So… You turn to the food. Nice breakfasts, crisps, chocolate, crisps, ice cream, oh yeah ice cream, biscuits. Biscuits are my weakness. Tea and biscuits! One leads to another and another…
You start with telling yourself, ‘right one bad breakfast then back on it.’ Then it’s ‘well I’ve had that so might as well have something else.’ Just one more then maybe one more. Oh well Monday is a new week, new start. You can do this! And like that a whole weekend off ‘plan.’
And actually I can. Fuck the thoughts that I won’t get there. Fuck everyone else. One day at a time that’s it. Try new things and cook new things. I like cooking actually, when the motivation comes. And actually I sat there, Sunday night feeling full and bloated and generally bluh!
So now I need to do it for me. For my own small goals. For what I want in the future. For now anyway, my mindset changes rather quick.
They say ‘it doesn’t matter about the pounds, I bet you’ve lost inches. You’re getting fitter’ But do you know what inches don’t count. I appreciate it, I do they trying to comfort me, reassure me. But I want my annoyance to be acknowledged because BMI counts. “BMI needs to go down.” This is what I get told, for my dream, my dream I’ve wanted since I can remember. A baby….
Just a small town girl... 