I’m having a bad day, y’all.
That voice in my head won’t shut off.
The mocking, condemning, never content voice.
It’s been brewing for a while now, but reared its ugly head last night.
We were headed out as a family and my man asked if I might want to change into shorts since it was rather warm out.
Simple, innocent question.
I bit the man’s head off.
I own one pair of shorts. And (bonus) they actually fit now, but I won’t wear them.
Why? Because I hate my legs (and I’m not just referring to the fact they could possibly blind someone with how white they are).
What is wrong with me?
I mean . . . I’ve lost almost 80 pounds, but when I look at myself that’s not what I see.
I go to the gym, look in that huge mirror on the wall and see a woman in her mid-30s with a jiggly gut and thunder thighs.
I see arms so flappy that they could knock out a small child.
I see other parts of my body so pathetically saggy they might as well forgo support and just get tucked into my pants . . . maybe I’m exaggerating . . . or not.
I see cottage cheese. I hate cottage cheese.
Stretch marks, anyone?
When I feel like this, I feel . . . defeated. It won’t matter when I finally make it to my goal weight because all of those things on my list ~ they’ll still be there.
What’s the point then? Why am I doing all of this?
All of these words are on repeat in my mind.
And I hate it.
Do you ever feel like this?