You know what? I’ve decided I’m fine with being fat.
So what if I’m ten (or fifteen) pounds overweight? So what if the online assessments agree with me? I’m tired; I’m stressed; I need my escapes.
At least, that’s how I’m feeling this week.
We went home to North Dakota on Easter Sunday. I didn’t take any pictures with my camera this time; instead, I wrote the pictures on my heart. My mom…smiling shyly, moving slowly, not talking. Her chair at the table is by the sliding glass doors, and once, when my 4-year-old bounced over to go out, he tugged at the handle but it was locked.
“Get it for him, will you?” my father said, but Mom just looked at the door and, seeming confused, murmured softly. “Ah heck, Ma,” my dad remarked. He snapped open the lock and George bounded out.
I cried a lot at home this time. I cried when my dad pulled a fifty out of his wallet, and with one shaking hand, held it out to me. “For a little treat on the way home,” he said. I cried in the bathroom that I knew growing up, with the same dusty knickknacks on the shelf above the toilet. I cried at the thought of saying goodbye.
“You’re in the ‘letting go’ phase right now,” my doctor told me. “I see a lot of women your age that are.”
My parents are ready to leave this world; my oldest son leaves for college in one short year; my toddler, my four-year-old and butter sustain me.
In short, it’s a very hard time to be dieting.
So. No scale shots or link-up this week because frankly, I don’t have much for you in the way of encouragement. I know I feel better when I’m eating “right” and exercising, and I know that–God willing and grace providing–I’ll hop back on the treadmill soon.
In short, I know I feel better when I fight the good fight.
I know that I have to. I pray that I can.
- In the Easter Season (My post from last year. In a word, detachment.)