It's Friday. There should be a weigh in.

Have you noticed?  I've not been posting my weigh ins?

I've been having a hard time getting my head around weight loss and eating lately.  But then, I'm having a hard time getting my pants to go over my butt too.  So I guess something's gotta give (and I certainly hope it's not my pant seam).

My confession is that as of this morning, I've gone back up 7 pounds.  It's ridiculous how quickly my weight can bounce back.  But then, yesterday, I was two pounds heavier than I am today, so really?  Shouldn't complain too much.

Firmly planted back in the 190's where my pants are tight and my gut is rolly.

I don't hate myself at this weight.  I feel fat and would prefer to be sitting 25 or 30 pounds lighter.  I would.  But I'm okay here.  The problem is not gaining anymore.  Cuz if I don't concentrate on it, I will.  And I am NOT going back there.

But first, I have to find it in my heart to care.

And as I look around at my life, my weight just doesn't seem that important right now.  Until I get dressed in the morning, that is.

Instead, as I look around at my life, I get short of breath.  My chest tightens.  My stomach hurts.  And sometimes I even want to run and hide.

I feel bad for forgetting to be thankful for the things I do have.  A house that I love (even if it is smaller than I'd prefer) that we bought before housing prices got really crazy, a country where freedom reigns and I don't worry about a machine gun being pointed at my head, a husband who loves and gets me, extended family that doesn't judge me (mostly, i think?), friends who support me.  Healthy kids who have some challenges, but not as bad as many out there.

Yet with all that, anxiety plagues me.  I'm not joking about the not breathing part.  Have you ever felt like you can't get a full breath in?  I have.  I do.  It's been happening more and more all the time and it can be very distressing.  While the doctor is checking into other stuff too, the suspicion is that my body is letting me know that I'm too stressed out.  Anxiety, as it were.  I don't feel anxious, necessarily, but I suppose I'm just swallowing up that anxiety and letting my body take the brunt of it.  Even with the jogging.  And the massage therapy.  And the nature music I've taken to playing during the day.

I'm stressed, people, and I've been taking it out on my body.  So the pretty, tiny little pills that he gave me to help me out, that I've been fighting taking for over a year, are a welcome reprieve.  I slept 12 hours last night, with a little break in between to help with Finleigh so Brian could sleep.

I've finally dropped my pride.  I need help.

So all that to say...  I'm still here.  I'm still aware of my number on the scale.  I want to try and am not completely giving up.  But, I think I'm not gonna be where I wanna be for a while.