And then I became wrapped up in my internship. In school projects. In the job search. In the moving process. In the new job phase. And I ate what I wanted, when I wanted. I didn't exercise or put focus into being healthy. I made excuses. Those 20 pounds slowly crept back on, followed by an additional 12. And I sit here now, writing this, at what feels like a monstrous 222 pounds. For several months, a small part of me has thought defiantly to myself, "Why does it matter if I am this big?"
But two weeks ago, my dad died. I can't even express in words how my perspective on the world has been changed.
About a month after I graduated from Indiana University, my dad called to tell me I needed to get my act together. To point out how horribly I was eating and how important it was for me to get healthy. I thought it was going to be just another fight - a fight where my dad was going to do what he wanted, even if it damaged our relationship.
But then he said some of the things I needed to hear the most. He told me how happy he was about me graduating with my master's degree... how jealous he was about my amazing relationship with my husband, Danny. He told me he was proud of me - something I didn't hear enough from him growing up. He said these things and then said, "I know you want to make a difference - I know you ARE making a difference in the lives of the students you work with. Think about how your health impacts that. When you eat better, you have more energy, more positivity - you will be able to do the job you already do well THAT much better."
I appreciated his words, but didn't put much thought into them until this week. Now that he is gone, I feel like I have to make this change. I have to eat better, get healthy. And not just for me. For my dad.
I am embarrassed to be back here, larger than I was before, starting a "lifestyle change" all over again. But everyone has to start somewhere, even if it is back at the beginning... again.
