I promise one day my life is going to be free enough for me to resume blogging regularly. I have at least two partially written posts in my drafts and I’m currently writing this at work. My internship ends in two and a half weeks and I start school in a little under a month. If all goes well I won’t be working during the fall semester, so things should slow down shortly. And thank God for it. I love my job and I am so appreciative of the opportunity to get this experience so early on in my (inevitable) banking career, but spending my summer working 40 hour weeks, not to mention working out 6 days a week (meaning waking up at 5:30 am on weekdays), has WORN ME OUT. I’m tired. I’m cranky. I’m sure Sam is counting down the days I have left to work because I know his patience for my attitude recently is running thin.
Something else that is not at all positively contributing to my mood is my (slight) weight gain. Back in Greece I rarely ate out, I was doing cardio almost every day and I was smoking almost a pack of cigarettes a day. Since I’ve been home I’ve transitioned into (what I think is) a much better lifestyle. Unfortunately, we can’t cook where we live now, but I am making sure to eat regular amounts at regular times (most of the time), I’ve incorporated a lot of weight lifting into my workout routine and Sam and I are quitting smoking. As many times as I tell myself I’m doing good things for my body, I can’t help but freak out that it has caused me to gain a little bit of weight. We’re talking 2-3 pounds here, nothing major, but when you’re in a situation where you’ve spent years and years trying to get to a certain weight, when you finally get there (and have the motivation to stay there), a few pounds is everything. I know, I know, how many times have I said I’m going to stop worrying about my weight? It’s a process, guys. I’m trying.
I am having a lot of trouble balancing my responsibilities and my, well, me. I feel like I’m always either at work or being a girlfriend or a daughter. Working out just seems like something I have to do and not something that brings me any kind of happiness or accomplishment. In general, I just feel sort of uncomfortable with my current situation. I think a lot of it has to do with the fact that I’m not living in my own place. Right now I spend the majority of my time on one half of my bed in Sam’s room. I don’t have any of my own friends in Memphis. I feel like I’m taking up space I don’t belong in.
The more I write about this the more it is clear to me that I have to believe that I am a person who deserves to take up space. That’s what it all comes down to, isn’t it? Why else am I so determined to continue losing weight? What would losing five more pounds bring me? Another pant size down or inch less around my waist? What good will it do me more than focusing on being happy, healthy and STRONG? I don’t understand why I continuously base my worth over how much space I don’t take up. I’m sure that has so much more to do with my feeling out of place than my actual situation.
…Still, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t excited about living in my own house in Oxford. 8 Days!