When I got out of bed and got dressed this morning, I put on a pair of size three shorts. And I realized something, something I’ve needed to realize for a long time: nothing has changed.
I’m still the same person I was at size 20/22. I still have a good heart. I still care for others. I still laugh freely and often, and I still have a weakness for chocolate and cheese.
I’m not a better person because I’m smaller.
I’m not a happier person because I can wear single digits.
My life didn’t become perfect when I slid into these shorts, and my life wasn’t imperfect before they fit, either. Weight loss isn’t a cure-all and weight gain isn’t necessarily a bad thing.
I may feel a sense of accomplishment for hitting certain fitness goals, but that joy is no less than the happiness I felt meeting non-athletic goals when I was bigger.
My waist size doesn’t correlate with the joy in my life, nor does it solve any problems.
I am the same person I was at 200+ lbs; I just wear smaller shorts.
Bon appetit, my friends.