I’m going to be honest. I mean really honest. I mean more honest than I’ve ever been with myself even honest. I suck at loving myself. I’m really really great at loving others. At doing things and being there for my friends and family. Even for perfect strangers. I put everyone first, while  I settle for last place. Happily. Easily. Without-a-second’s-hesitation-aly. But it ends now. It has to. I’m going to crack.

I hate my body. But what’s worse, is that I don’t love myself enough to have the courage it takes to do something about it.

Which makes me hate myself, too.

For years I’ve heard people tell me that I look great. I’m “so small,”  but you guys! I’m five feet tall. Of course I’m small. The truth is that when I take off my clothes and see my reflection, I’m brought to tears. I’ve hidden behind the excuse of having a thyroid condition since I was diagnosed three years ago. I’ve pretended that I love myself just the way I am. I’ve spent the better part of a year trying desperately to say it loud enough and often enough in the hope that one day I’d wake up and the idea would stick. Take root. Grow.

But the soil is fallow. Nothing is sprouting. It’s time to plant a new crop.

I need to find a way to love myself enough to do. And that scares the hell out of me. Terrifies me. It’s been really easy to be broken. To be unhappy because of the way I look. What if I get fit and I’m still unhappy? What then? What do I hide behind when the weight comes off?  I can’t even begin to pretend to know the answers to these questions, but I do know that I can’t keep doing nothing. I can’t continue to feign happiness. I can’t make it materialize one morning just because I want it. I have to work for it.

I have to start.

So here I go. After watching this girl embark upon (and beautifully and successfully complete) this journey – with a job or two, and two lovely daughters, and a busy busy life – I decided that the time to hesitate was through. Today I hired a fitness coach; I filled out a questionnaire about the food I eat and the exercise I (don’t really) do, and I committed to twelve weeks. Twelve little weeks in this great big life of mine to finally put myself first. To finally matter to myself as much as everyone else matters. To BE the change. To be love.

To do more than make a resolution. To stop breaking promises. To stop telling myself I can’t do it before I even try.

It’s time for me to be more than simply alive.

It’s time for me to live.

Help me. Encourage me. Don’t let me quit.

I want this, you guys.

Bad.

xo

(photo by my favorite anda marie).