Today I'm proud of myself
Yup, that's right. Today, I really am proud of myself. That's not something I say regularly... actually, it's not something I say ever. Today, I'm saying it.
I've had a bit of a rough week. One where self loathing has been dogging my heels at every turn. I'm good at that. Oh so good. I've been staving it off for the past eight months or so, but the last few weeks have been a bit of struggle. I seem to be starting to crawl out of the end of it, however, as I looked at myself in the mirror and decided to be satisfied for once.
Somewhere in May/June I started with workouts, then in July I started keeping track of what I'm eating. Now, I'm not making any life altering changes there. I'm just making sure I don't eat too much junk and I've limited the sizes of my meals. The result, I've lost about 7kg since I started weighing. I think if I were to count the previous months where I didn't, I may have lost around 10kg. That's pretty damn impressive, even if I say so myself. It's still nowhere near my end goal, but it's a big fucking step and I'm proud of it dammit.
I'm proud of my progress this year too. I moved out of my parents' house. I've been managing alone pretty well (even if I'm still spoiled in so many ways), but I've been doing it. I've been happier and saner. I pushed myself out of my comfort zones more than I have before. Little things like reaching out to an old friend. Big things like jumping on an airplane to NYC on my own. Taking chances. Not freezing up and going for what's safe (though still that in ways but that's just normal). Trying new foods instead of saying no instantly. Drinking alcohol (cider, but come on, I never used to).
I'm changing. I like this changing thing. I like how I'm opening up, how I'm expanding my horizons and how I decided to not let fear keep me grounded.
Fuck, I'm so not there yet. I'm so not ready to look in the mirror and say "you're beautiful". I'm so not ready to look at myself and say "I love you". I don't see the first, I don't feel the latter. I know too much of the bad, see too much of it that sometimes it's all I see. Like this past week, where I just couldn't. Where everything felt bad. Where I felt bad and lost. Where there's only bad and it's stifling and I can't imagine anything else but that. Things I spent years repeating to myself that they're my fallback when something goes wrong. They're my default state and mood, and it's fucking scary to go back to them because it feels like it can swallow me whole and undo what I did.
I don't want to let it get undone. I worked my ass off these past few months. I worked to get my body into shape and so I wouldn't hate it instantly. I worked to feel and to leave myself open. I worked to not pull back and forget how to take a risk or be alive. I worked for it, fought myself for it and I'm proud of myself. I'm proud that I did it, that I succeeded. I'm proud that I'm determined to continue, that next week I'll start my workouts again. Because I can do it. Because I'm worth it.
I've had a bit of a rough week. One where self loathing has been dogging my heels at every turn. I'm good at that. Oh so good. I've been staving it off for the past eight months or so, but the last few weeks have been a bit of struggle. I seem to be starting to crawl out of the end of it, however, as I looked at myself in the mirror and decided to be satisfied for once.
Somewhere in May/June I started with workouts, then in July I started keeping track of what I'm eating. Now, I'm not making any life altering changes there. I'm just making sure I don't eat too much junk and I've limited the sizes of my meals. The result, I've lost about 7kg since I started weighing. I think if I were to count the previous months where I didn't, I may have lost around 10kg. That's pretty damn impressive, even if I say so myself. It's still nowhere near my end goal, but it's a big fucking step and I'm proud of it dammit.
I'm proud of my progress this year too. I moved out of my parents' house. I've been managing alone pretty well (even if I'm still spoiled in so many ways), but I've been doing it. I've been happier and saner. I pushed myself out of my comfort zones more than I have before. Little things like reaching out to an old friend. Big things like jumping on an airplane to NYC on my own. Taking chances. Not freezing up and going for what's safe (though still that in ways but that's just normal). Trying new foods instead of saying no instantly. Drinking alcohol (cider, but come on, I never used to).
I'm changing. I like this changing thing. I like how I'm opening up, how I'm expanding my horizons and how I decided to not let fear keep me grounded.
Fuck, I'm so not there yet. I'm so not ready to look in the mirror and say "you're beautiful". I'm so not ready to look at myself and say "I love you". I don't see the first, I don't feel the latter. I know too much of the bad, see too much of it that sometimes it's all I see. Like this past week, where I just couldn't. Where everything felt bad. Where I felt bad and lost. Where there's only bad and it's stifling and I can't imagine anything else but that. Things I spent years repeating to myself that they're my fallback when something goes wrong. They're my default state and mood, and it's fucking scary to go back to them because it feels like it can swallow me whole and undo what I did.
I don't want to let it get undone. I worked my ass off these past few months. I worked to get my body into shape and so I wouldn't hate it instantly. I worked to feel and to leave myself open. I worked to not pull back and forget how to take a risk or be alive. I worked for it, fought myself for it and I'm proud of myself. I'm proud that I did it, that I succeeded. I'm proud that I'm determined to continue, that next week I'll start my workouts again. Because I can do it. Because I'm worth it.