I don’t like what I see in the mirror today.
I’m frustrated. Frustrated with my body, frustrated with my will power, frustrated with me (on every level).
I kill myself at the gym only to come home and eat junk food. I know better. I understand good nutrition and I eat healthy 90% of the time, but I find myself in a self-sabotaging mood almost every evening.
In the span of minutes, I undo all the work of my day. A bite here, a bite there, and I’ve cancelled out an intensive sweat session.
I’m angry. Angry at myself, angry at genetics. My mother is tiny. My father was tiny. I never once saw either enter a gym. I never once saw either count a calorie. They just were.
For the majority of my adult life, I’ve been aware. Aware of what I eat, aware of what I do (or don’t do), and aware of how I look. I’ve never just existed. I’ve been hyper-aware of food, of my body, and of the world’s perception of me for as long as I can remember.
I’m tired of being jealous of other people. Tired of being jealous watching someone eat something I deny myself, put on a pant size I can never hope to squeeze into. I’m tired of not being satisfied of where I am of, of where I’ve come from.
Will I ever love my body? Will I ever hit my “goal” if my goal is never static? Will I ever stop being jealous and start appreciating what I have?
Looking at myself in the mirror today, I think the answer is no.
Hoping for a better day tomorrow,