It’s one of those rare instances where I am ecstatic that I am wrong..for now. You see, I was anticipating the weight gain to be a journey of continous mental anguish, where I would despise the ‘process’ 24/7 and need to vent and moan about it on my blog every day. I was 120% wrong. I anticipated that it would take me a few hundred years to learn to ‘love’ myself. Wrong. While I’m not sure I could be a poster for self-love, I can say I am happy and confident with the way I am. At my lowest weight I suffered with my poorest body image.
I’ve moved up 2 pant sizes…in my head I am pretty sure I have reached a healthy place..and I would have believed it, but my lack of something-very- important states otherwise. Which brings me to ponder; the fact that I’m delving into the unknown. Having had anorexia during an intregal period of my life – where all the development jazz gets sorted – I very simply, have not reached my ‘adult’ body though I am at the age where I should have. I was worried that I had lost out after putting my body through all that damage. Wrong again. Our bodies are marvelous machines, and I’ll guess that I’m having a delayed growth spurt!? It all seems strange somehow. Strange doesn’t automatically equal unpleasant you know 😉 ..strangely exciting, strangely freeing, strangely good. I’ve come to realise that I can’t and don’t want to hold my level of health to my 13 year old self pre-ED..how unfair is it for me to expect my healthy size to be the same as when I was a younger kid? I may be
fashionably late, but I’m done with trying to hold onto my childhood -physically-…and comfortable with allowing my love of Disney and playing outdoors like a 5 year old suffice.
I hereby promise
…to respect myself.
…to take care of myself.
…to entertain my dreams regardless of the chance they have of turning into reality.
…to put my health before work.
…to love the way I am now, and however I may turn out to be.