An hour later I am looking at my life incredibly disappointed. How did I get here?
In the fall of 2009 I began working out. It was not because I had some desire to change my appearance, but instead it was to battle my bulimia, a hellish nightmare I was yet again facing. Before I knew it I was running almost daily, I was very careful with what I was eating, and the need to purge was no longer crippling my life. I also happened to lose a bunch of weight in the process.
During that time, my mind was so focused on being able to make it thirty minutes after a meal that the size of my pants had little hold on me. But when I did finally look in the mirror, I couldn't wrap my mind around what I saw.
My workouts continued into the fall of 2010, and by then I was somewhere between a size 12 and 14. I also weighed less that I did in the sixth or seventh grade. Looking back, I looked incredible.
But low self-esteem doesn't change over night. The number of days that I hated myself and my appearance the wasn't that much different than now. One night in fall 2011 really stands out to me. I was at my place getting ready for a party at Ray's apartment next door. I must have tried on 15 different outfits. I finally reached the point of crying in front of my mirror because of how awful I looked. Ray came in about that time, and after asking me what was wrong, put his arms around me and said, "One day I hope you look in the mirror and see what I see. And that's beautiful."
My thought then was the same thought I have now. "Yeah right." No way, no how will I ever feel beautiful.
I know the harms of self-pity, but I also know it is not a feeling you can just easily decide not to have. Regardless of how many times my husband tells me I'm beautiful or sexy, or how he hugs my curves, or the way he stares at me as if I'm the most attractive woman he's ever seen, I'm not sure I will ever feel beautiful.
This decision to relose all of the weight I once lost just intensifies those feelings of self-loathing. I stare at myself angry and disappointed, screaming in my head. Why! Why did I let myself get here again? The simple answers would be not truly knowing how to maintain a weight combined with the lack of attention I gave my weight because I was so focused on my new boo. That mixed with lots of date nights and dinners.
Regardless of the cause, or the length of time it took me to get back here, I have still never been more disappointed in myself. I failed. I failed myself. I failed my health. I failed my new clothes. I failed any confidence in myself I was gaining.
Now I'm left at a point where I can no longer hold onto that pity, but have to use it as motivation to start again.
I'm not sure I've ever faced a bigger mountain.
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