I’ve always been a “bigger” girl. Not fat, not skinny, but in between. A little chubby. Thicker.
Have you ever looked at older photos of yourself and thought, “Damn, I wish I was that skinny again!,” and dwelled on it? Maybe for hours?
I’m not afraid to admit that. I’m very guilty for making myself feel like shit over how I used to look or how I think I should be. Smaller stomach, bigger ass, thinner legs, small frame, tanner skin, this, that, the other. And for what? The ultimate disappointment knowing I am not what I wish I was?
I think it all started when I began taking the Depo shot as my form of birth control. It seemed great at the time, but after a month I had gained 75 pounds… a considerable amount! I hated myself for months after– even when I stopped getting the shot, the weight stayed on for some time. The scale has fluctuated ever since, leaving me in a limbo of self-hatred and self-love and every emotion in between.
I thought to myself today, “I really need to get skinnier. I’m becoming too heavy,” and I let it consume every empty thought in my over-worked brain. I began to really feel the consequences off thinking like that… and none of it was pretty. But why? Why does it matter?
Of course, I loved how I looked when I was 150 pounds. I was tinier, and I looked great in photos. The funny part is, I wasn’t happy. That was one of the darkest times in my life. I wanted to fall asleep at night and never wake up. I’m 175 now, and the happiest I’ve been in a long time, even on my so-called “bad” days.
Am I happy with how I look? Not particularly, but I can always change that. I can always lose the weight. I could always work on my health, better myself, ease my mind. I could become whoever I want to be.
But now I’m wise enough to know that it doesn’t make a difference if I’m overweight or underweight… either way I’m still kicking ass and grabbing life by the balls. The best part? I’m happy while doing so.
It can only go up from here.