…you don’t weigh 398 pounds anymore, Dianne.

You don’t wear size 34 pants. Your feet and ankles don’t get so swollen that they don’t look like feet or ankles anymore. Taking a shower doesn’t leave you breathless. You can fit in an airplane seat. You can go to baseball games and drive your car without being choked by the seatbelt. You have lost more than a foot off of your waist. You’re a bad ass, girl!

I repeated all this in my head to myself this past Saturday as I sat in my car, parked outside a plus sized clothing store…after having had quite the “ah-hah” moment.

I’ve spent the past year wearing size 26/28 clothes and worrying about whether I was going to be able to fight my semi-frequent urges to eat all the pizza in the universe. I finally grabbed a hold of some divine inspiration earlier this year and I’ve picked up the fight again. In total, I’ve lost 131 pounds…but I gained 26 back. I’ve now spent the past couple of months losing those pounds. I have 10 more to go before I can shrug off the bad behavior of the past year, then I can fully focus on the future.

One thing that always trips me up is my damn auto-pilot. I go on auto-pilot and forget to give myself credit for everything I’ve done. This weekend’s shopping venture is a prime example. I had a coupon for $10 and went straight for the clearance rack…to the size 26/28 section.

WHAT?

“No, dork,” I scolded myself. I moved over the the 22/24 section.

Wait…WHAT?

“NO!” I had to pause for a moment and have a little giggle. Seriously, Dianne…give yourself the credit you deserve.

I fit most 18/20 tops now – yet, I went straight for the 26/28s without batting an eyelash. When it comes to covering my booty, I’m still a 22…but I tend to reach for the 24s first.

This is how I move through my life, most days. In my head, I am still the biggest version of myself. It nags at me in the back of my head, making me guilty…and less than…until I go to the ladies room at work and catch my reflection in the mirror. I have a collarbone now. That always makes me proud. My neck looks like a neck, not something inflated and awful.

What’s more…there’s a woman emerging from all this fluff. That probably sounds more harsh than I mean it. What I mean is, I’ve felt like a blob for years and years. But sometimes when I look in the mirror I see shoulders with definition, boobs (because my stomach doesn’t stick out farther than they do), and a woman’s shape. It gives me hope that…eventually…there will be some HOT emerging from this hot mess. 🙂

I still want to eat all the pizza in the universe. But I have come so far and fought so hard…the universe can rest easy today. For now, I will try to remember that I’ve come a long, long way…and I deserve some damn credit for that. #GoMe

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