I'm not a believer in shame. It does more harm than good and rarely generates a positive outcome. The things I'm ashamed of can be counted on less than a hand. My weight has come to be one of them.
Here's a confession that is difficult for me to make. At my heaviest, at the beginning of this study, I was 330 pounds. There. I said it. 330. Which is even higher than my last great shame and the point at which I stopped looking at the scale. Because my response to shame has always been avoidance.
Besides, 330 felt a lot like 315, which felt a lot like 300. Same fat, different number.
I weighed in today. The scale read 136kg even. For my non-metric folks that's 299.89 lbs. I've once again broken the 300 threshold. In doing so I realize it's not the same fat as 330. I mean, I'd be lying if I said I could notice a difference in the mirror. I can't. But I DO notice the difference in my legs, my knees, and my back. The little aches that had built up over time and became normal, everyday sensations without my notice are a little father and a little fewer between.
And that is certainly nothing to be ashamed of.
