was 3 when I came in to the picture. A short time ago my husband and I came to terms with not having a baby together. A year or two ago my husband and I worked with fertility doctors and quickly found ourselves about to lose our savings and all future savings for a decade or two to cover the cost of a bunch of maybes. I never cried more in my life. I lost 125 pounds in hopes of fixing myself. I quit smoking. I made exercise a part of my daily life. Only to have it feels like it was all for nothing. Those months were extremely difficult for me, for us. My husband and I did come out on the other side, tear free and confident in our choice to no longer pursue a baby. It is a choice that I am content with. 97% of the time.

     We have lists of reasons why we tell ourselves we are ok with our situation. In an emergency we have been known to watch YouTube videos of screaming babies to help turn off the "I want a baby" feeling.  It works. I am able to swallow the empty feeling and continue on; I have no choice, and I refuse to be a victim of my situation. Recently, however, the universe has been making my ability to not think about babies very difficult. Facebook friends with adorable baby pictures, a pregnancy announcement from a family member, then several from friends. Back to back to back. It overwhelmed me and a few nights ago I found myself in uncontrollable tears.  I just could not stay strong any longer.

     I do not think about babies on a regular basis. It is not at the forefront of my thoughts, until someone tells me they are pregnant, and then the boxer comes out gunning for me. I have developed "happy baby face".  I know what to say and I might even jump up and down if the occasion calls for it. I am good at being excited for someone else. The only person who sees what I am truly feeling is my husband, who is always stronger than I with baby announcements. I do not begrudge my loved ones the joy of being pregnant, but sometimes I wish they could understand what it is like to know I will never get to say those words. No one will ever jump up and down for me and I'll never know that bond. 

My dog, Marty, is my heart. 

     The boxer leaves me alone most days, to rest in his corner, waiting for someone to announce a baby, and only then do I feel that punch in the gut. Only then do I scramble to YouTube to watch a video of a tantrum. Only then do I shed a few tears in private. Only then do I question all the rational choices I have made myself make many times now. I will not have a baby. I will be the best damn step-mom I can be. My husband loves me regardless. I will always baby talk to my dogs. I will spoil my family because they are my world. One day it will just be my husband and I and I am ok with that. Most days. 

     I cherish the time I have with my step-son, he and I are very close. I am Mom to him. I volunteer in his classroom, I cheer for him at soccer games, and use my spit on a tissue to get the schmutz off his face. I treat him no different than I would my own. I am blessed to have my family and I love them dearly. 

     I share this with you, my readers, because I know I am not alone and a reminder helps every now and then. If I am your reminder that you are not alone, I hope I help. When a woman cries for the loss of what never was, she does not cry alone. We are women and we are incredible. You are incredible. I am incredible. My, our, inability to create life does not take away from the love we show those around us. We matter to someone! 

Remnants of a Binge

     I had a sobering moment in my car today. While I was poking around in my glove box I came across an old candy wrapper.  I sat holding it, having flashes of the me up until 3months ago. The sugar binger. The sugar hider. The sugar sneaker.  I would eat my candy in my car, usually within minutes of leaving the store.  I ate it quickly and I ate it all. A fleeting moment of bliss and then the guilt would beat down on me like a hammer.

     When I refer to sugar as my drug, I am not being cute. I mean it to my core. Sugar ruled my thoughts, sabotaged my healthy eating, and made me hate myself. I was addicted. I was a bitch when I wanted something sweet and couldn't find any. I would eat other things to try to curb the cravings; that never worked. When I would get what I wanted I would binge on it, including ODing on chocolate cake until I was sick. I am not the only one. I am not the only person who has found the only way to stop themselves from eating sugar is to pour salt, soap, or Windex on it.

     I had to come to terms with my addiction when it was seriously interfering with my health. If I did not quite sugar, it would be the thing that was going to make me very sick.  Women with PCOS are wired to crave sugar due to having insulin resistance. Drastic highs and lows in blood sugar can cause mood swings, cravings, weight gain, fatigue, and depression. The huge risk in feeding the craving for sugar is the high risk of diabetes, stoke, and heart disease.  I was walking a path of destruction. It did not matter that I was happy with the number of the scale and my pants still fit; on the inside I was destroying myself.  Reality check time.

