Today, August 27th, begins yet another ‘day one.’ Today represents just one of a million ‘Fresh Starts,’ ‘New Beginnings’ and ‘It will work this times.’ But why is today any different than the million other times I’ve tried? The thousands of journal entries from my past declaring “this is it!,” now laugh in my face and point menacingly at my obvious failure. The dozens of dusty exercise equipment and unused gym memberships taunt “Who do you think you’re kidding?” My ever-present temptations surround me like vultures, watching and waiting, circling and chanting “You’ll be back. You always come back.”
So why is this time any different? Deep down in a far away place, a small weak voice whispers into the wind, clinging desperately to the last inch of possibility, and says “I can do this.” This voice, this peep of sound, this whisper, drowned out daily by insecurity and daydreams of chocolate, is My Hope. She is all I have left.
This weak flicker within me is barely holding on, teetering over a precipice of despair named “Letting myself go.” Every painful trip to a fitting room, every cringe-worthy picture, every stretch mark, every look of disgust, beats down My Hope and hushes her voice until it is barely audible. But She still exists. She still clings to the last thread of dignity, the promise of a brighter, healthier future.
I need to feed My Hope. I need to nurture her like I would a seedling. I need to give her the tools to make her stronger. I must help this weak little seedling grow. My desperate determination - the water, Jenny Craig – the sunlight.