Tuesday, October 30, 2012
In my sleep induced haze, I step on the scale. That too high number flashes back at me and I feel the tears start to form and soon my cheeks are wet. Before I know it, a swear word slips from my mouth.
I never swear, but today I'm mad. Mad that my body doesn't want to do what it's suppose to do. Mad that I have to struggle with this when I work so hard. Mad that I eat right, I exercise, I drink about 100 ounces of water a day and my weight still doesn't go down. Mad that I've been on thyroid meds and they haven't done a damn thing for me. Mad that I can't be like others whose weight just effortlessly falls off of them. Mostly, I'm mad that two years ago I was in a healthy range and for some reason my body stopped working with me.
The tears won't stop.
I go about my day making gluten free bread, doing laundry, and teaching school. We take a break to decorate little pumpkins with markers. The utter joy on their faces brings a smile to mine.
I don't want them to see or feel this struggle inside me. I want them to know, that no matter what, they are beautiful. That healthy isn't a number on a scale, but rather a lifestyle. Yet I find myself asking how? Until I live it myself, they won't see it modeled.
Thus I'm determined to change. My attitude. My life. Their lives. I have no idea where to begin, but I will do it. So that even if that number on the scale never goes to where I want it to, I'm still living and demonstrating a healthy life for them and for myself. So that they can realize you have to love yourself first before change can begin.
The tears dry, the stains remain, but in their place is a steely determination to do what is right. To stop the obsession, stop the worry, and just live.