I’ve lost 101 pounds over the past year. Hardest thing I’ve ever done. I’m proud of the progress I’ve made.
I have 104 pounds left to go until I’m a “healthy” weight. 10 pounds after that to reach my goal weight.
Mathematically, I know it’s only going to get harder from here. As I get closer to goal, my TDEE will drop. The numbers will slow down, or stall, and I’ll have to keep pushing even when it feels pointless.
But even if I reach goal, this phase of my life is never going to end. Not if I don’t want to gain back all 215 pounds.
I’m going to spend every evening for the rest of my life talking myself out of junk food.
I’m going to spend the rest of my life counting calories.
I’m going to spend the rest of my life weighing every morsel that goes into me.
I’m going to spend the rest of my life pouring over the menu trying to find the healthy option instead of just ordering what I really want.
I’m going to spend the rest of my life fighting the voice in my head that tells me I deserve a treat. Or that just one day off won’t hurt. Or that “won’t it feel nice to feel truly full again? Just once?”
The rest of my life wrestling with the damage I’ve done to my body and my psyche that got me to become super morbidly obese in the first place. That monster in my head that can only feel at peace when it’s stuffed with junk food, and spends the rest of its waking hours trying to tempt me back into my old ways.
I’m not even halfway to goal but I guess I thought at some point that voice was going to go away. That I could eventually make “normal” eating patterns my new normal. But it’s not and it never will be.
And well, that sucks, and I don’t know if I have it in me to win every day for the rest of my life.
But I’m gonna try. For today anyway.
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