We’re barely a week into the New Year, so naturally I’m working hard to maintain that determination I felt nary a few days ago to do more exercise and eat slightly less crap.
I make no secret of the fact that I am a curvy size 12, and, at my little height (5ft), really could do with being more in the region of a size 8 – healthwise, and self-esteem wise. For me (and me alone, I’m not judging anyone else) I’m not happy with my weight and by extension, with that element of how I look or feel.
It’s boring and self-involved, but no matter how many “fat-positive” blogs I read and love, or how many times my boyfriend and friends tell me they genuinely think I look fine, it’s still true – I want to lose weight. Problem is, I love food (and work writing about the restaurant industry) and put on weight extremely easily for a variety of health reasons, so it’s an on-going, thankless battle.
It’s going OK (I’ve eaten out once, but managed to stop myself inhaling too much Hotel Chocolat, and also done a Zumba work out every other day) but it really is a work in progress – and, if it’s to be a permanent thing (as I learned a couple of years ago when I managed to lose a stone), I know it has to become a proper “lifestyle choice” rather than a short-term purgatory involving no treats and a constant, internal monologue of self-hatred, pain and punishment.
It’s so tempting and easy to look in the mirror at the curves you wish you had less of, and loathe every part of your body. Of what you are or are not, of your constant failure to achieve your weight loss goals, of your “lack of willpower” around food, of the bits here and there that simply won’t disappear, at how different you look to your friends, colleagues, strangers on the street, let alone the much-maligned media figures.