Each time I come here to write about food and body stuff, I am so tempted to tell you all that I’ve found it. I’ve found the cure-all, the epiphany, the line in the sand. Damnit. I haven’t.

And then I start to think: am I really still writing about this? Am I really still living this self-imposed hell of criticizing every goddamned piece of food I put in my mouth? Am I really still adding up my daily physical activity and assigning some bogus yea or nay as far as whether it was “enough” or not?

For the love of God…

I’m tired. I really don’t want to do this anymore. But of course, there is a part of me that does. There is a part of me that has taken all of this on as part of my identity. Danielle is someone who struggles with weight, with food, with worthiness.

Ugh. Just typing that makes my stomach turn.

When will enough be enough? When will I let this go?

It’s like a death has to take place and I am just so afraid of that death. It’s as if this old part of me just has to die and be grieved, but I’m only willing to contemplate it…not go through with it.

Right here and now I ask for the willingness to release this. I ask for the strength to look this fixation in the eye and love it all away.

I need to laugh more. Yes! I take this all so seriously sometimes and it’s eating me up inside as a result.

What if just laughed at myself for lamenting an extra bowl of soup? What if I rolled my eyes as I’m beating myself up over not going on that walk that I said I would?

I could.

I could let it all fly away on the broke-ass broom it came in on. I could rub my soft belly as I laugh my size 14 ass off.

I could.


Spirit, I think we have a new plan 🙂

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