Last night on the scale, my heart sank. The numbers on the scale didn't move from last week. I thought I did so well. I ate well, I exercised hard; I was expecting at least a pound and a half. I thought of the TWO cupcakes I had over the weekend. I put blame there first. Then starting thinking that maybe I didn't drink enough water throughout the week. Maybe I didn't push myself at the gym as hard as I thought I did.
The excuses kept popping up in my head. They haunted me all night long. Hubby gave me the speech I knew was coming; you didn't gain, you lost inches, you should be proud. All I could think of is how I want to throw out those leftover cupcakes; how I can revamp my exercise schedule. I racked my brain all night on how I can ensure a loss next Monday evening.
I know, deep down, that everything Hubby said last night to make me feel better is true. I've dropped 4 inches around my waist in two weeks. That’s huge! That’s something to be proud of.
I think I put too much pressure on myself. I have a goal in mind and want to get there as fast as possible. I have a long road on this journey of mine. I need to understand that it’s going to take time. It took me years to pile on the weight. It’s going to take more than a few weeks of a couple f months to take it all off.