Pound for pound

When I have an off day in recovery and all I can see when I look in the mirror is the weight and pound I’ve gained, I try to remind myself of this:

Every extra pound on my frame no longer represents the burning need to go back to a skinny life but to move forward to memories from a happier life:

Cupcakes shared with old friends on San Francisco vacation. A few   glasses of  wine with pizza and good conversation on a Thursday    night.  A day of  trading my treadmill workout for chasing 4 year olds                  around the playground instead.

Every outfit that no longer fits my post-ED self is a zip and a snap closer to living a life unconfined.

Every dinner spent out is no longer a daunting date with Will Power but rather a chance to throw caution to the wind and order something that doesn’t consist entirely of vegetables.

Every scoop of peanut butter or tablespoon of olive oil I add to my daily diet is no longer considered a slap in the face to self control but rather a gentle push down the road to self care.

Every extra inch on my waist is an inch farther away from an unhappy life and one closer to never looking back.

The way I see it, I didn’t just gain necessary pounds, I gained a fulfilling life. And, in my book, that’s a hell of a lot better than being skinny.


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