I’m in recovery of my mind, body, and soul. I put so much poison into my body that I was completely shutting down. I’m lucky that I didn’t suffer through any seizures or organ failures. There was a point in my life where I was having a hard time doing anything physical. I don’t mean I couldn’t get out and run a marathon. I was having a hard time with getting my shoes on, I could barely get up the stairs without feeling like I was going to pass out. I used to have to take a break when mowing the lawn. I didn’t have the energy some days to stand in the shower and I could barely get myself out of the tub if I had a bath. When I entered into recovery I decided to work on getting my body healthy as well as my mind and soul. I joined a gym and started to work on the stuff that I am putting into my body and it’s been going well I think. I am still a work in progress but it’s about progress not perfection. A fact that I really struggle to remember some days. Like today, I step on a scale (which might be part of the problem) and I am up 3 lbs from the last time I did that. My brain instantly relapses into a major case of the “fuck its”. Why am I doing this, what’s the fucking point, why do I even bother?
Because my perception is that if I don’t see constant progress it means I must be failing. I greatly dislike failing, which I think is human nature. It is pretty normal to see a few pounds of weight loss in a week. For me to expect to to see 2 or 3 pounds of weight loss per day is unreasonable. But it means I need to slow my head down and keep that expectation in check.