My brain decided to be an asshole last night and replay a memory from the end of my junior year of college.
I was at my highest weight (250) and started working out with friends after class. Neither of them are overweight and are both lovely people, so I felt comfortable jiggling around on ellipticals and trying my best to keep up on one mile runs. One mile runs. Haha. I was a mess.
After a 45 minute sweaty episode on a stationary bike, my friends came over to discuss their summer plans, and I don’t know how it came up but I said something along the lines of, “Lets get bikini ready.” It lasted for maybe a second, but it felt like my friends stared at me for an hour with an expression that clearly said, “You are the last person who needs to be in a bikini right now.”
They’re nice though. Super fucking nice. They didn’t say anything like that. Instead, my friend said, “Tankini ready.”
For years her comment bothered me. I started to doubt myself and my friendship, my mind flooded with thoughts of, “They think I can’t do this. I would look awful in a bikini. Everyone knows I’m fat.”
But last night, 70 pounds lighter, I tossed in bed remembering her comment. I’m still not bikini ready, not even tankini ready.
I have come so far but I have only completed half of the journey. Until I can tell myself to shut up and not reminisce on comments made three years ago, I have a lot of hardship ahead of me even if I do lose my last 30 pounds.
I’m sure you’re tired of hearing this, but losing weight won’t solve your problems. I’ve lost the amount of a child but I am still not satisfied. Sure, I look better in clothes and I am much healthier, but my thoughts are still dripping with shame and clinging to the fat that made me this way.