Today is four weeks since I started this physical rebirth. Sixteen pounds doesn’t seem like much to have lost, and maybe it’s gone unnoticed by other people, but there’s already a perceptible effect to me.
The other day I passed by the large mirror in the washroom at my workplace… and I actually caught my own eye. Surprising, because I’ve never been one to let my eyes linger on myself for very long. Rather, I’ve struggled with accepting my physical appearance for most of my life. I was too plain looking when I was young, and too bald as I got older.
But on this particular day I actually stood and looked at myself in the mirror. My face looked tighter, my abdomen looked smaller, my business clothes were flattering. Without thinking, I paid myself a compliment.
“You look really good today. Handsome.”
And I meant it.
I’ve always kind of thrived on external validation. It’s probably what pushed me out of my bedroom and onto the stages of nightclubs and restaurants (back when I had the time to keep late hours). But there’s nothing like the power of being able to pay yourself a sincere compliment. I’m highly critical of myself. So when I’m kind to myself, I really mean it.
It gave me the confidence to start weighing myself nude. My socks and undies don’t even register on my scale, so it’s not an advantage (believe me, I checked). But for those few minutes of privacy during my morning weigh-in, it gives me the chance to see absolutely everything, and evaluate my progress.
I’m pleased, not thrilled, with what I’m seeing. Over the coming months I want to be increasingly impressed… I’d like to be as captivated with the naked me as I recently was with the dressed-up me.
In the long term it would be nice to think that I’ll look good enough that even strangers will be impressed with my body, and possibly wonder how good I look without the clothes.
Hey, it could happen.
In the very least, I want to make it to the point in my life where people don’t really remember me being fat. Or can’t imagine me being fat.
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