An Open Letter to Past, Present, and Future Me — Give or Take Forty Pounds

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Dearest Past Me,

Hi, it’s me/you — but chunkier.

I had McDonald’s again today. I also glanced at my checking account history and added up $136 worth of fast food over the last month.

I know — I have to do better. But I don’t know how to.

I don’t know how to fuel my body with good when everything I valued is gone and the fire within me to care has died.

I don’t know how to stop missing my kids without sinking into the depths of despair and find myself in the McDonald’s drive-thru four days in a row.

I don’t know how not to get triggered from the rug (i.e., my old life) being pulled from under me over and over again. I am so out of touch with myself; I don’t know how to soothe my distress from excruciating emotions except with salty comfort. In those moments where I want to die because it hurts so bad, I don’t know what else to fill the void with except cheeseburgers.

How did you do it — stay so fit and lean, that is? After you lost all of your baby weight (the first time) through calorie counting and CrossFit, I remember when a family friend commented on how ‘svelte’ you looked.

I know that felt good.

I want to feel like that (a million bucks) again.

. . .

Dearest Present Me,

I don’t want to feel ashamed of my body anymore. I’m tired of adjusting my waistband to hide my nine-year post-partum pooch. And when an overwhelmingly challenging day comes my way — I don’t want to eat my emotions with a side of fries and a Coke.

I don’t know how to fuel my body with good when everything I valued is gone and the fire within me to care has died.

I’ll be forty next year — no spring chicken, I know. But damn, there’s still a svelte chic in there somewhere.

Today, I realized that I’m always going to have stress. I’m always going to have triggers and an excuse to overeat, e.g., two pregnancies, motherhood, depression, divorce, school, work, my period, life, and the list goes on. I want to reboot my limbic system and flood my central nervous system with endorphins instead of junk food.

Late at night, when I can’t sleep and my body is aching for my kids, I binge watch the Fit to Fat to Fit episodes on YouTube, and it gives me a glimmer of hope that I can be healthier again someday. In the meantime, I’m sorry for not treating you the way I should have all these years. I’m sorry for fueling you with crap and expecting you to run like a well-oiled machine as you did before. But, most of all, I am sorry for not loving you just the way you are — give or take forty pounds.

Thank you for your strength and endurance all these years. Thank you for birthing two tiny humans, chasing after that thief who stole your son’s birthday present, functioning through thousands of CrossFit workouts, and pedaling through miles of pain on your bike.

I appreciate your protection, patience, and everything you have powered through over the last decade.

Now — it’s time for a change.

Oh, and one more thing: get used to feeling hungry. Don’t worry — you won’t die.

Let’s do this: let’s be happy, healthy, honest, humble, and hot — because I’d like to have sex again before my fiftieth birthday.

Thanks.

. . .

Dearest Future Me,

I’m so glad you decided to get your life together after that camping trip. You were so uncomfortable in your skin back then, remember? Now look at you, the bathing suit you wore last year is so baggy; it doesn’t even cover you in the right places anymore! Do you remember meeting Dr. McDreamy on that trip? You wanted to get to know him better, but you were too ashamed of your bloated and bursting post-partum waistline, so you kept it cool and casual instead.

I’m so glad you went for it after all. He is quite the complete package! Nevertheless, take it easy like Sunday morning — you remember what happened the last time you fell for the “nice” guy.

So, like with everything else in your life back then, it’s beautiful to see that you let go for good of everything bad — and started from scratch.

Keep up the great work!

You are lookin’ svelte these days — if I do say so myself.

Yours Truly,

Fit to Fat to Fit Me

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This post was previously published on Open Letters To.

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