I can't seem to bring myself to write the words on the page, to let my thoughts escape my heart. If I write them down I can't pretend anymore. So for now I'll keep them guarded, safe within the lines of fiction and reality. 

Pinocchio.

I don't think I fully comprehended my bleak faith in humans, as a species, until last night. The surprise on his face when I openly admitted that I'm used to being lied to and have accepted that was more shocking to me than I think he'll ever realize. There was sadness and incredulity in his eyes. A sweet disbelief. He asked if I'd been lied to a lot, to which I responded with a yes. And it made me wonder if the things he'd said to me weren't lies, but truth. Is he a rarity? And why have I waited so long to allow myself to associate with genuine people? Why have I taken lies and half-truths and deceitful motives as an acceptable alternative? 

I honestly hadn't really thought about what a damaging effect the present state of reality has done to my trust. If my family has lied, my exhusband has lied, my boyfriends have lied...of course I am suspicious. These aren't little lies, either. They are huge, life-altering, catastrophic lies. And it makes me so angry that they are tainting my ability to believe truth. How do I escape that past and believe fully in a present of honesty? How do I stop waiting for the other shoe to drop? How do I stop being so angry at myself for believing lies for so long that I readily accept them without suspicion and yet question the truth? 

Can I believe what you are telling me? Because I want to so badly. 

You can't always get what you want.

There is this incredible ache inside me. I feel it without acknowledging it most days, because that acknowledgement leads to mourning for something I can't lose, because it's something I don't have. My entire life I have had a love/hate relationship with the idea of being a mom. Now it's something I think about constantly...it's the knot in the bottom of my throat that, no matter how many times I swallow, just won't go away. In the quiet moments, when I let myself acknowledge this unfulfilled desire, I feel the hot burn of tears filled with regret as they slide down my cheeks. I work in an office surrounded by children all day. I am one of the few women there that doesn't have a child. I see young mothers with their children, overwhelmed and stressed. I see new parents beaming and giddy and scared as they hold their infant gingerly and with awe. I venture out of my office cautiously in order to maintain my blinders, continuing on in self-induced ignorance. Perhaps, though, the most difficult to ignore, are the neglected kids with parents who can't appreciate how rare that little life is, and knowing there are so many people who want children but don't have them. People who would give up everything just to hold a child and call him their own. People like me. 

Ignoring these thoughts is the safest route for me. Because I can avoid the self-loathing that comes from being single and in no place remotely close to having children. The irony of it all really is incredible. I spent so many years believing that I truly didn't want a family. And here I am, time far from on my side, and that's what I want more than anything. 

My social media accounts are filled with families parading their happiness across the Internet. So I removed Facebook from my phone. It is dangerous to pine. I scroll quickly past photos of family and friends with their kids in tow, smiling faces peering up and captured in a precious moment on the screen. I avoid small talk in the elevator with families, an infant car seat in tow and tiny little hands clinging to parents' coats. I don't make eye contact with the babies in the carts in line next to me at the store. I look down when I pass parents and kids out for a walk at the lake.

My sister is here visiting with her husband and children. And I wrecklessly snuggle my little nieces and nephew, soaking up their innocence and youth with every ounce of my soul. But the closer I get, the more quickly I must remind myself that I can't love them for too long without my heart whispering my wish that they were mine. So I can only love them as distantly as possible. I am in self-preservation mode. Because my heart is so fragile that the slightest touch from a pudgy, dimpled toddler could burst this dam and break this mask and cripple me. 

What if I won't get the chance? What if it's too late? What if I spent my time being too afraid and too preoccupied with everything else that I missed it? Is that why this aching won't go away? Because in the quiet moments when I acknowledge this truth, I can't help but wonder how I let myself get here. And then turn to face the realization that time doesn't stop moving forward. And it's in those moments that I have to shut off and shut down. You can't lose what you never had. But you sure as hell can miss it. And I do. Every. Single. Day. 

Baby you should go and love yourself.

This is me, almost exactly a year ago. It is a terrible picture, but one of the only few I have of myself from this time period. And I keep it because I want to remind myself how far I've come. I weighed almost 70 more pounds than I do today. I look at this picture and barely recognize myself. I used to think it was because I was heavy. But I realize now that weight is only a number. And it's so easy to quantify things in our lives to the point that we lose sight of what it is that really matters.

I have very few pictures of myself over the last 5 years. I avoided mirrors, cameras, public most days. I didn't like how I looked. But more importantly, I didn't really like the person I was. I was harsh and critical and quick to judge. I thought strength came from being the loudest and harshest person in the room. If I judged others first, I wouldn't have to care what they were saying to judge me. I look back at my immaturity and wonder if I knew then what I know now how much pain I could have saved myself. 

During my marriage to my ex-husband, I had very little love for myself and recognize now that because of that, I was incapable of having love for somebody else in a healthy and meaningful way. Clearly our marriage wasn't perfect, because it is now over, but I think back quite often on the role I had to play in that. We communicated through anger most days, each of us lacking the humility to cast aside the glaring differences between us. And in my twisted mind, I too often thought that if only I was thinner than he would love me the way I wanted him to. But I can admittedly say that a more likely contributor to that not happening was the fact that I was so dissatisfied with myself that I spent my time pointing out his flaws on a consistent basis. And I accepted the love I thought I deserved longer than I ever should have, primarily because I thought so little of myself. 

I hear so many people say things like "If only I could lose 10lbs than I would be" ....what? Happy? What flawed logic! I speak for myself only, but losing even 70lbs didn't make me happy. It has made me much healthier, yes, but happiness cannot be equated with a number on a scale.  

There is something to be said about progression. I don't believe that we should ever stop wanting to improve and progress. But I also feel strongly that progress and goals shouldn't replace accepting and loving ourselves for who we are, at this very moment. 

I am able to meet my eyes in the mirror each morning not because I am more pleased with my figure, but because I am more pleased with my character. It didn't take me losing weight or changing jobs or my hair or the state I lived in. I thought all those things would help, but they didn't. So intead I stopped trying to see myself through everybody else's eyes. I stopped equating my worth to my weight. And I stopped comparing myself to the person I thought I should be and started accepting myself for the person I am. 

Love is a bit of a catch-22. You have to love yourself to be able to fully love others. But you also have to be loving towards others in order to have genuine love for yourself. Accepting myself for who I was helped me show love to others. Loving other people helped soften me enough to change my character. Changing my character helped me want to improve myself, motivating me to want to be better in all aspects of my life, including my health.

Most importantly, through this process, I learned that my true strength comes from being kind. That's such a simple concept. But it is the absolute truth. I didn't have to wait to be the perfect weight in order to be kind. I didn't have to lose 5lbs or 10lbs or 50lbs to be kind. I just had to smile and do it. And literally, it was life-changing. 

Because for years I was afraid that being kind and meek meant I would be walked all over. But I've learned that being kind doesn't make anybody weak. You can speak your mind and have a difference of opinion while still showing kindness to those you disagree with.

I read a quote that we perceive things not how they are, but how we are. And there is truly no ugliness except for hatred and malice, no matter what you weigh.