The Weight I Still Carry

I lost 50+ pounds...again. But this story isn't about the number on the scale, but about life after weight loss and the invisible weight no one else sees.

I had a different post all ready to go this week, something deeper that I've been sitting with for a while. You’ll still get that, but first, this. Because I can’t not acknowledge what just happened.  

Yesterday morning, a rocket full of celebrities took a ride to the edge of space, floated for five minutes, and now they’re calling themselves astronauts.

Astronauts.

Now, one of them actually is, but the rest were cosplaying on a multi-million-dollar vanity stunt and preening like they did something noble.

This stunt was nothing but performative bullshit, and I am so tired of things like this being framed as historic, especially for women. So, I think that the post I planned for today still fits. Actually, maybe it fits even better now.

Because while they’re up there pretending they broke barriers, all they really did was waste a fortune proving how out of touch they are. Honestly, it made women as a whole look worse.

So yeah, thanks for that.

I lost 55 pounds...again, and I’m very proud of that.  I’m clearer, more grounded, and more at peace than I’ve ever been.

Maybe you've done that too. Maybe it wasn’t about weight. Maybe it was walking away from a toxic relationship, setting a boundary, getting sober, or starting over.

Whatever it was, you clawed your way out, and just when you thought it would finally get easier, it actually got harder in some ways.

Some days, I still catch myself checking angles in the mirror. Zooming in too close on photos (thought to be fair, I usually hate most of the pictures my husband takes of me – he catches me at weird angles and never tells me that my hair is a mess).

I read my own body like a report card.
Not every day, of course, but enough to remember where I started.
But now, I just let the thought have its moment and then I move on.

Peace isn't the reward for winning the battle. It's just an opportunity to regroup before the next one.

Ever fall for this one?
“If I could just lose this weight, I’d be happy.”

That lie gave me a goal to chase instead of a feeling to explore. Feeling meant exposing myself to my grief and anger, and I had vowed not to let that happen.

So, I focused on macros, miles…anything but the truth.

But once you stop eating to cope with stress, you have to actually deal with the feelings you're trying to avoid in the first place.

Most of the time, I wasn’t even hungry; I was stressed, hurt, angry, defiant, and even just plain scared. Food was my comfort and solace.

I had to learn how to see food as fuel first and save the pleasure for when it meant something, like family dinners and celebrations.

Like the first fresh-baked cookies of Christmas break, or sweet corn so fresh you don't even need butter (try Old Bay, it's ah-mazing!), or that perfect crisp apple that tastes like autumn itself.

Those are moments that connect you to life, not numb it. Big difference.

And that whole "you aren't a dog, you don't need a treat" motto? Pure garbage. Sometimes you do need a treat, and you shouldn't feel guilty about it.

Discipline isn’t sexy, and it’s definitely not fun. But it’s the only way to become the version of yourself you keep saying you want to be.

It’s about choosing what your future self needs, more than what your current mood demands, over and over again. Consistent repetition, in my opinion, is the silver bullet to success.

Carl Jung said, “You are what you do, not what you say you’ll do.”

I used to talk about all the things I was going to do, until I realized I wasn't actually doing them. The road to hell being paved with good intentions and all…

Jim Rohn put it this way: “You either suffer from the pain of discipline, or you suffer from the pain of regret.”

If you’ve ever reached for your own vices and stopped yourself, even once, you know what that feels like.
It feels like power, because it is.

There’s no prize for unlearning self-abandonment, but there is freedom in it. There are no "attaboys" for crawling out of bed when you have zero motivation.

No one else sees that internal work.
But you do. Your body does.
Your future self absolutely does.

If you’ve ever lost weight and gained it back like I have, you know that fear doesn’t magically vanish once you hit your goal number again.

Every off-day or skipped workout triggers those same old damnable thoughts, "See, you're slipping. This isn't gonna last cause you can't keep this up."

But this time, I choose not to live in fear. Easier said than done, for sure, but like anything new, it gets easier over time.

Of course, just when I feel like I’ve found my stride, life finds a way to keep me humble.

I was walking to my communal mailbox a few days ago, feeling all cocky about being ready to handle turning the big 5-0 soon, when right there, in the mailbox, was an AARP mailer, addressed to me.

Felt like a bitchslap from the universe.

Nothing keeps you humble like geezer mail, that’s for sure.
I texted a picture of it to my mother because if I had to suffer that reality, so did she.

(She teases me about aging every chance she gets, so it's warranted, I assure you.)

At some point, you stop doing things for approval and start doing them for the version of yourself who has to live with the outcome.

Or, to borrow from the criminally underrated Noxeema Jackson in Too Wong Foo: “Approval neither desired nor required.”  

Getting up at ass o'clock isn't punishment, it is self-care. Living like someone worth taking care of doesn't come naturally at first, but it's a habit that sticks like glue once you believe you deserve it.

Some days, showing up is enough and others, rest is the better decision. Both actions count.

That weight of consistency and accountability doesn't go away, but over time, you realize the hard things aren't so hard anymore, and you realize you got this.

If you’re lugging that weight, too, I see you.
You’re not alone.

Lately, I’ve started feeling little sparks of joy that feel familiar, like parts of me I hadn't seen in forever suddenly showing back up.

For my 50th birthday, we ended up at this very cool retro arcade. It had old-school arcade games, pinball machines, and a two-player Guitar Hero setup. My daughter and I immediately grabbed those silly guitars and played until our arms were sore.

That night was a poignant reminder that even when everything changes, some parts of you are still there just waiting to be let back in.

So yeah, let ‘em float up there.
Let 'em stage their photo ops and call it progress.

There may never be headlines or applause for some of us down here, but there’s something better: a life that finally feels like it’s ours, because we made it that way.

Keep going.

✉️ Before-and-after is easy. The “after-after” is harder.
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Recommended Reading

• The before-and-after is in The Easiest 50 Pounds I Ever Lost.
• For the OG story, see Beautiful Lies.

☕ The numbers on the scale may be lower, but my caffeine intake isn’t.
Keep the essays coming.

Heather P. is an essayist and longtime ghostwriter publishing unapologetic stories about trauma, reinvention, and the absurdity of real life.

Creator of Unfinished Business, a platform reaching readers in over 20 countries for its dark humor, emotional precision, and refusal of performative healing, whether the story is about grief, growth, or just getting through Tuesday.