I am overweight by kind of a lot. My new year’s resolution is to lose 30 pounds, which would essentially undo last year’s weight gain. It’s probably not going to happen, but the thought serves as a nice Band-Aid with which I can cover the gaping self-esteem wound that is my fatness.
I obsess over how skinny I used to be and somehow feel like I am less worthwhile now than before because of it. This makes it all the more agonizing because I know that I once was and could be skinny. It happened. It’s not outside the realm of possibility.
Last night I thought to myself … what if I’m just overweight for the rest of my life?
What if that is my future? That nothing changes and the way I am now is just the way I am forever.
I was not mortified by this possibility; it actually felt freeing. The weight of the obligation to be always trying and pining to be skinny was lifted. Really, what if I am just kind of fat for the rest of my life? What does that mean for me?
It gives me an ultimatum; either I can continue to be miserable for the rest of my life or I can stop obsessing about it and start focusing on other things. In this scenario losing weight is no longer the solution to ending my misery—which means that I let go of the need to beat myself up until that enigmatic day in the unforeseen future in which I am skinny again. Skinny at last; skinny at last; thank god almighty I am skinny at last.
It means I can accept it. I can stop spending time obsessing about how I am not the way I should be. I can set realistic goals. I can stop beating myself up.
Ending my misery becomes a decision I can make today.
I can move on. I can fucking live my life. I can be free.
Today I bought some spanx. And they’re fucking awesome..