Broken Records…

So I grew up in a house but as I graduated college, my mother downsized and became an apartment dweller. When this happened, years of my life were moved to a storage facility. Today I was in storage, consolidating, sorting, moving things around, etc and discovered several old journals.

In more than one of these journals I saw countless entries about starting a new diet, losing weight, getting fit and so on and so on. I immediately felt discouraged because I thought damn woman you are just a never ending broken record. How many diets have I started to only end up heavier than before? How many fitness vows? Journals full of my weight loss struggle left me feeling a lot of shame and for a short while I started down the path of “what am I doing? this is only going to end like last time, I’m a failure.”

But then I thought about what I had really written in those journals, and more importantly, what isn’t written in those journals. So many of those entries are about losing weight for a show, to get into grad school, to take a trip, impress a boy/man, prove to someone else that I am good enough. No where in those journals do I admit to an improper relationship with food, I never use the word addiction, I don’t talk about health or surviving. All of my previous attempts have been connected to an external short term goal. So once the event happened or passed, or I was dumped, the drive or *need* to lose weight went with it.

So now I am interested in breaking new records: getting to my goal weight, being the lowest weight I have been as an adult, improving my cardiovascular health, staying on the elliptical for more than 20 minutes, running for like more than 5 minutes. I don’t want to come back to this blog in a year or two only to find I have given up on my goals. I want to finish what I start. FOR ME. Not for a man or a wedding or Jamaica or a big deal something or other I’m going to attend. Will being healthy and feeling good at those things, in those places, or on a date feel good? Heck yes. But those are rewards and not the goal.

So that’s part of why I am here instead of on the pages of a journal that only I will see. You will know if I stop writing, you will know if I fall of the wagon, go off program, cave to the self-loathing that haunts me. I know you don’t know me, most of you don’t know my name. I don’t intend to post photos. But even if you’re not there, I pretend you are because it makes me accountable. Because this time I cannot fail.

Thank you for reading.

PS After writing this blog, I got word that a dear friend’s mother had a stroke. She had a brain hemorrhage due to high blood pressure. My friend’s mother is stable now, but this news was frightening. In 2001 I developed PIH (pregnancy induced hypertension), I never had high blood pressure before I was pregnant, but I haven’t been rid of it since. So you see, this time I cannot fail.

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