I was you once. I had this vision of who I wanted to be and how I wanted to show up in the world, and each day I failed miserably.
I wanted to feel powerful and impactful. I wanted to be able to lounge in bed in my sherpa robe, sipping coffee out of an oversized mug and not obsess over the way my calves looked while doing so.
I wanted to fearlessly walk into the weight room of any gym, on any continent, and know that I, too, belonged there.
I wanted to have deep and meaningful relationships that gave back to me as much as they took.
I wanted to be able to look at myself in the mirror and nod in an overwhelming approval of who I was looking at. Not because of what she looked like, but because of who she was.
After years of self-sabotage, years of playing the victim card as hard and as often as I could, years of bingeing and restricting, and constant cardio, and moremoremore that left me feeling lesslessless with nothing to show for it- I finally got out of my own way and did something about it.
My physical transformation story does not even begin to reflect the mental and emotional transformation that I was able to experience.
My weight gain was merely a physically manifestation of things I needed to release. Self-created narratives about myself, disempowering beliefs about exercise and dieting, and at the core of it all: an unbelievable hatred for myself.
Fast forward several years,