Week 5 Weigh-in with a side of Vulnerability


Can I be honest with you?

I’ve had a lot on my mind lately but there is one thing in particular that keeps nagging at me.

Every time I see a pregnant lady I think about it. Every time I look in the mirror and see how fluffy and soft my body has gotten with weight gain I think about it. And then the flier I got in the mail recently from the hospital urging me to use them as my birthing center…

Every time I look in the mirror and see that my muscles have somehow disappeared I’ll be at a loss for how I ended up like this in the first place after having worked so hard to find a place of health and happiness.

I’ll ask myself over and over, “How did this happen…again?”

Every time I search for the answer I think back to when the weight started to come on again and I’m reminded of this summer when I lost the baby I didn’t know I wanted and the feelings I’m still struggling to figure out.

I’m not much of a mourner but I’ve struggled with this loss because it confuses me. To be honest, when I found out I was pregnant this past summer I didn’t really want to have a baby at that time in my life. I wasn’t even sure if I wanted any more children period.

But that doesn’t stop the hurt… and the most confusing part is I’m not even sure if it’s a hurt that I even have a right to feel.

What’s the deal? Why does it still nag at me? Why can’t I just get over it…

I avoid talking about it because there is nothing I can do about it and I feel like I should be over it by now. By even mentioning it, I feel like I’m making up self pitying excuses for the weight that I had gained this past fall.

This past week was kind of rough. It’s not like it was the worst week of my life but it was one of those weeks you wish would hurry up and pass. It started off with two visits to the ER this weekend for Penelope who had croup and couldn’t breathe.  Before my week had even started I was ragged and sleep deprived.  By Sunday afternoon I found myself sitting on the couch watching endless episodes of Curious George while nibbling on the Chinese food I had ordered out of desperation. The wrinkles in my forehead were twice as pronounced due to the worry and lack of sleep.


The rest of the week kind of went by in a blur, other than the Chinese food I had ordered, I can’t tell you one thing I ate throughout the week. Food was the last thing I was interested in… and yet, I gained weight. I stepped on the scale this morning and weighed in at 202.2.

What the crap?

I hate you!

Not you…

There’s something to be said about being a weight loss blogger who kind of sucks at losing weight. It takes double the courage to keep writing and processing and trying because, well… It’s embarrassing.

It’s not like I’ve been holed up in my house eating secret cheese burgers or anything. But there is shame to be had for the extra fat roll that is currently hanging over my stretchy waist jeans, even if my ass does look great… which it does. (In case you were wondering.)

Every time I see that roll I think of this summer and the downward spiral that set me in motion to become a love handle making machine.

And every time I go to write a blog post on this “Weight Loss Blog” I feel like a loser.

Why would any of you want to read my blog if I can’t freakin get my shit together?

Then, out of nowhere I got a comment from one of my readers who seemed to be reading my mind…

Court wrote- “I love reading your blog. It’s my favorite. I find it funny how some “weight loss” bloggers just stop updating. I can only assume they are not doing too well in their journey. It’s like they just fall off the face of the planet or something. 0_o I hope we never lose you!”

It reminded me of why I write this thing… to relate to people. I’m not here to portray the image of someone who has it all figured out, because I don’t. I’m not entirely sure why I feel compelled to post my weight for all to see on a weekly basis.

I think it might just be the release I feel by facing the truth.

There is something powerful in being honest and vulnerable and completely and utterly imperfect. In a weird way facing all of my flaws and insecurities head on feels… good.