Spare Change

I'm at that point in my weightloss when I'm beginning to realize just how much my life is changing, my perceptions are morphing and my reactions are evolving as the pounds come off.

I can walk through a restaurant without planning my weaving exit through narrow, constricting aisles. I see that I am not the same shape I was six months ago. I am less likely to think that laughing people in a room are snickering at me.

I've been adamant that "I" have not changed...that deep down, I'm the same Jen I always was. But now I know that this isn't true. How can I possibly be that same person living under pounds of smoldering, suffocating, crippling hot fat? How could I have gone through whirlwind months of constant, swift and drastic change without evolving into someone else, another Jen. The new and improved, fast-acting, tamper-resistant Jen.

But there's a catch. There's always a catch, right? I'm moving forward, but the rest my world is standing still. Everyone else seems to be two steps behind me. And some people, I think, don't even know what's happening yet! Or, they can't even accept that I'm changing.

I've said this to several people: I cannot go back to Fat Jen even if I wanted to. I could gain back the weight. I could eat myself to death. But I would always and forever be different because I've had this sweet, satisfying taste of a thinner me. And I like her. I like me. I can't remember a time in my adult life when I could say that with any ounce of sincerity.

I wish I could do something to bring everyone up to speed with me, yank them onto my sassy little bandwagon. But the new me doesn't even want to expend the energy. It is not my responsibility to make them better, make them understand, make them comfortable. The only allegiance I owe is to myself.

(Note to self: read this post 10 times a day for the next week and stop apologizing)