A disconnection between the eyes, the body and the mind

My weight loss journey has changed how I see things. 
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For years, I managed to flip and flop between ignoring how bloated, sickly, and tired I appeared. Why? Well, I felt it all the time. If I took a hard look at myself in the mirror, I would just more depressed. I'd spiral into despair and back into a vicious circle that would cause me to simply shut down and assume I couldn't do anything to fix it.

Eventually, I realized the only way to change how I felt and how I looked was to--you know--actually change what I was doing with my life. You can expect things to be different if you keep doing the same things over and over again. So, I sucked it up, accepted where I was (and that I hated it) and took my first steps to changing my life.

It's been 3 years since I took those first, hesitant steps. As the old advertising adage goes, "You've come a long way, baby."

Except, when I look at myself, I don't see that.

Oh, I can't deny there's been progress. My body is changing. 

But, I still have the body of someone who is considered to be very unhealthy. I'm still morbidly obese. I'm still over 300 pounds. 

Even at my lowest weight during this journey (about 280), I was still morbidly obese.

And I look it.

And that pisses me off.

When I weighed almost 400 pounds, my body reflected my lifestyle. I fed it crap, and lots of it. I sat on my big butt as much as I could. I ached. Breathing was a challenge. It made sense to me that I looked the way I felt.

Now? Now it just feels damn cruel sometimes.

I have changed my life. I have done things I never dreamed possible a few short years ago.

Some of them are little things, like bending over to tie my shoe or climbing a flight a stairs without needing to take a rest break. 

Others milestones are more significant. What started as walking to the corner and back eventually built up to 5K and 10K events. Those races and years of training eventually brought me to the finish line of the Disney Princess Half Marathon this past February. (Note: For the record, that happened just one short week before our world turned upside down. I do sometimes wonder if these two events are somehow related. ;) ) 

My eating habits have evolved into that of a healthy person. I control my portions. I eat vegetables willingly and (most of the time) happily. I like yogurt now! I've become a damn good cook and I even freaking weigh my ice cream portions!

I don't look like a person who does that. 

And, I'll say it again. It pisses me off.

I FEEL like a new person. I actually like the person I am. I hate the disconnect between what I feel and what I see. 

I'm grateful for this body. It has endured so much abuse over the years. 

Sometimes I wonder if maybe that's why it's taking (what I feel is) forever to change. My body has been down this road before — so many times, really. Perhaps it's still waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"Oh, she's just going to go back to her old life."

You'd think after three years, it would see I'm serious about my life this time. Even after gaining about 25 pounds from the 2019 holidays to through the early days of this horrible pandemic. (I'll write about that in another post, as I'm still unpacking a lot of that.)

I suppose after the years of abuse, my body has trust issues. 

And, when I think about my situation like that, I can't blame it really.

I inflicted a lot of damage to myself over the years. Three years isn't enough to reverse all of that.

So, now I'm working through the disconnect of what I see and what I feel. 

I think my body and I need to learn to trust one another through this healing process. We are in it together, after all. 

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