Giving Up is No Longer an Option
You have to lose weight for you
You can’t do it so that boy will notice you. You can’t do it so that your husband will find you attractive again. You can’t do it so your aunts won’t be assholes at holiday parties pinching your sides and commenting on how your body has changed this year.
No.
You have to do it for you.
For the pride you’ll feel. The pride you’ll feel from your newfound commitment. The newfound drive. Passion. The respect you have gained - for yourself.
A respect that has kept you going despite the insecurities and sadness. Despite the nights spent alone, crying on the bathroom floor, praying, begging and pleading to be anywhere but where you are. Pinching your fat and asking yourself how you got this bad. Crying and screaming over your failures. The pain. The worries. The fears. How you’ve never been able to achieve it in the past and you never will. How no one wants you to be successful. How you are all alone. You’re tired. So tired. “Why do I even try?”, you ask yourself through the tears. You feel hopeless. You feel like a failure. You feel like nothing could ever go right. And you feel overwhelmed by the time it will take to reach your goals, by the disappointments of the past. You are scared. So scared of going back to that sad place you were before. Overweight. Ashamed. Unhappy with yourself. You felt hopeless and powerless and like your life was pointless. Maybe you don’t deserve it. Maybe you aren’t the type of person who can look that way. Maybe you might as well give up. You feel so sad. You ache for comfort or assurance that isn’t there. No one can change your body but you. And the realization pains you like a knife in the chest. You got yourself into this. You did this to yourself. And you hate yourself for what you have become. You hate yourself for letting it get this bad, for getting so off track of where you wanted to be. For letting yourself be this monster, for so long, that was not you. And it shows. It shows on your body. It shows on your stomach and your thighs. The pain you ate away, slowly surfacing for all to see. And now you are left with the memories of your pain. Visible and covering your body like a wet blanket. But you can’t remove it. You can’t do anything about it. It’s there. And you cry in agony to God to please just rip the fat and the flesh off your body. But it’s not the fat. It’s the pain. That’s what really hurts. The pain of knowing you hurt yourself. You let yourself down. And you cannot change the past.
Throwing the scale.
Punching the mirror.
You hurt so badly. So badly. But you know you deserve to finally love yourself enough to change.
That no matter how horrible and self deprecating and devastated you feel. No matter how sick you feel, in the pit of your stomach, that you will. And you can. And you will get back up off the couch or out of the bath tub and say: “I feel like fucking shit. I feel worthless. I feel hopeless. But I am NOT giving up on myself. I will take the next step. I will move forward.”
I am worth it.
I deserve happiness.
I deserve to keep going.
Even though it hurts. Even though I’m scared. Even though I doubt ever being able to achieve even 1% of the body I desire.
I will keep going.
I need to.
I either live with the fear of failure and the weight of limiting beliefs or I live with the pain of regret, of shame, of disappointment, and in a deep depression from not achieving my goals. From letting myself go. From giving in to what seems easier at the time, but is the most hard, deep down.
Giving up is no longer an option.
You can’t do it so that boy will notice you. You can’t do it so that your husband will find you attractive again. You can’t do it so your aunts won’t be assholes at holiday parties pinching your sides and commenting on how your body has changed this year.
No.
You have to do it for you.
For the pride you’ll feel. The pride you’ll feel from your newfound commitment. The newfound drive. Passion. The respect you have gained - for yourself.
A respect that has kept you going despite the insecurities and sadness. Despite the nights spent alone, crying on the bathroom floor, praying, begging and pleading to be anywhere but where you are. Pinching your fat and asking yourself how you got this bad. Crying and screaming over your failures. The pain. The worries. The fears. How you’ve never been able to achieve it in the past and you never will. How no one wants you to be successful. How you are all alone. You’re tired. So tired. “Why do I even try?”, you ask yourself through the tears. You feel hopeless. You feel like a failure. You feel like nothing could ever go right. And you feel overwhelmed by the time it will take to reach your goals, by the disappointments of the past. You are scared. So scared of going back to that sad place you were before. Overweight. Ashamed. Unhappy with yourself. You felt hopeless and powerless and like your life was pointless. Maybe you don’t deserve it. Maybe you aren’t the type of person who can look that way. Maybe you might as well give up. You feel so sad. You ache for comfort or assurance that isn’t there. No one can change your body but you. And the realization pains you like a knife in the chest. You got yourself into this. You did this to yourself. And you hate yourself for what you have become. You hate yourself for letting it get this bad, for getting so off track of where you wanted to be. For letting yourself be this monster, for so long, that was not you. And it shows. It shows on your body. It shows on your stomach and your thighs. The pain you ate away, slowly surfacing for all to see. And now you are left with the memories of your pain. Visible and covering your body like a wet blanket. But you can’t remove it. You can’t do anything about it. It’s there. And you cry in agony to God to please just rip the fat and the flesh off your body. But it’s not the fat. It’s the pain. That’s what really hurts. The pain of knowing you hurt yourself. You let yourself down. And you cannot change the past.
Throwing the scale.
Punching the mirror.
You hurt so badly. So badly. But you know you deserve to finally love yourself enough to change.
That no matter how horrible and self deprecating and devastated you feel. No matter how sick you feel, in the pit of your stomach, that you will. And you can. And you will get back up off the couch or out of the bath tub and say: “I feel like fucking shit. I feel worthless. I feel hopeless. But I am NOT giving up on myself. I will take the next step. I will move forward.”
I am worth it.
I deserve happiness.
I deserve to keep going.
Even though it hurts. Even though I’m scared. Even though I doubt ever being able to achieve even 1% of the body I desire.
I will keep going.
I need to.
I either live with the fear of failure and the weight of limiting beliefs or I live with the pain of regret, of shame, of disappointment, and in a deep depression from not achieving my goals. From letting myself go. From giving in to what seems easier at the time, but is the most hard, deep down.
Giving up is no longer an option.
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