DAY 36: A letter to my stomach

Dear Stomach,

I get it.  You’re upset.  Message received.

Would you care to explain why?

I thought it was that expired salad dressing I fed you on Sunday.  You were so unhappy with that, you turned into a giant knot and caused me so much pain that I barely slept all night.  I spent the whole day at home from work with you yesterday trying to make it up to you, and you’re still angry.  I mean, thanks for letting me get some sleep last night, but how long are you going to torture me?  You’re still cramping, you’re making me hunch over, and you growl at me every time I put food in you.  What’s your deal?  Why so mad?

Oh, wait… I think I know what this is really about.  You’ve figured out I’m trying to get rid of you.

Look, just because you’re shrinking doesn’t mean I’m going to stop taking care of you.  You’re going to get smaller, but you’re also going to get even more important.  I’m doing all I can to support you so that you can be healthy and we can have more years to spend together.  I’m building up muscles around you to protect you and help you do your work better.  I’m giving you tons of water and nutrient-rich food instead of that processed, chemicalized crap that we thought filled you up, but actually wore you down.  I’m listening to you when you tell me you’ve had enough, instead of listening to my mind that tells me to keep filling you because I’ve had a bad day.  I’m doing all of this for you because I want you to be well.  I’m trying to make you smaller, yes, but it’s for your own good.

Aren’t you tired of being squeezed by those same 3 or 4 pairs of pants I own and refuse to replace?  Aren’t you tired of entering rooms before the rest of me?  Aren’t you tired of being sucked in in pictures?  Aren’t you tired of being covered up all the time because of the way you look?  Aren’t you tired of being hit by things because you stick out?  Aren’t you tired of grazing against the steering wheel when I drive or my desk at work when I sit down?  Aren’t you tired of being tired, and always having to sit on my lap?  Aren’t you?  Aren’t you??

I guess what I’m saying is, there’ll be less of you, but it will make it easier for me to love you.  You’ve been so needy that I haven’t seen my feet in years.  I have to focus on the rest of me, not just you.  Stop being such a diva.

Get over the bad salad dressing.  I’m sorry.

Get on board with the weight loss.  I’m NOT sorry.

Love,
Me

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