     So, just like a drug addict or alcoholic, I asked for help with my addiction.  I found what I needed by way of support and understanding. I woke up one day and never touched sugar again.  The first week was horrible. I was a bitch. I was short with everyone and nothing would make me happy. I stayed strong, motivated by my own health and well being. All the research had sunk in and I wanted to be free from this poison. I detoxed from my drug of choice and I survived and no one died.

     I came out on the other side free from cravings and binge eating. I had made peace with my body. I promised to no longer abuse my body and to only care for it with loving thoughts and healthy foods. I found great dessert recipes that not only satisfy but are so much better than the junk I was eating prior to my change.  I have found myself happier and more stable in mood swings. I am happy with myself. I am proud of the adult I am working hard to become. I am not a victim of my addiction. I forgive my body for what it does with sugar due to my PCOS and now I make accommodations for my body and nourish myself.

 

Here are a few changes I made to break my bond with sugar:

-I do not eat anything with high fructose corn syrup

-No more white sugar, brown sugar, powdered sugar, cane sugar, and sucralose.

 -I read labels on EVERYTHING

      - if I cannot read what is in it, I do not eat it. No more franken foods!

-No more white flour and very little wheat flour

- More fruit and vegetables

- I found Chocolate Covered Katie (google her....you'll love her) for healthy desserts

-I use coconut sugar

-I drink lots of tea, all sorts of flavors. It's my new spurge at the store instead of candy.

-I had to make myself be ok with saying no to everyone. Family or friends. It is not personal. Sugar items to me are like putting drugs in front of a recovering drug user. I had to be ok with being open about why I am making the choices I make.

-I made connections online. PCOS websites filled with stories just like mine. I am not alone. That helps.

   

     The most important change I made was realizing this is about my health and well being.  Sugar will not be the thing that beats me! I eat for my health and not a number on a scale any more. Weight is not the whole picture of health.  I know I have to stay away from sugar. I have eaten it once since I stopped and I had a headache so bad I almost cried. That was all I needed to know! No cupcake is worth that kind of pain!

To read all about my sugar addiction click here
It is a very real addiction!

Kicked the Scale to the Curb!

I was reminded today of the resolution I made for 2014.  I resolved to no longer weigh myself. I was addicted to the number on the scale and I wanted to be free. To read the post "Addicted to the Number" click here.  I struggled at first. I weighed myself on December 31st and then not again until January 4th. I thought that was good, so I went a few more days. Then on Monday, January 6th I was back to weighing myself everyday and writing it down. I told myself I would stop after I got my holiday weight off. I could stop when I wanted (additive behavior warning!)

The last weight written in my calendar is on February 7th, the last day I weighed myself.  It has been over 2 months without stepping on the scale. I hide the scale. I hide it so well that I'm not sure where I put it.  The first month it felt like a 'how long can I stay away' challenge. Every day that I didn't crack was one more day I was strong.  After a few weeks, the challenge aspect of it wore off and I stayed off the scale because I believe I no longer need to know how much I weigh. I believe that weight is just a number and does not reflect how healthy I have become overall. 

For those that are on a healthy body journey and are losing weight, I understand the need to stand on the scale. In Weight Watchers, my weekly weigh-ins are what motivated me. Six years after losing my weight I still lived in fear of gaining it all back. I refused to go back, and the ideas of getting out of control on the scale made me obsess about the number on it.  I haven't seen 200 pounds on the scale in 6 years, let alone 300.  At what point was I going to accept the person I had become? When was I going to give myself credit for conquering my weight struggle? 

In Zumba, a friend commented on how good I look and asked if I had lost weight.  I said thank you and I may have lost weight, I don't know. I don't stand on the scale any more.  Two things happened in that moment: 1) I realized I have accomplished my New Year’s resolution and 2) my friend looked at me like I was nuts. "You don't stand on the scale?! Why not?!" I did not have much time to explain before class fired up, so I simply said, "I am not defined by a number and the scale doesn't weigh awesomeness."  I meant what I said. I almost got choked up when it sunk in what I had said, it rolled of my tongue naturally. I, from the bottom of my heart, believe I am worth more than a number!

