I remember the day I received a hand-written note in the mail telling me I was fat and needed to lose weight. I remember feeling crushed, ashamed, hopeless, and exposed.
And, I still remember that desperate, girl with 14 pounds of left-over baby weight, who never felt like she measured up. I eventually lost the weight, but that girl still lived inside me. The number on the scale was the only thing that changed.
My house wasn’t cleaner. My laundry wasn’t folded, and the pizza guy still rang my bell a few nights a week.
I was still plagued by doubt, rejection, and fear. Still plagued by a lack of self-worth that letter had tapped in to. I was frustrated by trying to live up to other people’s expectations.
And, I was still riddled with envy and self-loathing when I compared myself to women who never seemed to struggle with laundry, cooking, weight . . . or confidence.
Why did everyone seem to be able to do it so much easier than me?