I had a very different post planned than this one. It goes something like this:
There’s something happening in my life right now. And it’s pretty big. I’m at the point where I am living and loving life. And my pure joy and happiness is shining through. Lately, it is in my most candid photos, my silliest moment, where I am seeing what “healthy” truly looks like, what “happy” really is.
Some people may not think these are the best photos of me, but in them I see a happy, healthy woman who wasn’t concerned about sucking in her gut or posing with her “good side” forward. She simply lives.
But then something happened that had me feeling a lot of feelings. Feelings I’m not exactly proud of. And feelings that are so very not me. And I’m a little mad at myself for something I did last night — something that even made Mr. B give me a few moments of (well-deserved) silent treatment.
But instead of seeing the picture for what it is, I only saw this:
When I looked at it again this morning, I’m reminded that in the morning light, with a different attitude, everything looks different. And I recalled the very post I had already started to write, the post I shared above.
This experience was just another reminder that I am a work in progress — physically, mentally, spiritually — and need to continually work at being nicer to myself. And I need to listen to my own advice; I would never let a friend say the things about herself or himself that I was thinking about myself last night.
I am happy. I am healthy. And a little saggy skin and back fat takes nothing away from that.
This morning, after a reflective hour-long drive from Mr. B’s house, I am able to look at that picture and see this — and mean it:
I am a work in progress, but I’m getting there.