There came a point in my life where I wanted to be set free from the entire hateful inner monologue I have been plagued with since third grade.  I trust myself to maintain a healthy lifestyle, both physically and mentally. I trust myself and the changes I have made are not a phase, the changes have become my second nature.  I no longer need the scale to tell me what my worth will be for the day.  I no longer eat with fear of how it will reflect on the scale in the morning.  I eat and exercise for me, for my body, and for my health. Not for some plastic box, not for a number, and not for size.  I am free from the addiction to the number and it is liberating! 

My Second Chance

     At one point in my life, I did not think I was worthy of much. I believed that I should be thankful for what I had because, after all, who could love me? I gained 65 pounds in the 6 months leading up to my first wedding. I almost needed a new dress but was able to have it let it out and add a panel. I look back and can see what a huge sign that weight gain was; I was not happy. I walked down the aisle anyway because having a husband somehow validated me. 

     My weight gain continued and I found myself at 300 pounds within the first year of my marriage. I found myself unable to live the life I wanted and I felt trapped. One day, after wiping tears from my eyes, something inside me snapped and I changed my life. I walked into Weight Watchers and never looked back. I fought for my second chance. I shed my weight and discovered a woman who had outgrown her current circumstances and deserved a second chance. 

     During my weight loss, I was prepared for the physical change but I was not prepared for the mental change. The true change was in how I felt about myself. I discovered love, passion, joy, and self worth.  Some of the choices I was faced with after my weight loss were not easy. After immense soul searching, I chose to start over and honor the woman I had fought to become. 

     My ex-husband and I parted with a mutual understanding and forgiveness. We each went our own ways with the encouragement from each other that happiness was worth the pain of divorce. I did find my happiness. The new me got my second chance at love. When I was not looking, I fell in love with my best friend. We have been together for 5 years and married for over 2 years now.  Weight loss changes so much more than the body. For me, it changed who I was and what I thought I deserved. I am thankful for the day I broke - the day that made me change my life and never look back.  I found self worth and truly fell in love. 

     Here's to second chances! 

Addicted to the Number

     Confession: I weigh myself every morning and have for over a year. I started after I went to my doctor seeking help when I started to put on weight, getting very close to a number I swore I would never see again. To monitor my figure, I checked in every morning, weighing myself and writing in my calendar.  That number had the power to make or break my day. It would dictate what I ate, what I wore, or even how much physical activity I would put in for the day.  

     Today I read The Militant Baker's blog post Smash the Scale Revolution. This post made me realize that I have an addiction to the number on the scale. My self-worth starts every morning in my bathroom.  It could be a good day or a bad day; it all depends on the number.  I have lived by the scale since I was 9 years old. I earned more love from family if that number was lower than before. If it went up I was put down and belittled. The lower the number the more love I could earn. This has been a lifetime battle for me. 

The following passage from the blog hit me like a punch to the gut;

"So who is Smash the Scale for?

For every girl bent over a toilet, worshiping at the altar of thin. For every teen who cries herself to sleep at night because she’s not good enough and doesn’t know why. For every child who didn't know they were fat until someone told them. For every woman who hopes that happiness is on the other side of that pill bottle. For every person who's stopped eating when they're still hungry. For every woman who hopes that happiness is on the other side of that pill bottle this time. Or maybe this time. For every woman that thinks she’ll be worthy of love if her thighs were smaller.  For every woman that holds back tears while she tries on jeans. For every child with a Weight Watchers chart on their bedroom door. For every man who's been told to put his shirt back on. For every teen who starves for a gap. For every skinny girl accused of anorexia and every fat girl that’s called lazy.

For every person who looks down at a number for so long that they forget to look up at the world.

For you.

Choose your weapon.
Smash the Scale.
And with it, all obligation, expectation and guilt."

     Look again at the line I have highlighted in red. That line hit home. The wheels in my heads started turning. I am addicted to the scale! Am I capable of not standing on the scale? It has thrown me a bit to realize just how much power that square box STILL has over me. I told myself I was doing it to stay in check and to help maintain my weight. That is only half true. My self-worth still comes from that damn number. If I weighed in less than the day before I knew I was going to have a good day because I was happy with the number. Why am I giving this number so much power? I have been looking down at a number on the scale since fourth grade. When I was losing weight family would constantly as what I weighed. That number became my definition. I am THAT number. I have to learn new places to find my self-worth! No more looking down!

