I'm up before the sun is. I'm one of those weird people who actually enjoy their mornings and doesn't want to die at the prospect of having to get out of bed and start their day. I'm well aware I'm part of the underdog crowd. What else is new?
After coffee, I change into running gear and then I'm out the door just as the sun stats to rise and causes streaks of orange to break apart the navy blue. I make my way to the elevator, continuing my stretches as I wait, and can't help but glance down the hall where mine and my neighbour's apartments are.
I can't believe I'm neighbours with Holden Rey again. Gah. It was bad enough the first time, you know, if by bad enough I mean that we used to be childhood friends until I became fat and awkward and he became popular and jacked and we just didn't have anything in common anymore. But I'm not bitter. Nope. Totally over it.
I'm grateful the elevator arrives at that moment and distracts me from my thoughts.
It's been a long time since I was consumed by flashes of my pasts, the same flashes that came with bouts of insecurity and self-doubt. I've long since overcomes those nasty and ugly emotions but they still lurk around and remind me that I'm not as cool and collected as I like to think I am. Don't get me wrong—I'm a far cry from the Sierra that used to hide in janitor closets when the school hallways got crowded and I wanted to avoid being confronted by materialistic and douche-y teens. But that doesn't mean I don't experience moments where I'm constantly obsessing over how much I ate in one day, or if I burned off more calories than consumed, or if eating a candy bar is worth the guilt that will follow. But for the most part, I've learned to encompass a healthy lifestyle I can be proud of.
I finish my stretches downstairs just outside the complex. It's part of a nice neighbourhood that has a ton of stores and outlets in the area. My own bakery is just across the street and I smile with barely contained anticipation, knowing that I'll be walking into it in an hour for opening day. I don't expect to have many customers but at least I'm starting somewhere, right? Anything is better than med school, where I was miserable as hell. It's nerve-wracking starting your entire life over at the age of thirty and part of me feels like a failure but another part of me is excited at the prospect of a second chance. Sometimes all we need is a second chance. Or so my father, the wise doctor says.
Once I'm stretched and my muscles have loosened, I break out into a light jog and put on my running playlist. There's not a soul outside right now but I find peace and comfort in it. I've always been a loner and while I've gotten better at socializing and making friends, I still enjoy my own downtime more than shared company. Running is one of my downtime activities that I enjoy (even though I hated it initially) because it helps my body and therefore it's important to me.
I'm not sure who needs to hear these words, but losing weight won't solve all your problems.
I used to think that if I had the ideal body of the women you see on magazines and Instagram, then I'd be totally happy. I used to think that if I'd just shed all my weight, then everything in my life would click into place and I'd feel like I finally held value. That being thin would fix everything.
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?
"At least it's not dissecting cats," I mutter to myself as I rinse my hands.
I remember throwing up the day of that lab when I got a look of the poor thing's innards. All I could think about was my tubby, Sir Whiskers, who was now in heaven. I shudder and make the sign of the cross out of respect. He was my fat buddy for life. My FBFL. God, I miss his disrespectful ass and the way he'd hiss at me just for looking at him. Adorbs.
I spend the next hour in prep. I have enough experience baking on my own to go fast. I have all kinds of batters ready to go and pile them into their respective pans. Thank goodness for two, dual ovens. Within minutes the smell of doughnuts, croissants, and muffins waft through Sierra's Sweets. I inhale deeply with a grin. God, this feels like home. I plate each baked good in their respectful tiers and slide them behind the display glass. I barely make it in time for my eight o'clock opening, switching the sign to open at exactly 8:01a.m. Damn. I wipe the sweat off my forehead gingerly and sigh. I might have to push my runs to evenings at this rate.
I stand behind the counter and wait anxiously for a customer. The San Fran streets are bustling now with people in a hurry. They talk on their phones. speed-walk to the underground subway, wait anxiously at bus stops, and trip with their morning coffees in hand. Hundreds of people pass my bakery every few minutes.
But nobody comes in.
I fiddle with my bottom lip, growing nervous. I advertised and campaigned as much as I could with my budget. I took the liberty of running my own Instagram and Facebook page too. Maybe I should update them?
I take a picture of my freshly baked goods, mess with the filters until it has an aesthetic look and post it. The caption reads, "Sierra's Sweets is open for business! Come grab yours before we run out! #NomNomNom #ThisBetterGoToMyAss." Entertaining enough, right? I only have seven hundred followers, more than half of them being my family and friends who followed me out of sympathy, but I'm sure my platform will grow with time. I nod to myself and take a deep breath, setting the phone back down and going back to waiting.
By mid-afternoon, no one has even glanced inside. I can feel tears poke the back of my eyelids and try to blink them away. I'm totally overreacting right now. It's just my first day and I'm a small business owner. Of course people are going to grab their coffees and baked goods from a local Starbucks or something. Sure, I put a lot of love into every sweet whereas those are commercially made but I won't be bitter. Nope, nope. Hell, I personally never supported small businesses until I started up my own. We can't help the things we don't know, right? There's no need to be sad.
