I have been doing it all wrong. Rather, I’ve been looking at it all wrong.
No one has a perfect path of recovery. I thought I would be the exception and this is an enormous reason for staying so mentally stuck. Every single time I have a negative thought, it spirals out of control. I become so angry at myself for not moving forward. I have never allowed myself room to get back to a good place because I spend that time, instead, saying; you’ve failed, you can’t do anything right, you’re so fat.
I can’t remember the last time I wasn’t mad at myself.
through the eyes of a self that isn’t angry I find progress from the last seven years:
100 days of not stepping on the scale,
Running without worrying about time, calories, or miles,
Not tracking calories,
Eating the whole egg (not just the egg white),
Eating food cooked in oil or butter,
Rediscovering my passions for writing and art.
It’s just that
I’m out at a restaurant and I look down and see:
thighs that shouldn’t be mine, and
a stomach that’s not concave.
I unravel inside,
an uncontrollable anger is my response.
All that progress means nothing.
It means everything.
& I’m so proud of myself.