Thirty Blogs About Surviving Thirty (#3)

I’m really good at taking care of the people I love. Like, really good. Ever since I was about 21, I’d stopped and abandoned making myself a priority. And in the nine years after, I’d been slowly watching myself crumble. It created two mental health diseases in my brain, that only made me worry MORE about everyone else. After losing over 100 pounds, and abandoning myself, I’ve been on the worst physical health roller coaster since. Today, I’m about sixty pounds heavier than my lowest, meaning I’m only 40-ish pounds below who I was in high school. I eat out of boredom, and I get tired quickly. This puts me in a place where I lay around. I fill my heart with happiness from spending money, eating and making other people happy.

Somewhere along the way, I lost myself.

And there’s a thousand blogs I’ve written talking about how I finally love myself, which is still true. Blogs about my strength, healing, mental health, and the in between. Those are all true as well. You see, I am a strong person, who feels healed, and is generally happy, and spiritually filled…

While all these things are true, and I’m living a pretty good life, the problem lies in the day-to-day. In the day to day, I’ve gotten in a habit of neglecting myself, or doing the bare minimum. Starve all day long to *lose weight*, but end up binging on dinner and snacks. I’d celebrate not binging *as much*, as if it’s a reward to only eat four cookies when I really wanted five. It was like, I’d brushed my teeth, so I didn’t need to also wash my face. Or, I took Harper around the block, so I could skip my workouts.

I was surviving, but doing so in a way that to the outside world, I was doing good. Inside my head though, I was creating habits that were actually taking me farther away from being good. Eating breakfast is not a reward, and it’s also not an excuse to “take a break” from a monotonous task. It’s almost as if I’d turned my life into this game of “how little can I do for myself, in order to still be getting by”.

In a journal entry about turning thirty, I made face washing a goal. A goal?! Shouldn’t you, being 30 years old, have that be a habit by now? You’d think, right? In 2020, I went to work every single day, during a pandemic. I didn’t have that “dip” in productivity that the rest of the world did. Then, I left that job, and got one where I am alone almost all day long. As everyone else was going back into an office, I was leaving one, and I got hit with the “at home 15” but it was more like 30.

I made my “happy moments” of the day, the ones when I was sedentary and stuffing my face with whatever “snack” I was “hungry” (bored) for.

And recognizing this seems like I’m on the right path, in a way. Like, seeing that it takes my boyfriend thirty minutes to get ready, and me taking four minutes and pretending like I’m actually doing anything for myself, isn’t cutting it anymore. I am thirty years old, and I am acting like an unsupervised eight year old. I’m eating junk, being lazy, and not taking care of myself or my future.

I guess, here’s my self-created wake up call. The way I survived parts of twenty, is not how I want to survive in thirty. I deserve to treat myself the way I want to be treated, and that has to start inside, to teach myself again to take care of my outside.

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