     I admit to having a sense of panic over not standing on the scale every morning. Because of that panic I will be relocating my scale to the closet. I am going set myself free from the number. It will take some time to move past knowing how much I weigh. I stand for a positive body image and I need to heal this part of my own mind and heart. I am NOT the number on the scale. This addict is kicking the habit. I trust myself to care for my body like I always have without needing to know my weight. In 2014 I will not weigh myself every day. I promise this to myself. I am more than a number! Loving myself is not contingent on the number on a scale anymore!

People are Cruel Regardless of Size When You Do Not Meet Their Expectations.

 
 Everyone has a why. A reason they are who they are. Why they dislike someone or something. Why they yell, or cry, or shy away.  Why some are loud, outgoing, and confident. Understanding the reasons behind a person actions and behaviors makes them not seem so bad, we see a human. We may even find compassion and understanding for them, instead of intolerance and frustration.  I present my story of why.  I am a product of my experiences, as we all are. Let us embrace empathy for each other before we assume and place judgement. 

     When I reached the age that I was aware of others and our differences, I was the heaviest kid in the third grade and the seed of self hate was planted.  I do not remember  a time when I looked in the mirror and loved what I saw. I grew up comparing myself to others around me, models, and actresses. I did not think I was as worthy to life as the beautiful people. I did not think I was a beautiful person.  When I was young, my grandmother told me my baby fat would go away as I got older. When it stuck around and brought some friends I felt like I had failed. Why had the other girls slimmed down and I had only gotten bigger? In that moment, I labeled myself different. My body was not like the other girls in my class and that made me believe my body was wrong.

     I learned to hide how I felt about my body in 6th grade after I had a bully physically abuse me on more than one occasion.  I would never show physical weakness again and I learned to carry myself with aggression. If I appeared scary, no one would hurt me. Inside I felt trapped behind a mask; I was not an aggressive person... I was a scared girl desperately seeking confirmation for my existence.  But I refused to let the aggressors be stronger than me.  I believed I was worth being loved and I would make it to the moment when I would find that love.

     I developed a distrust of people in 6th grade as well when the entire school, including people I called my friends, conspired against me.  I attended a small country school - the total student population from kindergarten through 6th grade was maybe 50 kids.  During volleyball practice after school I was informed that the boy I had a crush on and the popular girl where now a couple. People waited for my reaction. I held it together, made it through practice, and saved my tears for the privacy of my bedroom.  It was after dinner  when a friend called to tell me the truth, that it was a lie, everyone was in on it, and they just wanted to see what I would do.  This moment caused me to have difficulty trusting people.  I never let them see me cry. I learned to hold in my emotions.

     I carried my tough exterior with me through high school. I survived name calling, pushing, people trying to fight me, and my own dietary abuse. This picture creates an image of a large unhappy girl. Inn retrospect, I was only one of those. I was unhappy.  I was not large, though I was not a size zero.  I happen to have  a woman's figure amongst a sea of junior figures and I stood out.  Standing out in high school puts a target on a persons back and my target felt huge.

     I heard fat shaming comments for years. "Are you sure you want to eat that?" "What size do you want to be?" Funny thing is the size that seemed too big for me at 16 is the size I am now at 31! I'm not unhealthy now and I wasn't at an unhealthy weight then either.  It was the expected appearance for a teenager that I did not have, therefore my figure was wrong and I was fat.  How many girls are tortured because they do not look like the socially expected 16 year old? I kept my head down, shoulders slummed, and made little eye contact. I did my best to be invisible.

     I did have moments when I was able to forget my physical appearance and enjoy a social life in high school. I was Drama Club President and in every theater production. Acting made it easy to forget my size. I could be anyone.  My first major role was the seductive villain in a 1920's inspired play entitled "Peril on the High Seas".  I loved my character and my cast-mates.  I embraced the seductive nature of my character until opening night.  I will never forget the scene in which my character is seducing the male lead. I had on a 1920's all black glamours costume. I wore a long faux fur coat over my floor length dress. In the moment, in character I removed my coat, a move that was intended to be sexy. I should have won the Academy Award for not bursting into tears and running off stage when I heard boo's and, "Put it back on!" being shouted from the audience.  I finished the performance and accepted a very heart felt apology from one of  the other actors in the play. His friends where the shouters and he felt horrible. We preformed the play four more times and I didn't take my jacket off again during the production. I know now, looking back, that high school boys are dumb and insensitive but even rationalizing the behavior does not take away the scar.

