Mirror, Mirror on the wall..

I’m reading a book, it is about transforming your life, your mind, your thoughts and attitude toward the world and toward yourself.

I’ve reached chapter 12, it tells you to look into the mirror and assess yourself, what you love, what is your best, what you hate, what is your worst quality according to you, to look into the mirror and not compare yourself with others. To look into the reflection and accept what you see.

I am nowhere near that, I can’t seem to accept what looks back at me in the mirror. No matter how I try, I love qualities and aspects of myself.

I don’t love me as a whole. THIS SUCKS! I can’t explain in enough words how much it sucks. I want to see what others see when they look at me, I don’t want to look into the mirror and see the 285lb girl who didn’t know where to start, who felt defeated, who felt like giving up.

Hey, guess what? She didn’t give up, she stayed the course, she fucking kicked fat’s ass, she worked harder than anyone ever thought she could.

I love the muscles that I have built, I get excited when I see my body starting to lean out, I adore the muscles that I have built throughout my body but I take a great pride in knowing I built my upper body, I use to be cloaked in an extra hundred pounds and couldn’t see a muscle if I wanted to.

These seem silly at first, I mean it did to me but now it makes sense. Although I rarely ever use filters because to me they are silly and its odd that I look almost better as a rabbit lol. I love my hair, my eyes, my face now that it isn’t extremely fat. I haven’t ever liked my hands all that much, I mean sure they are just hands right? Ideally, you should be able to accept all of yourself but I can only start with a handful, so I am trying. My hands are small, think like an 8-9-year-old kid and just stopped growing apparently, however they hold the hand of my little and keep him safe from traffic and falling down stairs. They hold the weight I need to hold to reach PRs, they type the words that I need to get out. I accept that they are smaller than most people my age, because hey they do a lot for me.

I have a hard time accepting my legs because they are thick, quady, I have scars all over because my body doesn’t like healing having to be on blood thinners for life. I sat the other night looking at them and thought that they are ok, most days I don’t love them, but hey they’re ok, they get me to point a to point b, they walk me wherever I want to go, they are there every leg day when I put them through all the torture I can dream up. So I guess they are ok, I will try harder to love them more, plus they are attached to the booty I built that I fucking love, I love because it is evident that I have worked very hard for years to achieve a full booty vs a flat booty.

I can’t accept my body as a whole, but I cannot accept my stomach, I hate it, I hate it more than anything on my entire body. Yes, I got to almost 300lbs and lost over 100 lbs- obviously, it never was going to look fucking awesome.

I grew two kids who were cut out of my body and it never had to bounce back because I never was thin, I never was skinny, I never had the flat stomach or 6 pack, I have always been the fat girl, your fat friend, that girl who looked like she ate too much. So my stomach is still not where I want it to be and honestly, I am not sure it ever will be which I cannot accept yet.


Somewhere along the road to success, the healthy eating, the gym, the fitness and the mindset, somewhere along the road to the success, I was going to hit? I hit a wall and I fell down a black hole, I want to blame abusive relationships, I want to blame my childhood need to be perfect, but I took the path, I made the decision somewhere inside and I didn’t feel it. I didn’t feel it when it turned into more than just eating healthy, eating less and moving more, when that turned into something I could no longer control.

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It isn’t a joke, it isn’t for attention, it wasn’t to get thinner, it wasn’t just a phase and I don’t think it ever was a choice that I could change, it became part of me, it became a part of me that I buried. I buried this part deep within, I didn’t want others to know that I had a problem, that I fucking love feeling empty, that I can “fast” longer than anyone I know. I didn’t want others to know that I obsessively counted every single calorie to pass my lips, I count every single workout, I make sure my workout burns more than I would eat if I ate at all. I thought I had it figured out and no one would see this, no one would be able to tell that I was doing anything different than I had on my success path. No one would be able to tell that I couldn’t control it anymore, that my every waking thought would consume me about how if I ate over a certain number I deemed ok? That instantly I would become fat as I once was.

Guess what? A couple of people knew I wasn’t this master of hiding that I thought I was, my best friend? She knew she knew without me ever having to tell her that much, another person close to me? They figured it out pretty quickly too. I have managed to fool a lot of people, I have managed to pretend like I don’t have a problem. That I just struggle with self-confidence and self-worth.



My biggest thing is control, I want to be able to control what happens, what happens to my body, but the stupid body isn’t listening anymore, instead, it’s giving up. I always thought I was fine, I wasn’t doing anything terribly wrong- my bones are not all sticking out so fine right? Turns out that’s not really a thing and a huge misconception.

I have spent the last month or so, trying. Really trying to eat. I hate eating, I hate food, I hate it all. If I never had to eat ever again? I would be happy. Here we are as humans having to eat and stuff. So I am trying. I have more or less made it 40 days eating. Most days I scramble last minute to get calories into my body before the day is over. I obsess over eating, I can’t tell you how much effort it takes to eat. I can’t do this alone. I wish I could. Fuck I wish I could just cure myself and not relapse every other week because I was stressed and took it as an excuse to stop eating.



I have thought a lot about it, I want to keep reaching personal records in my lifts, I likely am not going to get anywhere not eating, crazy thing usually if I eat I start to lose scale weight too. I have my monthly weigh-in this week, I am Fucking terrified, I can’t even explain to you how fucking scared I am.

These things? Aren’t normal. I feel that a person shouldn’t be terrified of the fucking scale because they mostly ate like a normal human should for over a month.

I don’t feel that I should spend 80% of my brain power on food, not resisting it, but forcing myself to want to like it, forcing myself to eat, forcing myself to be an example of eating healthy for my kids, hell eating at all.

I’m scared, I don’t admit that lightly, I prefer to identify with a rock, hard cold and emotionless.

Tomorrow I see my therapist, I will accept the road to treatment because I clearly cannot do this alone. I cannot promise that I will succeed. I can promise I will try, I will try to get out of the hole, I will try to get back on my success path because I think I deserve it.


Be The Inspiration

Self- love~ Health~ Change

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