It’s been 7 days. 7 days without a quick trip to the servo for a packet of chips. 7 days without a walk to the bakery for a croissant. 7 days without a nighttime ice cream.
7 days since I decided that I will just try one more time to give it a go. One more time before I think about the final step. It’s not that I want to go under the knife, it’s just that I don’t believe I can do this. I don’t believe I can succeed at this, so many times I have failed. Spouse has some weird faith in me. So he suggested 21 days of just… avoiding bought junk. Not counting calories, drinking shakes or cooking special meals. Just 21 days of not buying crap.
I am one third of the way there. I wanted something sweet the other night so I made myself some pancakes. I ate the meals at a Wedding, I didn’t deprive myself. But we didn’t stop at Maccas on the way home, I didn’t top the night off with a binge. I’m not weighing myself. I’m not measuring myself. After 21 days, if I make it, I’ll work on something else. No pressure, no plans.
In the meantime, I’m not covering myself up like I do every Summer. I’m not wearing layers of black or shapeless bags. I’m not sitting on the bed crying because everyone else is out enjoying themselves and I won’t let myself. I cannot work to society’s perception of beauty so much that I don’t live. If the biggest issue one has in life is being affronted by my fat arms, then they are living a charmed life.
7 days down, a lifetime to go.