     It just became easier for me to push people away and wallflower myself as I got older. No one was going to hurt me if they couldn't get near me. I had great friends that stuck by me but I never made too many new friends after high school. I was scared of people. I had allowed myself to be abused by a boyfriend for a couple of years because it was better than being alone. Just being able to say the words "I have a boyfriend" made me feel whole and less invisible. Of course I told no one of the abuse and hid it well.  After years of put downs, physical abuse by bullies, and constant reminders that I was not socially acceptable, an abusive boyfriend did not seem wrong. Somehow I deserved what I got because I was not pretty.  I believed fat girls should be thankful for what they can get.
   

     I believe that life teaches us lessons to strengthen our purposes, our reason for being who we are.  It is not easy to talk about my past.  I have been misunderstood by many over the years simply because I do not wear a sign explaining why I am the way I am. When I lost my weight I felt in limbo, my body was healthy but my mind needed time to catch up. I still had anxiety around people, especially in large groups.  From my experiences, people made me nervous and I needed time to trust again. New people in my life where thrown off by my social awkwardness because they did not know the "fat" me, all they saw was the new physically healthy me. Unfortunately, the old me's mind in the new me's body did not match and for that I have experienced judgment and intolerance.  The judgement and intolerance slowed the mental healing process down, people are cruel regardless of size when you do not meet their expectations.

     Am I shy? Yes. Am I slow to trust people? Very much so.  Have I ever seemed awkward at times?  Is it understandable as to why I am that way? I hope so. Now the ultimate question; why am I sharing this?  I have chosen to expose my most vulnerable side in an attempt to help people understand that we ALL are products of our environment and experiences.  As a society, if we could slow down and listen to each others stories we would learn a great deal about life, the strength of the human spirit, and the unbelievable power our words and actions have on each other.  My past has given me purpose. My purpose is to help people embrace who they are, what their bodies look like, and help them love themselves.  Self esteem is not a pill one can take, it is learned.

     To anyone the may have social anxiety, know that you are not alone and that you have an incredible amount of strength inside of you. The feeling of judgment can tear a person apart. It can make it difficult to move beyond the scars. The fat third grader, the bullied 6th grader, the humiliated 16 year old, the abused 20 year old, and the 300 pound 25 year old will ALWAYS be apart of me.  These are the chapters to my story and once the story is told, suddenly I make a lot more sense to people who just did not "get" me. I am writing new chapters to my life now and I am over coming my anxieties because my mind is getting healthy as well. The world may not see a fat girl but I have been looking at the world through fat girl eyes my entire life. It takes time to heal and trust.

     I do not know your story. You do not have to share with me. I do, however, promise to not judge and allow you the freedom to write your story because every one of us is different.  We all have a story as to why we are the way we are. Judgment will not change that - it will only put up walls and take away valuable lessons and meaningful relationship with one and another.
   

The Diary on Video

Photoshopped lies made me hate my body

I kept one hell of a secret in high school. I kept it so well not even my best friends knew. I never talked about it until a few years ago. I've shocked people over it. I've shocked myself over it. I always knew I had it but I never wanted to admit how bad it was.  I had an eating disorder, I hated myself, and put my health at risk for the approval of my peers.  I kept a diary during several attempts to lose 40 pounds or more.  It's time to be brutally honest about how much I hated myself.

February 13, 2000,

     Well this is it...hopefully....the start of the rest of my life. Today I got on the scale and weighed in at 190! Oh my god! I felt so bad.  So I ended the day right, with a an all vegetable meal...

 ...So let's see how long I'm going to last (and yes, I'm trying to stop putting myself down.) 

February 16, 2000,

     I totally screwed up on Valentines Day and yesterday! My punishment today is I'm not eating anything until 5p.m. tonight....

...I'm so hungry. I have diet pills on me that I'm going to take after this class...

...Well I'm very proud of myself. I survived lunch and didn't even take my pills. Can you believe food means so much to me?

Filled with hateful words. I was my worst enemy. 

Entry after entry detailed my longing for food, how hungry I was, and how I had to make it until 5p.m. until I would eat. I always had diet pills with me and many days they would be all I would have. 
No wonder I was such an angry teenager - I was starving! My grades and classes suffered because I wasn't able to focus on anything expect my empty stomach. 

