I just want to be thin
So after the breakup that didn't happen, life has become a wee-bit more stable.
Well as stable as it can be after being likened to an addict.
My drug of choice according to dietitian? Not chocolate. Or potato chips.
Apparently my daily obsession with checking the numbers fluctuate from zero to a gazillion was bad for my mental health, thus leading me to binge eat. In turn, it was bad for my physical well being.
And that's when I told my dietitian: All I want is to be thin.
Fast forward to this week. My trainer hates when I call myself a fat girl.
But hello? When I started this journey, my BMI was 32.6. Obese. And now that I'm inching closer to goal, making me "normal" in the eyes of the almighty BMI calculator, my trainer wants to know what my next step will be.
And I said it again. I just want to be thin.
Yes, I tell my daughter I love my body. And I do. I like my round rear end. I can rock a pair of ass kicking boots with a short skirt just like the next girl. But deep down inside, I know I want to be thin. I wouldn't be killing myself working out four or five days a week and watching every morsel I eat if I didn't want to be skinny.
Yet once I hit goal, I know that number on the scale isn't going to make me feel skinny. It's not a magic number that will make me thin. I'm going to have to continue training so I can tone and gain muscle. I'm going to have to work on changing the "fat girl" mentality my trainer despises.
What an awful role model I am for my daughter. I tell her to be proud of her body image. But I hide in shame how I long for an Hollywood ideal.
But I do also know that I am striving to lose the weight because it means I will be able to keep up with my daughter on the basketball court. And I will - by the grace of God - be able to live longer, healthier to see my grandchildren. I know I am losing the weight for me.
I just want to be thin.