Most days, it doesn’t bother me. I look in the mirror, I see it, and I move on. I put on my much smaller clothes and I feel okay. Throughout the day, I’ll catch a glimpse of my arm as I lift it or my leg as my shorts raise and I am thankful they are much smaller. I sit on a chair and feel my butt bones touch the wood or brush my hair in the mirror and notice my collar bones, neither of which were possible before the weight came off. I will exercise and revel in the energy I have. I will have sex with M and be amazed at the way my body can move, my stamina. I will catch a glimpse of myself walking by the big mirror and I’m amazed at the difference. I’m shocked that it’s me I see.
Some days, though, the weight feels so heavy. Not the actual weight, the weight of disappointment. Of anger, even. I see that skin in the mirror and my eyes travel up to notice the look on my face. I put on my clothes, knowing I’d be at least a size smaller with curves in the RIGHT places if that skin weren’t there. Throughout the day, I’ll catch a glimpse of my arm as I lift it or my leg as my shorts raise and I am so sad looking at that looseness. I sit on a chair and feel my butt bones, but see the skin that squishes out to the sides. I brush my hair in the mirror and notice my collarbones, but my eyes travel down to notice the breasts that are no longer full or perky. I exercise and I feel that skin jiggle and move as I move. I catch a glimpse of myself in the big mirror and wish, after all those years of hard work, of the continued hard work, I could have a body that reflects that perseverance.
Some days, I just wish it would go away.
*I’ve lost 85 pounds. It has been a very long journey; the weight didn’t come off quickly or easily. But, it has been worth every second, the lifestyle changes, for the health benefits and the way I feel, both physically and emotionally.