I’ve blogged for several (inconsistent) years about fitness and weight loss. I was ahead of the positive body movement, encouraging people long before it was popular to do so. I had lost a lot of weight and was super excited about it so I took the predictable next step of becoming a certified personal trainer. I loved writing about it and helping people. When someone told me I inspired them it genuinely made me happy for them. Being the catalyst for such positive change for even one person was more gratifying than I could have ever imagined.
But, as I was helping others I fell into the common trap of not helping myself. I found that I was completely unmotivated to maintain my weight. I even told a friend that losing weight was so much easier because at least I was working toward something. Working to stay exactly the same was much harder than I could have imagined. So, I gained ten pounds. Then I gained ten more. And I kept gaining. I gained so much that I weighed more than I did when I started the last time so I was no better than a common statistic. People who lose weight almost always gain it back and often gain back even more. Yep, that’s exactly what I had done.
If I couldn’t motivate myself I sure couldn’t motivate others, so I stopped. I missed the interaction with the community I had built. I missed not only offering information to people in a way that would finally click for them but cheering them on along the way, as well. People deserve cheerleaders who can understand where they’re coming from. More than anything I missed writing. Someone telling me they felt like I was “in their head” is the highest compliment I can imagine. But, I stopped writing. Who am I to write about something I can’t do myself?
So, I lost the community I built. I stopped writing. I felt pretty crappy in general. And every time I looked at a picture of myself I was absolutely disgusted. I had lost something I so enjoyed building and my new, plump again body was the logo for my failure. I worked out, then I stopped. I hired a personal trainer of my own and then stopped. I joined a gym with my daughter and we rarely went. I ate well, I ate poorly. I worked out a ton, I worked out none. My weight went up as my mood went down.
Finally, I just had to stop worrying about it. I was driving myself crazy and unfortunately worrying doesn’t burn calories (neither does car pool, by the way. Otherwise I would be a fitness model!). Oh, don’t get me wrong. I haven’t lost weight – in fact, I’ve gained more. But not constantly worrying about it has done wonders for my mental health. My physical health will get there but for now, I’m just practicing being okay with being “okay”.
Is it time for you to let something go so you can move on?