WARNING: This post is about weight loss and diets and may be a trigger for some.

Hello everyone, my name is Georgina and I’m a weight loss addict. By that I don’t mean that I’m an expert at losing weight – quite the opposite. I’m really good at buying the health food, going for one run and posting a tonne of photos on social media, resisting booze on the weekend and then binging on a tub of Pringles and several packets of Haribo by the following week.

You name it I’ve pretty much tried it – the pills, the shakes, the tea, a half hearted 5-2 attempt, the gym membership, the looking at unflattering photos. I’ve cried, I’ve stuck my fingers down my throat, taken laxatives, I’ve hurt my body and my mind with ugly thoughts and stupid reactions after I act upon my impulses. And nothing has worked.
You see, I love food. I love tasty food. I love calorie laden treats and that extra helping. I can’t resist temptation and I live for the moment, the here and now, the instant satisfaction. And instant satisfaction doesn’t taste like grilled chicken and vegetables – it tastes like battered fish’n’chips with a side of chocolate.
I know that weight loss isn’t a pill, it isn’t about being passive and letting someone or something do the work. It’s about eating less, eating well and moving more. It’s about making better choices to suit your goal. It’s about not expecting instant changes and it’s about dedication. I know all of that. I know all the tips and tricks. But I also know how good a Chinese takeaway tastes, and then suddenly I’m back to crying over an awful photo of myself and avoiding mirrors.

I realise that I’m painting myself to be a self loathing miserable person – but that’s really not it at all, not for the most part. I have a really great life that is not impacted by my perceived weight issues in any way. I have a wonderful plethora of friends, a great family, a loving fiancé, more dresses than weeks in the year and I’ve even worked as a model. No, you didn’t read that wrong – people have hired me and paid me based on my look. My body. My size. And for the most part I’m so confident and happy in my body. It works and it’s hard to fault it for the most part.
But that’s just it. I don’t love my body all the time. And I know that there aren’t many people in the world who have 100% faithful adoration for their bodies, but I want to give it a go. People tell me they find me beautiful, that my body is glorious and I look amazing. They react in shock when I go through my weight loss attempt cycles, declaring me to look perfect as I am – for a lot of people that’s a cleverly posed imitation of my true self. And that does comfort me, and it does help. But deep down I just want to be back in my size 14 body. The body with the arms that didn’t fear being stripped of a cardigan, the legs that didn’t chafe quite so painfully, the stomach that I was happy to be grabbed by my fiancé and the face that didn’t betray me with endless chins in an off guard photo. The body that didn’t feel ashamed about eating in public, that didn’t feel like it was taking up one too many bus seats, and the body that I could look at in those hotel mirrors that show every dimple and bulge and not feel like wincing.

I’ve broken more promises to myself than I can remember. I’ve gone to bed feeling shame more times than I can count. I’ve surrounded myself with body positive babes and tried to change my mind, but it’s not enough. My mind refuses to accept me as I am and I don’t want to keep trying. I tell women to love themselves as they are, but I also don’t think anyone should hate themselves in equal measures. My self loathing is centred around an aspect of me that I can change, and I think that makes me lucky. And this time I want to change it, for good. I need to. And my goal is simple. Yes I want to change for me and my future, but now my motivation is cliché – I want to feel as amazing as I can when I walk down that aisle. I want to enjoy my day without the fear of 100 cameras being pointed at my body. I don’t want to be filled with regret in two, five, thirty years time as I gaze back over my wedding photos and feel sad that I let myself down and didn’t give myself the chance to experience my day back in that size 14 body. No amount of love or support or reminders that Robbie loves me for me can alter that. We will both struggle to love the me that’s constantly berating her body that wasn’t given the chance to compact itself, just slightly.

And so off I will go to a personal trainer three times a week. My meals will contain healthier choices and the snacking will look a lot less chocolatey. This is happening. Stay tuned.


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