I show you pictures of a teenage me, and instead of commenting on the height of my bangs or the short of my skirt, your lips form a perfect circle as you oooh and aaahh over a much thinner version of me. The silence between us is a net, and into it the last twenty years of my accomplishments fall like bricks.
I have a picture of myself that I took with a real, physical camera. I’m alone in my apartment after my divorce. Behind me, a lamp glows against the bare white walls. I am in a tomb. I wear a fake tan and a tense smile. The suggestion of the wrong man and the promise of a better one.
In our wedding picture, I lean against my new husband with a belly full of our babies. My neck is thick and my smile wraps around the world a million and a half times.
It has been a month since I last weighed myself. Have I lost weight? I think so, but I don’t know for sure. Have I gained weight? I don’t think so, but I don’t know for sure. But there is one thing I am sure of: I am happier this month than I have been in a few years. I feel good about myself, genuinely so. I don’t have the guilt and shame hanging over me that is normally present in my everyday life. And the most amazing thing of all? I had a family picture taken! The family pic, you know, that thing I’ve been putting off until I lost thirty pounds? At that rate my kids would be thirty before the picture would happen.
Anyway, for you loyal followers of the blog, I offer up this sneak peek. Notice not only did I get the picture taken, but I’m actually putting it up for the world to see! Take that scale!
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