I cried all the way home from the doctor’s office. They weighed me—of course— and the number showed clearly that I gained back all the weight, plus 4 pounds. It was a crushing blow.

How proud I was in my 25-pound-less figure. How buttery smooth it was to pull up those size 8 jeans, and how sweet it felt to go out looking great. How accomplished I felt when other women would ask how I did it, and I could see longing and awe in their eyes. How very good I felt not stuffing it all in, feeling like I had some constraint, feeling much more in control. How uplifting to run a couple of miles twice a week, to experience my body as fluid, in motion, graceful, of use.

All that is now in reverse, turning on me like an enemy, a reminder of my weaknesses, my failures, my inabilities.

And yet, I did have the ability to lose the weight, and even keep it off for about 6 months. So maybe if I take it from there—from a more positive standpoint—maybe then I can fix that part that gave up after the 6 months, the part of me that fell back into the old eating self. When I think of it this way, I’m not so desperate or distraught. When I think of it this way, I realize I don’t need to fix the entire ‘me’, just the part that couldn’t hold on after a certain period of time.

This is giving me back some courage and hope to try once again, with an eye to complete and lasting success this time.

by Maria's Last Diet