My body feels tired.  I can’t quite pinpoint it, but I feel like my limbs are made of lead … something in me screams each time I think about moving my body.  My stomach feels ten times fatter today, my arms look like they should be dimply thighs.  In two days dresses I ordered are going to arrive that aren’t even going to fit my fat ass, yet all I can do is reach for another tootsie roll.
 
Why am I so unhappy with myself?
 
May 2004.  I had brand new baby twins, just three months old.  I was lighter than I had ever been, back in a size 12 and going down.  We had a new house.  And I was celebrating my wedding anniversary with XH who bought me premium tickets to Aida, one of my favorite Broadway shows.  I dressed up in a black dress for our night out, and I hated the lumps and bumps that the clingy fabric seemed to accentuate.  I wore tight control top panty hose, and on top of that, some body shaper-gut sucker thing.  It wasn’t just uncomfortable - it downright HURT.  I had to sneak away during intermission and take it off in the bathroom.  Instant relief.  Later, I remember sitting next to him, and I can’t recall what was said prior to him saying this, but he bent to me and whispered in the middle of the show, “I just want you to be happy with yourself.”  In reality, he didn’t care if I was 245 pounds or 145 pounds, he just wanted me to be happy with myself.
 
I just want to be happy with myself.
 
Just a few months later he found his new GF online and decided that the house with the backyard wasn’t what he wanted after all, gee whiz.
 
I am tired of being unhappy with myself. 
 
I lost the weight.  I maintained the loss.  I had the surgery (well, most of).  And I am still not happy with myself.
 
It’s not the fat at all, is it?