Two things hit me last week: I started this blog almost 2 years ago, and I’m currently the same weight I was the first week I recorded weight loss here–283 pounds.

It’s almost as if nothing has changed in the 8 months since my last post, but so much has. I’ve moved away from home, slight changes to my routine and eating habits caused me to lose a bit of weight since (hence the 283), and I could go on, but there’s one thing that has really hit me: I don’t want to lose weight.

Do I need to lose weight? Definitely. Do I see the health risks, imminent and otherwise? For sure. Am I lazy and unmotivated? No. I do want to be healthy, fit, strong, able to walk to my third-floor room without getting out of breath, and those other boring, everyday things most people at a healthy weight don’t have to worry about. But, I can’t honestly say I hold weight loss as a goal, or have a desire to be smaller. My body isn’t a prison. I’m not dying to wear smaller clothes, be attractive, go on amusement park rides, or any of those other things you come across in these before-and-after stories. Being smaller does not appeal to me, and I think the idea of such a drastic change scares me more than I usually care to admit.

I’m not afraid of working out, and I know I’m strong, with the potential to be even stronger. Fitness appeals to me, even though I still hate cardio. I’ve joined the gym yet again, but I still haven’t voluntarily gone for a workout–been almost a month since I signed up. I think I can’t get past the idea that, in order to get the things I want, it’ll mean the one thing I don’t want: weight loss.

Maybe I’m worried people will look at me, and assume I want to lose weight. Maybe I’m afraid to fail, or concerned that people will wonder why someone my size isn’t working with a trainer. Maybe those things don’t even matter to me, and I’m just trying to legitimise my folly. Whatever the case, I need to make peace with the part of me that is content to hide behind fat. If there were a way to achieve my fitness goals, and somehow not get smaller, I’d be in. But, there isn’t…so, maybe I should just shut up and go to the gym. Or, maybe I should acknowledge that I’m stronger than I think, because I haven’t given in to the idea that being fat deems me worthless; neither am I in the camp of those who think loving oneself means not needing to change. (Don’t think I’ve ever used the word ‘maybe’ so many times in a single paragraph before.)

This is who I am, who I’ve been for as long as I can remember. Maybe I can’t picture myself smaller, because I’ve never had to. I know losing weight doesn’t have to mean losing who I am, because I am more than my size, but that knowledge isn’t helping. Fat may be all I’ve known, but it doesn’t get to be who I am. Not now, when I’m finally in a position to embrace change, even if I don’t want to.

I honestly wish I could say changing my lifestyle is going to be the hardest part of this journey. I’ve been down this road enough times to know what works for me. I just need to follow through, and not let fear hold me back. Honestly, I think my greatest fear is that this just might work, that I might actually stick to something. Guess we’ll see.

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