
Oh, the intoxicating allure of thinness. To be thin and happy and comfortable in my own skin. I always knew that was what I wanted. I was sure that was how it would be. Right?
All the moments before that, the moment when thinness arrived, when my dreams came true, were just misery. It was such a burden to carry around that extra weight, to βfeel fatβ (you know, where you lie on your side and gravity performs its work?), feel deprived, feel required to eat awful tasting food. All of it would magically disappear the moment that scale said 130, instead of 200. Right?
Sort of. Kind of. But, the magic didnβt happen on my uber cool glass scale. The magic happened in my uber cool prefrontal cortex. πΈπ£πππ¦π‘βπππ I wanted did arrive, almost as if by magic, but it had nothing to do with how much weight I was carrying around, or what I ate, or what the scale said.
It had to do with my thoughts.
It turns out I can love my body, no matter what the scale says. I can feel good in my skin, no matter how or what I choose to eat. No deprivation or white-knuckling required.
I havenβt banished all the thoughts that brought on those feelings; they are part of me and always will be. I βππ£π stopped believing them. I βππ£π made new decisions about who I am and what I want.
Then, I lost 60 pounds. I watched it fall away like all the lies I told myself. About myself.
Bye.
ππππππ πβππππππ ππ π πΆπππ‘πππππ πΏπππ πππ ππππβπ‘ πΆπππβ. πβπβπ πππ π πππππ‘π ππππ’π‘ π‘πππβπππ π€ππππ π‘π πππ π 50 ππ ππππ πππ’πππ β¦.πππππππππ‘ππ¦. ππ ππππ ππππ πππππ. ππ ππππ π π‘ππ’ππππ.
https://youtu.be/VkKxmnrRVHo