I need to lose weight.
Even writing that sentence feels loaded. Not because I don’t know it’s true, but because it carries so much history with it—old photos, old bodies, old versions of myself that felt lighter in more ways than one.
I was thin once. Or at least thinner. I remember what it felt like to move through the world without constantly thinking about my body. When I look back, it’s hard not to compare who I am now to who I was then. Everyone says you should only look forward, but that’s easier said than done when your past body feels like proof that you used to be able to do this.
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Chronically Adultish 