Went to lunch with my Mom today and ended up crying through most of it, much to my dismay... As we do on occasion, the Weight Issue was brought up by her for discussion, and I kept trying to explain that my decision of the moment NOT to really try very hard to lose weight was one based on an intimate understanding of my personality, and hence the futility of such an effort. I've failed to make any permanent effect on my appearance despite trying since I was 12, and unless I am really inspired by a particular method of diet & exercise, I make no real progress... and if I do, it only lasts a year or so. So why should I kill myself on a constant course of failure?
I'm not saying I won't make ANY effort; but I know how much of a committment it will take to have any real effect and it's JUST. NOT. GOING. TO. HAPPEN. I eat salads, and cut down on sugar and yeast, and exercise occasionally... but that's just bare maintenance, not enough to make any difference in my appearance. Believe me, I have no desire to develop diabetes, which is what has been hung over my head since my early twenties; but it will take a famine and having to walk everywhere to make a sufficient change in my lifestyle, and I don't see that happening, do you?
Elder Sister is on the latest variation of Diet she's been pursuing for the last 5-10 years, and is making amazing progress... and I TRULY am happy for her... but barring a miracle, she'll put it all back on someday. We always do. We are genetically pre-disposed on our father's side to look like German Farmwives from our mid-twenties onward. Younger Sister got more of my mother's genetic code so she looks great; but she's no Skinny Minnie either.
Is accepting a Fact as Reality the equivalent of Hopelessness? My Mom seems to think so. I call it Acceptance, she calls it Hopelessness.
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