I’ve been eating better since April. Almost five months. And in those five months I’ve seen a lot of changes. Instead of coming home from work and immediately starting to eat whatever I can find (like bagels, chips, cookies, and cupcakes), I now keep myself busy with tasks. That intense desire to eat is still there, I won’t lie. But now I have better choices to choose from. We’re spending a small fortune on fresh fruit, low calorie tortillas, Baked Lays, ground turkey and eggs. I’ve gotten to the point where I’ve found the foods I love and that fit into my new lifestyle.

Of course a direct result of eating better is losing weight. I admit I didn’t have a ton of weight to lose back in April. But still, I had some fatty, fatty parts of my body I wanted to bid farewell to. As of yesterday’s weekly weigh in at my local Weight Watchers the weight on my drivers license is now correct. While the number of pounds I’ve lost might not seem like a high number, I have lost over 10% of my body weight. (That’s a lot, right?)

I’ve really noticed this week that none of my pants fit. I have about a million pairs of black slacks and not a single one of them fits. As in, I can’t even keep them up. You’d probably think that I’d be happy about the option of running out and buying new clothes, but let’s be honest, what is the likelihood that my weight will stay down? Plus um, I don’t have a lot of extra cash to spend on a whole new work wardrobe. It’s taken me years to accumulate the one I have. I did use a gift card I got for my birthday to get an insanely smaller pair of jeans at Ann Taylor Loft that I found on sale. I’ve been wearing them to work a lot. As in a lot, a lot.

I hear the people around me tell me that I look like I’ve lost weight. My husband applauds me on my new healthy habits and healthier body. The leaders at Weight Watchers tell me I’m an “inspiration to the rest of us”.

What I’m saying is that I look differently. There is no denying the positive changes in my body.

And yet, every morning before hopping in the shower I catch my reflection in the mirror and I think, “eww…I’m fat.” I look at my belly and see how it’s misshapen (from carrying a baby) and I think, “eww…I’m fat.” I see my thighs and think, “eww…I’m fat.”

I’ve been thinking a lot about this lately. I’ve become someone I don’t understand. It’s like when the rest of us see Mary Kate Olson and wonder how she can possibly think she’s fat when her bones are protruding and she can barley hold her head up. Not that I’m that I’m as thin as Mary Kate. Far from it. But I know, on paper, that I’m thinnish. And yet, my eyes and my mind are telling me something totally different. They are telling me I need to lose more weight. They are telling me that I don’t look as good as I could. They are telling me that I’m a failure. And that I’m ugly and fat.

I’ve always had body image issues. We all have body image issues. I’ve talked about this before with the interweb. But now, my body image issues are faltering between normal and not-so-normal. I keep wondering where the switch is that will make me love myself more. Where the switch is that will allow me to see myself how others see me. The switch that will let me be happy with my body. Why can’t I make my mind accept what is really there? Is there something that makes us not accept who we are? Are we born with this genetic fault or do we learn it from years of hearing people call Jennifer Love Hewitt “fat”? Is it the magazines that are to blame? Or are we to blame?

Have I done this to myself?

I don’t know what I’m trying to say here. I’m not looking to have the interweb tell me how skinny I am, or how messed up I am, or that I need professional help. I really don’t want the eye rolling as you call me a skinny ungrateful bitch.

I’m just trying to understand these thoughts in my head.

Because I’m sure we all have them.

(I’m closing comments on this post, for the first time ever.)