There’s something that I am afraid of. I’m not talking about roller coasters or spiders (*flails wildly*), I’m talking about failure.
I am afraid that I will fail at the biggest thing I want to do for myself: losing weight.
I haven’t been comfortable with my body weight since college and, if I’m going to be perfectly honest, I wasn’t really comfortable with it then either. That discomfort was due to adolescence and body image insecurities, but it was there. Seven years, two kids, and two rounds of postpartum mood disorders later, I’m confident in what my body can do. It is stronger than I thought possible, determined to a fault. I should love it unconditionally for that and worry less about the imperfections.