Chronicles of a Late Bloomer

My ex-boyfriend has been indispensable in counteracting my blindness throughout this process. Although I’ve lost 60 pounds — and although I’m aware that 60 pounds must come from somewhere! — it’s been hard for me to accept that I am making any visible progress toward health. As I mentioned before, all of my same rolls and lumps and bumps are still intact and, while they are smaller, I do so look forward to the day when I no longer sport a tiered belly. A layered belly cake with raspberry filling. Mmmmmm.

Last night, as we perched on the edge of my bed, my ex quietly absorbed the reality of my “new” arm shape. He said, kindly stroking his fingers along the fleshy parts, “It’s coming off nicely, isn’t it?” I had to laugh, because the phrase struck me as sweet and a little strange. Like something you might hear from a plumber, or a barber. I wish I could see it the way he does. Yes, the scale blows mathematical sunshine up my bum at 5-pound intervals, but the visible evidence of change is so slight and so slow.

“You don’t spread out right here the way you used to,” he muses, pointing to a certain spot on my hips when we relax on the bed. His words are drenched with true affection and care, so it’s hard to feel any sting in them. He assures me that my back, arms, hips, and even knees look slimmer than they ever have. I had to point out to him, with a sigh, that so do my boobs. He just smiled his genuine smile and said, “But isn’t it kind of exciting? You’re getting a whole new body!”

This alternate perspective means a lot to me, as I still have over 100 pounds to lose. It’s a little bit surreal I have resigned myself to being so big for so long. But, as I tune into the little signs of change — the arm-shaped arms and the emerging ankles — I hope to better acknowledge the non-scale victories just as much as I enjoy pushing toward that 5-pound mark every week.