Progress is a slow-moving beast.
Often, yesterday isn’t all that different from today. Nor will today be all that different from tomorrow.
When working towards a goal, it can be discouraging to go from one day to the next without seeing any progress, but elating to wake up six months later and see how far you’ve come.
When letting something slide, it’s so easy to ignore the gradual change, but then wake up six months later and realize just how far you’ve fallen.
And so it happened that this weekend I saw my brother’s wedding pictures, and had it laid out in Kodak Gold just how much weight I had regained.
I wanted to cry. I wanted to sulk. I wanted to be angry with myself for being so lazy and letting things slip so far.
But I’ve done that before, and it’s gotten me nowhere. I’ve lost hours, days, and months of my life in self-hatred, convinced that negative reinforcement will drive me forward — that I can punish myself into better behaviour. And yet the numbers have still gone up.
It doesn’t work. And on top of not working, it hurts.
So here’s my new method: breathe, accept, put on a sports bra, and start again.
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