As I emerge from a particularly challenging chapter of my life, I find myself stepping into brighter days. After grappling with the shadows of depression for the past six months, I’m now finding my way back to a place where the sun shines. However, this journey has come with an unexpected consequence—I’ve gained around 30 pounds. It wasn’t until I stepped on the scale recently that I fully grasped the extent of this change. While I noticed my jeans fitting a bit tighter, I didn’t connect that with such a significant weight gain.
Seeing that number on the scale was disheartening, but I understand that fluctuations can occur when navigating mental health struggles. It’s essential to prioritize mental well-being before physical health can follow. During my battles with anxiety and depression, my focus on diet and exercise had to take a backseat. Although that decision negatively impacted my physical state, it was a necessary sacrifice. I would much rather carry an extra 30 pounds than lose my will to live.
The silver lining is that I’m now in a clearer mental space, allowing me to refocus on my physical health. Having experienced ups and downs with dieting over the past decade, I know how to shed the weight, even if it takes longer than it once did. I’m familiar with the right foods, the importance of movement, and how to motivate myself. I have the knowledge to achieve my goals, and I am committed to returning to my pre-depression weight eventually.
However, that’s a journey for another day. The timeline for this is uncertain—it could take six months or even years. With no guarantees in sight, I must learn to accept my body as it is right now. I need to cultivate love for my body in its current state, with all its imperfections.
Accepting my body is a struggle for me. I’ve had periods where I felt good about myself, often during times of good health and fitness. Those were the moments when loving my body felt effortless—when my clothes fit perfectly, and I felt confident in my skin.
Now, though, I’m entering a new phase where I’m determined to appreciate my body, even if it isn’t in its prime. My weight may have increased, but that doesn’t alter who I am as a person or a mother. My arms, although they may jiggle more now, remain strong enough to lift my son when he falls. My thighs may touch more, but they still provide a comforting seat for my daughter. And while my belly is softer, it still serves as a cozy resting place for my children after a long day.
My body does not define me, nor will it dictate my happiness. I refuse to scrutinize every inch of myself after a shower or feel disgust when I glance in the mirror. I won’t allow the extra inches around my waist to burden my thoughts. Instead, I will view my body as a work in progress—imperfect yet beautiful in its own right.
Caring for my body is significant, but it is just one aspect of who I am. Just as I’ve learned to embrace other flaws—my impatience, my temper, and my insomnia—I will also learn to love my body.
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In summary, my journey with body acceptance continues as I navigate the complexities of mental and physical health. I am determined to appreciate myself, no matter the weight.