Every day since the 12th of February has been hard. Some have just been harder than others. This week has been full of the harder days. Monday was awful. After my doctors appointment and after the facebook fiasco I felt as though everything had happened yesterday. Any progress I had made forward was gone. I spent all of Monday night curled on the couch crying and and feeling sorry for myself. I hope with everything inside of me that that moment was my final rock bottom. I can’t possibly imagine going lower – but then again I’ve thought that several times over the past three months. I have been repeatedly kicked in the face. Broken and beaten. 

Tuesday morning I crawled out of bed a rumpled mess, my eyes were swollen and my throat was sore from crying all night long. But I had a job to do. If I’m to make my little girlie a big sister I have to lose the weight. Even if I don’t agree with my doctor. I went back to Empowering You. The place that helped me do this in 2010

Back then it wasn’t about a number. I have always struggled with my weight and my self image my entire life (much like every girl). After spending my teenaged years fluctuating my weight and losing weight in the most unhealthy ays possible, when I went to Empowering You in 2010 it wasn’t about the number on the scale anymore. It was about feeling better about myself. It was about feeling comfortable in my own skin and being able to walk into any store and be able to buy clothes at my will. And I got to that point.   Not with pills, or supplements or special foods. I never looked at the number on the scale. I had no idea how much I weighed. And I was happy. (And I need to thank the amazing Brenda Barry, the owner of EY for that, and for giving me some hope on Tuesday.)

My doctor has stolen that attitude from me because she’s made it about the archaic concept of BMI.    Despite the fact that I could lift my doctor over my head, my muscle mass seemingly plays no role in the equation. Height and weight. That’s all she cares about. You’d be shocked to know how much I weigh. I’m seemingly dense, imore ways than one. But she’s made it about a number on a scale. She’s made it my personal vendetta. As of Tuesday I had 47lbs to lose.  As of yesterday I have 43lbs to lose. 4lbs gone and 4lbs closer to shoving it in her face. 

And I hate that it’s not about how I feel anymore. I hate that it’s only about that number for me. But I have nothing else to focus on. My dead baby girl who I love more than anything on this earth. And a number on a damn scale. This is what my life has become. And it hurts more than anything.