When I was morbidly obese, I think I would have sold my soul or even sacrificed an arm if a magic genie offered to wave his wand and magically make me 150 pounds.
Then I started losing weight and I was THRILLED when I stood on the scale one day and saw the number didn't have a "2" in front of it. Yes I had entered that magical place called ONEderland.
When I got to that number I had always thought was impossible - 150 - I was so happy. But by then my aim was 130. 130 came and went and I then hit 119 and had made my goal.
Then the backsliding this year. So when I stood on the scale this morning and it was a number that just a few months ago would have HORRIFIED me and today it relieved me I stopped to think how relative things are.
129.9. So 2.5 pounds lower then last Thursday. So what I'm doing is working. But the thought of fighting and fighting and fighting to get back to 119 – well the thought itself depressed and exhausted me.
So I'm trying today to remember how relative it is. Like when milestones would make my day - being able to wrap a towel fully around me, or fit into a booth easily at a restaurant, or not having the steering wheel touch my stomach, or being able to climb a set of stairs without feeling like I would have a heart attack right there or buying my clothes from a "normal" store.
All those things I now take completely for granted - they once were signs of victory. Appreciating those milestones rather then worrying/obsessing about getting to the next one? Maybe that should be the focus?
And finally, because I know everyone is sick of my whining, I’m not going to. But here’s a pic of my world…