I take the tiers one by one and reheat everything. It serves as a good distraction and I'm able to get rid of that stupid knot in my throat. As I'm bringing out the last tier, I catch sight of a blonde head peering into the display glass. I jump in surprise then duck so she doesn't see me freaking out.
"Ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod, it's happening," I whisper and force myself to pull in a breath. "Be cool. Be charming."
I pop back up, proud as hell that I don't drop the tier in my hand as I casually slide it into its spot behind the glass.
"Good afternoon! How can I help you?" I say with a bright grin and wipe my sweaty hands on my apron. I'm a bundle of nerves and hope like hell it doesn't show on my face.
"Hey." The girl comments absentmindedly as she pulls out her earphones. "How much for the blueberry muffin?"
"That'll be two dollars and fifty cents since it's jumbo sized."
She makes a face. "Three bucks for a muffin? Uh, actually I think I'm good. Thanks, though."
"Oh." My smile falters and I struggle to put it back into place. "Sure. Could I interest you in a doughnut? They're cheaper."
She shakes her head and smiles politely, already putting her earphones back in and walking away. I can practically hear my heart cracking when the door closes behind her. My bakery is once again empty and quiet and I slouch against the counter in defeat. I knew running my own business would be hard but I didn't think it would suck this bad. Did I make the right choice by leaving med school? Is this a mistake? I'm sniffling before I even realize it and grab a handful of tissues to smear the snot away. Just lovely, aren't I?
I open up my Instagram to see if I'm doing any better there. So far, I only got sixty likes in the past five hours. Only sixty likes when I have seven hundred followers? Urgh. It's so frustrating having ghost followers. I close my phone with another sniff and slump into a high stool, giving up.
So this is the suck of all sucks. My bakery is giving the blowjob of a lifetime, that's how bad it sucks. It doesn't help that my wonderful and awesome parents who are miles away from me are texting me and asking how my first day is going. I don't want to admit what a failure I am so I ignore them instead, even though I tell them everything. More sucking. God, my bakery is a whore.
Snap out of it! Nothing good in life comes easy, remember? You have to grab what you want by the balls and yank. But not in, erm, compromising positions, so to speak. A little loving fondle totally works, though.
With a surge of determination, probably the last one I'll be able to muster today, I grab a tier and stomp to the door. Opening it up and leaning against it, I hoist the tier up and call out to the people of San Fran. "Come get your baked goods! We are now open for business! Nothing like a warm and fluffy croissant to get you through the rest of your shift!"
I get completely ignored. Assholes.
But I'm undettered. I continue waving around my tier and calling out in encouragement. I get brief glances, if that. Some dude walks up to me and asks if my tits are on the menu instead. I look pointedly at his chest and ask him the same. It's safe to say he walks away after that.
After fifteen minutes and a sore throat, I head back inside. This time there's no stopping my tears and my vision is blurry as I reheat my baked goods for the third time. And here I stupidly thought I'd have to make several batches in a day. I thought every seat in this bakery would be filled with people laughing and talking and calling out that they enjoyed their food. I thought I'd get asked for recipes, or hired for events, or make personal orders. Instead, only one doughnut was eaten today and that was the pity food I allowed myself. Awesome.
It's almost closing time when I start packing up my uneaten sweets. What a waste. Maybe I'll see if I can give them to a shelter or something. I don't want to take them home. I've been staring at them all day and if I have to look at my failure any longer I'll throw up.
I'm packing up the last tier when there's a ding by the front door. My head snaps up cautiously as a man strolls inside, tapping away on his phone and obviously distracted. Did he walk in here by mistake? But no. He stops in front of the counter and when he looks up, he frowns.
"Oh, sorry. Are you closed?" He gestures to my packaging.
I blink, trying not to get my hopes up. He could flake like that last girl. "Um, no. You caught me just in time. Do you...would you like to make a purchase?"
He nods. "One of those croissants. Could you heat it up?"
Oh my God. I swallow down the gravel in my throat. "Of course. That'll be a dollar seventy-five."
He's already pulling out a bill and slides it over to me. I stare down at it, trying not to cry. He really wants to buy it?
"You okay?" I hear him ask.
I look up and discover him watching me, a little freaked-out. Shit. I quickly clear my throat and reprimand myself for not being professional. Stupid. I nod with what I hope is a grateful smile and quickly heat up his croissant. I put it in the customized baggy and give him his change. With a tip of his chin he leaves the store. Two minutes later, I'm still staring at the door in shock.
Holy crap. Holy crap! I actually sold something! And it was just one croissant and the rest of my sweets are totally untouched but...I sold something! My smile is huge, my spirit intact, when it's finally time to go home. Not bad. Not bad at all.
_______________________________
A/N
I'm loving Sierra so much! She is so relatable. and her struggles are things we all face in everyday life.
I hope you all found some solace in her words about body dysmorphia if you struggle with it (like me). This is a reminder that you are all so totally beautiful exactly as you are and to please love yourself!
Another reminder to support your local small businesses. They're chasing their dreams and we should play a hand in easing their struggles.
Please VOTE, comment, and share if you liked this chapter!
Happy Reading :)