Maeby Today

I reached the point where I wanted to be a butterfly badly enough to stop living like a caterpillar. I looked around at my life, at all of the regrets and all of the heartache, and I told myself: “Stop it. Stop this cycle of mentally abusing yourself. You don’t have to live in these shadows for the rest of your life.”

This isn’t about weight loss. It isn’t about getting over a devastation in my life. No, it isn’t even about a fresh attempt at writing a novel. It’s about waking up. It’s about the realization that anything is possible if you’re willing to work for it. It’s deciding that when inspiration or motivation fades, determination will suffice. I think that was an important lesson for me to learn, and it has 100% changed my life.

I have always been a dreamer. I would spend countless hours wishing and dreaming that I would wake up one day and everything would just fall into place. I would miraculously bang out a best-selling novel (without actually toiling away at a keyboard to write it); I would be in the best shape of my life (without actually changing my eating habits or exercising); I would be married with a family (without actually dating someone worth marrying). And you know what happened? NOTHING.

There are at least seven times a week (namely: every day) when I think about how much I would rather scroll aimlessly down my tumblr dash than run. There are also seven times a week (namely: after I run) when I feel like I’m worth something. Small victories, like finally running a full minute without feeling like a lung collapsed, are marking the path toward my transformation. My entire outlook has shifted. I can feel myself improving daily, and it excites me to know that I am causing real change in myself for the better.

I won’t lie to you and tell you that I am miraculously ‘fixed’. I won’t say that a year has made all the difference, and now I feel free from the pain caused me. I wish I could tell you that a year was enough, but it isn’t. I wish I could tell you that I don’t miss him, that I realize how truly horrible he was (and is) to me, so I’m super happy he’s out of my life–but I can’t tell you that. I can’t tell you that I’ve forgiven myself for all the imaginary mistakes I made to bring about the devastation. I can’t even tell you that I don’t still cry about it probably four times every week. Maybe some day, but that day is still not here.

All I can tell you is that I am working on me in every way possible. Every day. I eat clean, I push myself to my limits, I read books, I seek positive and healthy friendships, I get out of my hole. I’m not a butterfly yet, but I’m not a caterpillar, either. 

And I’m still here.