On changing quietly, before the world catches up
Lately, I’ve been very focused on my health and my weight. It’s been almost two months of paying attention, making different choices, thinking more carefully about what I eat, and trying — really trying — to change the direction I was headed.
And I can see it working.
I see it on the scale.
I see it in how much less I eat without feeling deprived.
I see it in the way food doesn’t dominate my thoughts the way it used to.
Something is different.
But here’s the strange part: no one else can really see it yet.
To the outside world, I probably look the same. I still wear the same clothes. I still take up the same space in a room. I still look like the person I was two months ago, even though inside, I don’t feel like her anymore.
And that creates a strange emotional place to live.
Not because I need anyone to notice or say anything, just because it’s odd to carry something this real, this meaningful, and know that it’s almost entirely invisible right now.
The change is happening quietly.
It happens in grocery store aisles.
In smaller portions.
In walking away from things without feeling like I’m giving something up.
In the way my thoughts feel calmer, less pulled, less loud.
In the way I don’t reach for food the same way when I’m tired or overwhelmed.
It’s not dramatic.
It’s not something anyone else would catch in passing.
But it’s real.
So I live in this in-between space, where I already know I’m changing, even though I still look like the same person to everyone else. Where I can feel momentum, even if there’s no visible proof yet.
It feels like standing in the middle of a chapter where the story has clearly shifted, but the consequences of that shift haven’t shown up on the page yet. I know where this is going. I just haven’t arrived there. And there’s something both comforting and unsettling about that.
Because I’m not waiting to see if this works anymore. I can already tell that it is. I’m just waiting for the outside to eventually reflect what’s already happening on the inside.
So I keep going.
Not because I need confirmation. Not because I’m chasing some future version of myself.
But because I already recognize myself in the choices I’m making now.
I don’t look different yet. But I am different. And I’m learning to be okay with the fact that, for a little while, this change gets to belong only to me.
Quiet.
Unseen.
Still unfolding.
I am not yet who I’m becoming.
But I can feel the direction I’m moving now.
And for the first time in a long time, I trust where I’m headed.
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