Sweet Spot

Chapter 3 | Sierra's Sweets

As a person who lost nearly seventy pounds, let me tell you that's not the case.

My weight loss journey sure did start off that way. I'd see the obvious changes in my body, the progress I was making, and I would feel over the moon looking in the reflection and seeing less. The thing is, I became addicted to that. What is it they say? Less is more? Yeah. No, it isn't.

But I thought it was and went extreme once I saw progress. I cut out so much important and healthy foods in my diet because I thought the less I ate, the better. I'd overwork myself in the gym and put in an insane amount of exercise, falling into bed at the end of the day and crying in pain but telling myself it was better than being fat. I was torturing my body just so it would look like the kind of body society expects you to have. And when I did lose those seventy pounds, I wasn't happy at all. I was miserable because I treated myself like garbage to get to that point. It didn't matter that my stomach was flat or my arms were toothpicks or my collarbone was finally protruding. I was a tired and miserable girl and I still felt ugly on the inside even if I looked "perfect" by outside standards.

I was wrecked by that point. I'd worked so hard to look the way I did and still, I wanted to cry when I looked at myself in the mirror. And that sucked because I did the exact same thing when I was chubby. So if I couldn't be happy when I was fat, and if I couldn't be happy when I was thin, then what was even the point?

It didn't help that people expected me to be happy when I clearly became anorexic. They just saw all the weight I loss and shot out passive-aggressive compliments like "so thin! The wind could blow you away!" That's when I realized people will always have shit to say about your body, whatever your weight was. That's when I realized no matter what you looked like, you'd always feel insecure if you didn't accept yourself.

I never used to understand how skinny girls could be insecure when their body was ideal by societal standards, but I've been on both ends of the spectrum and can confidently say body dysmorphia exists in both worlds. Skinny or fat, you're going to receive comments that make you see yourself in an ugly way if you're not happy with who you are.

It took some time, some therapy, and a whole lot of work to overcome the depression that followed. I'd lost an additional ten pounds during that time in my life, making me drop an official eighty pounds since the three years I started my weight loss journey. Then I just felt anger and I used it to fuel myself in a better direction. I put on weight again. Healthy weight, this time. I ate protein, I exercised less, I indulged in the occasional candy and soda without guilt. In another year, I'd put on fifteen pounds. Then I'd put on ten more in the year after that. And then, finally, finally, I started to feel pretty fucking great. I stopped with the internal nasty remarks and decided to just accept myself. There wasn't less when I looked in the mirror but I felt great because I'd finally got the body that made me feel happy.

It was on the curvier side, with thighs that touched and a stomach that was taut standing but pooled a little when I sat, but I loved it. It felt like the perfect in between of the Sierra I was and the Sierra I didn't want to be. I've maintained this figure for years now and I'm happy in it, which is all that matters.

I'm panting when I reach the end of my run and my lungs are burning but it's a good kind of pain. I used to hate running and always called bullshit when people would talk about how you grow to love it but it's true. It all comes down to intention. Once I started seeing running as a way to work on my body and a motivator to allow the occasional cheat day, I was grateful that I did it.

It takes me a mere thirty minutes to shower, get dressed, put on makeup, and cross the street to where my bakery is just waiting to be opened. I use my keys to get inside and open up the blinds to let sunlight in, which is now bathing San Fran in its early morning glow. Strips of sun offer light in the dim bakery and I make my way to the back where the kitchen is. Right now I'm on my own but hopefully I can hire some help in the future for prep. Again, I have to start somewhere right?