48 minutes left in 2017.
48 minutes left to accomplish my 2017 resolutions.
Probably not going to happen.
Another year has gone by of feeling like a stranger in my own body. Of having to move my belly fat out of the way to get dressed. Of getting winded walking up and down the stairs to do laundry. Another summer passed being uncomfortable in a bathing suit. And now another winter approaches where my snow pants are three sizes too small and hang awkwardly in my closet. All my winter clothing is tight and I'm too ashamed to walk into a store and buy a bigger size.
I hate my body.
I know I'm supposed to feel all refreshed and renewed at the prospect of another new year looming. Another new beginning. Another chance to finally wake up and get my shit together. But right now I'm feeling like it's another opportunity to fail and disappoint myself. Disappoint my family. Be the fattest person at another family reunion. I don't even know what to do with myself anymore, so instead of turning to real human contact I turn to the anonymity of the Internet. Typing my deepest darkest secrets for only strangers to read (and in all reality no one at all will end up reading this.)
Why do I do this to myself? Just tonight I was complaining to my husband about how much I hate my body. Then what do I do? Gorge myself on New Years Eve snacks and then I hid from the rest of the family and snuck ice cream. I'm a grown ass woman. No one cares if I eat a damn ice cream cone. But I am so ashamed at the fact that I cannot simply pass it by that I hide and eat it. Like if no one sees me eat it, then it doesn't count. The calories simply don't matter.
But they do. My apron gut tells on me.
So I say that next year is the year. It's the year I take control of my life. I finally loose 100 pounds. I fix this abusive relationship I'm in. I pay off the $48,000 in debt that is clouding my finances. I make my business profitable. I am a better mom to my kids. A better human being.
Sure. 2018. It's a nice even number. Winter Olympics will be starting soon. Why not. Maybe it will actually be my year.
48 minutes left to accomplish my 2017 resolutions.
Probably not going to happen.
Another year has gone by of feeling like a stranger in my own body. Of having to move my belly fat out of the way to get dressed. Of getting winded walking up and down the stairs to do laundry. Another summer passed being uncomfortable in a bathing suit. And now another winter approaches where my snow pants are three sizes too small and hang awkwardly in my closet. All my winter clothing is tight and I'm too ashamed to walk into a store and buy a bigger size.
I hate my body.
I know I'm supposed to feel all refreshed and renewed at the prospect of another new year looming. Another new beginning. Another chance to finally wake up and get my shit together. But right now I'm feeling like it's another opportunity to fail and disappoint myself. Disappoint my family. Be the fattest person at another family reunion. I don't even know what to do with myself anymore, so instead of turning to real human contact I turn to the anonymity of the Internet. Typing my deepest darkest secrets for only strangers to read (and in all reality no one at all will end up reading this.)
Why do I do this to myself? Just tonight I was complaining to my husband about how much I hate my body. Then what do I do? Gorge myself on New Years Eve snacks and then I hid from the rest of the family and snuck ice cream. I'm a grown ass woman. No one cares if I eat a damn ice cream cone. But I am so ashamed at the fact that I cannot simply pass it by that I hide and eat it. Like if no one sees me eat it, then it doesn't count. The calories simply don't matter.
But they do. My apron gut tells on me.
So I say that next year is the year. It's the year I take control of my life. I finally loose 100 pounds. I fix this abusive relationship I'm in. I pay off the $48,000 in debt that is clouding my finances. I make my business profitable. I am a better mom to my kids. A better human being.
Sure. 2018. It's a nice even number. Winter Olympics will be starting soon. Why not. Maybe it will actually be my year.
Comments
Post a Comment