Progress, Not Perfection

I've had some requests for Before and After photos.    I've been dragging my feet on doing this for a couple of reasons.

The first one is a practical one.    I didn't realize it, but I avoided the camera for - apparently - the past five years.     The pictures I do have I did the old put-the-kid-in-front-of-me-so-nobody-can-see-my-body trick:

I avoided candid shots; I didn't want to be captured in an unguarded moment, before I could arrange things for maximum concealment.

The second reason is that it's emotional for me to look at the Before pictures.     I've written about it a lot, but I really didn't have any concept of how much weight I had gained.     I chose not to see.  

I'm not a vain person.    I'm not hung up on looks.    When I look at the Before pictures I remember how happy I was, how good I felt to be sober and free.    Seeing how much more I weighed doesn't change that for me.    

What I feel is a pang of sadness.   The pictures are irrefutable evidence that denial is a powerful thing.    It's not that I knew I weighed too much and didn't care (like I claimed), it's that I really didn't have any idea that I had a problem.   With weight, with food - any of it.   

It's okay, though.    I know, now, that I don't grow if I don't face painful truths.    I don't grow unless I have the guts to look problems in the face, stare them down and make changes.   

I remember getting these pictures back - both are from my trip to Bermuda for my 40th birthday - exactly one year ago.     When I saw these pictures last July, I felt a pulse of fear when I saw what I looked like, and then I mentally slid the truth to the side.    I quickly went through the pile of pictures and selected a few that didn't show much, that caught me at a flattering angle.   I didn't look at the ones that showed the truth.   I found a couple of these pictures, unedited and ignored, in my computer:

I'm learning how to pay attention to my gut reactions; I practice keeping my finger on the pulse of fear or avoidance.   I'm trying to pay attention to unconscious thoughts, those thoughts-beneath-the-thoughts, because I want to be conscious; I want to be aware.      The truth is far scarier when I'm hiding from it.

Because once I face the truth, I can do something about it.    I can set myself free.