I've heard this a time or two throughout my weight loss journey. I'm a twenty something mommy of two here on earth and one in heaven. I lost my youngest daughter when she was 6 weeks old to SIDS. I was devestated. For a long time I refused to move, sleep, eat. Stress, grief, depression, anxiety, and PTSD ruled my life. In a lot of ways, they still do, but I am a different person now. Maybe I'm not stronger, but I try harder. Eventually, when I woke up from my shock I turned to food for comfort and rapidly gained an enormous amount of weight.
What am I trying to prove...That I am alive, that I have a reason for being here. I am worth something, worth more than the bag of chips or tub of ice cream I try to drown my sorrow in. I want to prove that even though hell has dragged me through the burning coals, I won't melt. I won't break. Not again.
I am fortunate enough to have a wonderful and loving husband who supports me in all I do. I want to be healthy for him, for my living children, for the daughter I know watches over me.
In a few months, I expect to be in good enough shape to join the military. I plan to make a difference, no matter how small. Not just in the lives of my fellow countrymen, but in the lives of all those I will meet during my career.
I started Janurary of last year at a whopping 215 pounds. Today I am about 180. This was from a LOT of hard work, cleaning up my diet, making big and small changes. And I am PROUD of those changes, PROUD of my progress.
So what AM I trying to prove? Nothing. Everything.