I’ve spent the past few days writing and discarding a post about what I hate about being fat. But what it comes down to is that I don’t like having a reason to dislike myself. I don’t like talking negatively about my body, which I’ve been doing for decades. The problem is that no matter how much I practice positive self-talk, when the button on my jeans is biting into my stomach, it’s hard to say, “I’m beautiful.”
Forget that society has a prejudice against the un-airbrushed body. Pretend I don’t hear disparaging comments on an almost daily basis. Ignore that I can’t even buy work out clothes at Target. If I can’t say nice things about myself, I’m failing at the kind of life I want.
I want to be healthy, the kind of person who walks because it’s close enough, rather than drives because walking will take longer. I’ve been there before, and I let it slip away. I ate and lazed away every pound I’ve put on, and I’m not okay with it anymore.
I am not defined only by how I look or the number on a scale, but feeling unhealthy leaves me feeling self-conscious. Instead of feeling like a failure, I’m going to work hard to make positive changes. It’s not going to be easy. I’m going to have bad days, but I will get past them. Starting today, I’m going to reach for the life I want, and grab it.