Stop Running

The more things change, the more they stay the same.  

I am 37 years old and still struggling with the same demons I'd convinced myself I had chased off ten years ago, and ten years before that.  The only difference now is that I can be honest with myself and say that I can't name those demons, and I'm not even sure why they're there.  

This started off as a weight loss blog, but I think it's got to get much deeper than that if I ever want to change.  I think I need to start peeling off layers, and these layers run deeper than my physical body.  

I can keep running in circles around myself, making lists of weight loss goals and ways I am gonna get there.  Or I can stop running, sit, and listen to myself.  I choose to stop running.  

Last Saturday I saw my first therapist. I told her I could see the woman I was meant to be.  I could see her clear as day.  And I've been trying to get to her, but I have all this shit on the road in front of me that I couldn't move.  Not even one step.  I plan the step, I see the step, I write the step down.  I tell myself, "Iris, you are going to take that step."  But my feet are like concrete blocks.  I can't move.  I'm stuck.

It all ties together, these layers of fat and these layers of pain.  And man, they're starting to really weigh me down. 

I cried and talked for almost an hour.  And at the end of the hour she told me I was going to be okay and that she was going to help me clear that road, and come up for air.  And I believed her.  

I'm obese, sad, angry, hurt, and lost.  But i'm hopeful.  I have so so much hope for myself.

Saturday is my next appointment with my therapist and I feel like the more I talk to her, the more I write here.  Once it comes, it will start pouring.  And once it starts pouring, the weight will start coming off.

To all that are reading this:  thank you for reading this.  My feet are concrete blocks but I swear, I swear, I swear, my eyes are focused on the woman at the end of that long, long road.