It’s just a number right?

It’s just a number right?

When we think of Ibs why are we so insanely harsh?

I feel weak, tired and a little chubby. Like everyone else during lockdown I have lost the motivation to do anything. In the first few weeks I started off well, my dad helped me make a bench to drive my passion into actual movement and I was doing upper body more than anything else, (which I have never found much excitement in beforehand. Which is crazy really because chest day is apparently the best day.) Then the sun started burning into my motivation and turned me to day drinking and BBQ inhaling. I know what a sorry excuse; the sun is out so I can no longer train to the effective level, but it seriously did have some effect on the not doing anything segment of lockdown. Now I am torn, weather to feel bad that I’m not doing anything or fall into the relaxation of taking care of my body in different ways. I swap between the two in a constant battle of wits, I exchange sadness for full brutal pleasure in the fact I have no schedule. Nothing to get ready for, nothing to be absorbed in anxiety for. Then the next second I feel my patience slip and I’m sliding into the uncertainty of importance and all the thousands of things I should turn to that would actually make the most of these spare pieces of time I have acquired. A new hobby, a new skill or excelling in the stuff I already do. Should I be working out heavier or resting my body. What should I be doing in these strange times?

Although I have lost every inch of muscle I ever gained and that kinda pulls me into a notion of “why bother”. And since lockdown began, I have lost 4Ibs and gained many inches of ‘chub chub’ (both happiness and sadness clings to these words). On 4th Feb I was 9st 7Ibs and perfectly heading towards my goal weight ( I know DON’T go on weight.) Then lockdown hit and 14th April – 9st 3.8Ibs and now June 8th I’m resting at 9st 1.4Ibs. I see myself fading into the person I used to be, fading into the no motivation, no drive and even worse no desire to get back what I have lost. This worry falls into not being able to get it back when the world goes back to some kind of ‘normality’. Some of you will read this post and think what are you complaining at, you have lost weight during this time we are struggling to keep it off. But as weight has always being a big part of my life and my sticky out bones were the highlight of why I hated myself I need these numbers to be reflecting the hard work I once put in.

I have talked before about body image and how being ‘skinny’ isn’t always the model vibe everyone believes. In previous blogs I have discussed regarding the praising of one body type but belittling another for example “Real men like curves, only dogs go for bones” or “real women have curves” this isn’t body positivity and can actually destroy the way someone looks at themselves. I understand that we all have different ideas of beautiful and what we find attractive, that is okay, but claiming a body type isn’t attractive to anyone is utterly heartbreaking. As a young girl who is very thin, unable to put on weight for a while I compared myself to others and couldn’t see a “woman”.  This portion of my life reflected everything I turned myself into, an obsessive of weight and body. And slowly convinced myself I could only love myself with the power of my weight I desired to be. I picked a number and assured myself once I reached it I could love myself, I would be happy and I would make it. A dangerous and idiotic mindset I can not escape from. A mindset I’m so stuck on that no matter what I see in the mirror or what I’m told I can not do anything other than focus on the scales I run away from. I leave it as long as my anxiety-ridden brain will allow me the satisfaction of focusing only on mental happiness before I’m dragged back down into mirroring myself in what I so desire to see. I echo the fact that weight isn’t the thing to focus upon but I struggle to convince myself otherwise and its slowly turning in to an uphill battle. I have the idea of what I dream to look like and every time I see myself it shakes this dream into something I can never achieve something I am so far from its hard to even sit with. I think we forget that body image is such a powerful and hurting thing to discuss, we have probably all received internet trolls, harsh insults or dirty looks at every aspect of how you look. That makes us insecure or sad and second guess who we are which is why so many people have mental health issues. One in five adults have felt shame because of their body last year, yet we still throw words around like fat, ugly, skinny rat and gross around like no one has ever killed themselves because of these things.

Every Ib I lose is like a flashback to who I used to be, a flashback to a place I couldn’t love myself, I couldn’t let myself be loved entirely because I felt sick to the core of what I saw staring back at me. Yet here I am losing all motivation to get the body of my dreams and torn to what I should allow myself to be in these scary times we are all enduring. I’m fighting myself between the keeping up with energy ridden moments to daily rituals of confusion, sadness and anxiety about what lays around the corner.

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