I measure that? The scales…as I delightedly dashed out of bed naked this morning to get my daughter some milk, the real reason was to get on the scales and see more weight loss. After all…look how GOOD I’ve been. I felt uncomfortable as she suddenly followed me, but so strong was my urge to see evidence of how GOOD how HEALTHY how REFORMED , that I got on the scales (feeling shit for allowing her to see me even do this and TERRIFIED of giving her an eating disorder) anyway. To see NO loss…no gain but no loss. And in that moment I was shattered. I had jumped up awake and happy in this new sense of my own health and vitality. Then I tried to quantify it…evidence it. And instead of allowing myself to be free of the scales and just enjoy the spirit of my new life…here I am back in the old behaviours.
So what have I learnt? What can I do now? Now that I am shattered, and fragile and sad? Send love I guess…to the girl who still thinks her success is measured in this way. Who is scared to allow herself to trust her own feelings. Who is still so very very new to doing this differently. ..
And to dance…tomorrow I will attend a dance class as a punter and I will dance the joy back in and dance the grief and fear until I feel reconnected…