Two years ago I lost 40 pounds. I was so proud of myself. I felt great.
I had 30 more to go to meet my goal.
And then I gained it all back.
There are all kinds of reasons - otherwise known as excuses.
I've wearied myself trying to place blame.
My fault for not being perfect.
My friends for not physically restraining me at the gelato shop.
The mean kid in junior high who said I was ugly.
That cinnamon roll for being too tasty.
That awful girl on the school bus who made fun of me.
The man who broke my heart.
Blah blah blah.
I'm starting to recognize the triggers.
I'm starting to relearn what it means to be healthy.
I'm falling down daily and picking myself up each morning.
Nights are hard for me.
I get lonely and bored and start munching.
I want my freedom back. I want a new trial.
I'm tired of this one. It's cramping my style.
(Didn't intend for that to rhyme, but it was a happy accident.)
I worked out for an hour on my new treadmill this morning.
It felt great.
I entered all of my meals in my new calorie-tracker app.
And I did really well with my food today.
I'm proud of that.
One day at a time.
My current goal is 82 pounds.
It sounds like a lot. It is.
I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me.