There is no magic number

What I am about to write might not be too popular. It certainly doesn’t go with the trends of weight loss blogging and it certainly might not be viewed in the most positive light. But it is real. And if I am nothing else on this journey, I am real. So with that little caveat in place, here we go.

Losing weight sucks. There. I said it. Now, I just want to clarify. I am not talking about the actual process of weight loss. Because, well duh, we all know that saying no to doughnuts and icecream is not on everyones “fun to-do” list. What I am talking about that moment when you stand on the scales and see the goal number, or you finally fit the pair of jeans that you haven’t worn in over three years. I am talking about that moment when you realise you have lost the weight. And then you quickly, and abruptly realise that nothing else has changed. I am no where near the end of this journey. I don't even know what 'the end' looks like for me, but I have lost some weight since the start, and I am constantly wondering what I can do to get myself to that point.

About 4 weeks ago I stood on the scales on a Sunday morning. I saw a number that I had pinned as a major milestone for me. I looked down at my feet, saw the number and then I realised I needed a pedicure. That was it. There weren’t any fireworks or party poppers, there wasn’t immense joy or even pride. It just...was. That number provided absolutely nothing in terms of my happiness. And I was pissed off about that. I had eaten right, I had exercised [shock horror] and I was left with absolute indifference. I expected some amazing feeling, some sort of pay off for the work. And I really didn’t even care. Honestly, I was indifferent about it. And it shocked me, because I thought that something was just going to click and things were just going to be 'better' or something.

That was a defining moment right there. For years I have told myself that if I lose weight I will be happy. Its bullshit. Complete and utter false living. I realised right then, that the number that I was looking at meant nothing in the grand scheme of things. It didn’t mean that suddenly I was happy, suddenly more people would like me, and it certainly didn’t mean that I liked myself more. Actually, if we are being honest, it led me to feel ridiculously indifferent and actually steered me off path a little bit. [I'm back now, don't worry!] Now, don’t get me wrong, I am not diminishing weightloss in any sense; I am still striving for it, but what I am trying really hard to do everyday, is not pin my happiness on it. Because, quite simply, I have realised that my happiness can not be found in a scale.

For a lot of us, when we start this journey we have a destination in mind. I know that I did. I know that I wrote a post right here that talked about getting to the ultimate ‘number’ on the scales. Let me tell you, we are 6 weeks out from Christmas and I am no where near that number. And that is ok. Because my mind is in a much different place from where it was when I wrote that post, so it is not a failure. No way. Sure, I’ve had some super low points, where I have wondered why the hell I am putting my body and my mind through this. I have questioned ‘what’s the point’ more times than I can probably count, but I realise that when I am looking after my body, nourishing it with healthy foods and nutrients, that I am a better person. I sleep better, I have more energy, I like myself more, and I am ultimately happier than I am if I am binging on sugar and carbs and chemicals.

Is it easy? Hell no. Is it worth it? Honestly, Sometimes I question whether it is. It is not a bed of roses, it is not painless, it certainly isn’t the most fun I could be having. But it is progress. And that my friends is quite enough for me right now.