Falling down, getting up, and remembering who I want to be
It started when I realized I hated having my picture taken again.
I noticed I’d stopped taking photos of Caleb and me together. For someone whose dad is a professional photographer, it struck me as strange that I had virtually zero recent, nice family pictures. When the thought of actually having new photos taken scared me—not because of the camera, but because it meant confronting how I really looked—I knew I had a problem.
In every weight loss story, there’s that a-ha moment. Mine the first time was in 2012, crying alone in my apartment, staring into the mirror and hating what I saw. That day, I decided I was done living like that—and I meant it.
But after Caleb was born, I slid. I lost some of my pregnancy weight, but every excuse was ready on my tongue: too tired, too busy, too everything. I told myself I was accepting my body. That we should love the skin we’re in. I convinced myself I was okay.
Then, after my ectopic pregnancy in February, things got worse. I’ve lived with anxiety and depression all my life, but after the loss, the depression took over. I coped by eating—and I gained 35 pounds. I would have kept going if I hadn’t finally stopped myself.
I took stock of my life. Of who I was, who I am, and who I want to be.
I don’t want to be the woman who avoids mirrors, who refuses to be in photos with her son, who feels—knows—she’s being judged by her weight.
I still believe in loving yourself. But here’s the truth: I don’t love myself at this size. And because of that, I can’t be okay with staying here. I think back to when I was healthiest and happiest—when I was active, lighter, and prioritizing my health. I don’t yet know how I’ll carve out the time, but I have to.
Yes, the excuses are real. I work full-time. I have a son, dogs, a house. My husband works nights, so it’s just Caleb and me in the evenings. How can I run, walk, or go to the gym without taking away our already limited time together?
But here’s the thing—it’s more selfish to let him grow up watching me dislike myself than it is to step away for a few hours a week to take care of my health. I may never train for another half marathon, but I can do something. Something is always better than nothing.
So I’m logging my calories again. I’m back on MyFitnessPal—which hit me with all the feels. It reminded me of that time in my life when my world revolved around tracking, when I felt in control, when I even met Jerry there. I’m cleaning up my eating, cutting portions, and paying attention again. Exercise will come next—slowly—and maybe running again someday. My hope is that this time will stick. That this will be the last first time I have to start over.
I’ve fallen before, more than once. But I’m remembering now: you can fall down, but you can always get back up again, too.
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