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In ALL, INTROSPECTION by Stephanie Klein

It comes down to a number; it always does.  Whether it’s age, weight, or in this case, the size of the new jeans I had to purchase today, I’m a slave to numbers and what they mean.  Over the past few months, I’ve put on 10 pounds.  I am getting fat; I feel it and see it without the help of a number on a scale.  I don’t care what the number on the scale ever says, but the number on the inner inseam of my jeans is quite another story.  So, I’m making my commitment public. 

Newjeans_1

I’m going to keep a hand-written journal of everything I eat, so I can again be accountable.  I will drink more water so I won’t confuse hunger for thirst.  I will eat lean protein.  I will not obsess over recipes and menus.  I will keep my mouth shut when I’m bored and only eat fish for dinner.  I will not eat 3 hours before I sleep.  I’ll reach under my bed and find my old inspiration journal, which originally helped me to lose 45 lbs.  I’ll always be a fat girl, but no one has to see it.  I will scour the pages of glossy fitness magazines, of bathing suit catalogues, and fashion bibles, scrapbooking every bit of inspiration I find.  I need to remind myself of all the things that taste better than all the yellow foods I love… like size 28.  And, only I’ll know because it’s for me.  I feel wonderful thin, and when I feel heavy, I feel like a hermit, hoping no one will ask me out.  Plans involve pants and inseams.