I had been putting on weight for a while. For most of my life, I think I've been what you'd call average-sized. I've been a size 10 for virtually all of my adult life. I've been as small as an 8 and as large as a 12, but never anything outside that range. I don't know if it was the cascade of miscarriages that caused me to give up on my body completely or if it was something else that is outside my consciousness (and yes, I'm a vegetarian and yes, you'd think that I'd be thin as a result, but let me remind you that there is no meat in brownies). Once my daughter was born, though, I had a new reason to care what happened to me. I am planning to do a lot of things to embarrass her as she grows up, but I didn't want my weight to be one of them. The final push came when I saw some photos of myself that were taken during a vacation in the summer of 2005. I am fortunate in that when I gain or lose weight, I stay fairly proportionate. It's not as if any particular part of me takes on elephantine proportions. But still, I didn't like what I saw. Pudgy knees, puffy face, chubby me.
So, I joined Weight Watchers (walking into that first Saturday morning meeting was not easy!) and lost over six pounds the first week. Exhilarated, I stuck with the program and steadily lost pounds until finally reaching my goal weight in 2006. Since then, it's been an ongoing battle of gain and loss. Mostly gain. My job situation got very rocky starting in September of 2009 and my willpower decreased as my anxiety rose. I have gained back far more weight than I'd care to admit (not all of it, but a frustrating amount nonetheless).
Sure, I can still wear most of the same clothing I could wear a year ago, but I can't say that it fits well. I have a new appreciation (and hatred) for the term "muffin top." The days of indulgence must end now. Now, on the fifth anniversary of my original journey's start, I start anew. A friend of mine is joining me in recommitting. Self-sabotage is getting us nowhere.
Onward and upward.