My goal was to weigh 140 pounds. That was the magic number that would make me beautiful, popular, and would bring the boys to their knees. ...At least at that weight someone will find me attractive ...It's 13 years later and I have NEVER made it to 140 pounds! My doctor told me that between 170 and 180 are healthy weights for my body type. I'm 5'9, I'm not meant to weigh 140 pounds.

It wasn't long before not eating until 5 p.m. and diet pills also included taking a run before school. In my diary I used words like "fat ass" to encourage myself out of bed.  I lived off my diet pills and hateful inner monologue.  By March I had included a diet pill to take in my sleep,...I'm excited to see myself in three months.Starting tomorrow I'm going to take a new diet pill to help... This was a great combination. I'm starving and NOW I'm not sleeping. (I can feel my husband's heart tighten as he thinks of me both hungry and tired.) 

Hard on myself is an understatement. 

Rereading my diary makes me cry. I was hurting, I was starving, I was seeking someones approval, and I was slipping under the radar. The entires continue for a year and by the following February I was 220 pounds. How does a starving girl GAIN weight?! It's because of what I didn't write down. The binge eating. I refer to it in my diary as "a bad day." I would binge and purge. When I grew too weak to mentally fight off the need for food, I would stuff myself until I was sick. I remember telling myself I couldn't even torture myself thin. I couldn't starve the fat off or purge it off either. 

The worst binge memory I have includes an entire grocery bag full of candy. We sold candy in school to fundraise. I didn't want to sell it - handing me a bag of candy was like handing a drug user crack. The candy  didn't even make it a day. I was home only minutes before the carnage of candy wrappers covered my bedroom floor. This day was not entered into my diary. Many of these kinds of days didn't get written about. Acknowledgment would make them real. Instead I handed over my  money to cover the cost; that way,  no one knew I ate it all and life continued. 

Page from my diary. There are many pictures like this. 

As a senior, I wanted prom to be the highlight of my high school career. I wanted to be thin and amazing with my dream date on my arm.  Instead, it became my darkest time. My diary entries turn into daily check-ins of measurements, weight, food and exercise log. While on the outside I was an active senior; AP/Honors student, drama club president and editor on the paper, on the inside I was destroying myself. The closer prom got the worse my destruction became. I would go home after school, kill myself with an intense hour of exercise, then shower and return to school to work on the paper.  I timed everything around my school schedule and my mom's work hours. No one ever knew. I had reached my goal by the time prom rolled around. I was even lucky enough to have my crush as my date. I felt amazing. Then it was the next day. 

I road this roller coaster of weight lost and gained for almost 10 years. When I tipped the scale at 300 pounds, I knew I was fighting for my life now. I needed help. I wasn't winning the war with myself. I tried crazy diet after crazy diet. When I saw the commercial for Weight Watchers I figured, why not give that a try? Something has to work. Weight Watchers was what I needed. I needed to learn how to eat. My eating philosophy prior was eat salads to be thin and eat the entire package of cookies so there would be no evidence and purge. This was getting me nowhere. Weight Watchers taught me how to balance healthy with junk food. Healthy wasn't just rabbit food, in fact I lost my first 100 pounds without eating a single salad because I hated them! 

I now weigh 175 pounds. That's not much smaller than my smallest in high school. I worked hard to get to where I am physically though my greatest achievement has been breaking the mental hold my weight had on me.  I'm ending the war within myself. It's not a fight to be at my current weight. I do have to take care of myself, eat healthy (which does include salads), indulge occasionally, and exercise 4-5 times a week. I'm no longer on a "diet"  - I eat to live a long and happy life which sometimes includes cake! 

I still hear the voice of my disorder in the back of my head. 95% of time I am able to shut it up and move on with my healthy habit day. Then there is that 5% where I succumb to the voice and binge eat. After the blanket of guilt lifts off me, I forgive myself and just move past it. It is not easy, sometimes I get so unbelievably pissed at myself, however I made a promise to myself that I would love myself. Forgiveness is a part of love. 

I'm not perfect. I never achieved super model statues. My thighs still touch and I'm soft around the middle. I still have two digits in my size tag and the double chin has been known to make an appearance in pictures. I cannot get back those years of self-hate and torture. All I can do now is give myself the gift of love and forgiveness.  For today and many tomorrows I vow to embrace my body, just the way it is, and love it!