The last few weeks, one good thing has remained consistent: my weight is down a little bit more each Friday. I’m still a little over 11 pounds above my low weight, but that fabled tortoise still crossed the finish line, and I will, too.

I’ve been learning some lessons about being strong the past month, and it sure hasn’t been easy.

Back when I was in roughly 6th grade or so, I was walking home from school. I was alone, and about a block away from home, when my next door neighbor, a girl in 4th grade and much smaller than me, ran up behind me and grabbed me by the throat. She tried to pull me to the ground, but only succeeded in hanging off my back. She was also alone; she was a little skinny thing, and although I was of normal height and weight for my age, I was two years older and easily fended off her attack. But I hadn’t expected it. Nope, not at all. I knew she didn’t like me, but I’d never really spoken to her, either.

But I hadn’t expected it. Nope, not at all. I knew she didn’t like me, but I’d never really spoken to her, either. Her family didn’t like our family because we lived on property they had attempted to buy. She took on that dislike as her own, and probably never really understood the adult reasons her parents felt as they did.

Just a few weeks ago, it happened, again; no, I wasn’t jumped from behind while walking home, but the result was the same. Someone I barely know struck out at me viciously. It was unexpected and harsh, and unlike my neighbor from over 40 years ago, she kept me from participating in something that was extremely important to me. She also hurt other people I love dearly by holding the same anger and resentment toward them.

My first reaction was total shock. Am I that bad of a person that someone would be that intentionally mean and callous? What did I do to cause this? What did I not do that caused this?

That shock turned to anger of a level that I have not felt since my father deserted us, cleaned out the bank accounts, took everything of value, and left — and then called me the next day to ask me if I was angry.

Hell yes, I was angry.

When someone intentionally acts against you to deny you of something very meaningful to you, it’s shocking. At least to me. That’s the stuff you see on tv; soap operas, the Jerry Springer show, or other afternoon dramas. Not on a personal level. I felt powerless to fight back, because the situation was a touchy one. I’m usually one to speak my mind, but my voice was negated. To speak — to say anything at all — was only going to make an overly dramatic situation worse, and although it pained me to do it, I let her have her way.

It’s one of the toughest things I’ve ever had to do. Standing on integrity is no easy feat. Saying nothing in the face of false accusations is a character builder, for sure.

I’ve come to realize, just over the past few days, that not only is there nothing I can do to change this situation, but that the issue is entirely hers, and her resentment is not just directed at me, or at my family, but toward a large range of people. I was just among the first to be caught in that net. I see no reason, now, to try and understand why someone would willingly choose to be this way.

I can’t change her actions. But I can certainly change mine. I am choosing to deal with my grief over my brother’s death in a constructive manner, in a way that will honor his memory rather than shame it.

So how does this relate to weight loss? This is, after all, a weight loss blog.

My first and immediate thought, when this whole event happened, was that if someone felt that way toward me, I must be guilty of something. This is old mental programming. Granted, I think self-evaluation is important, and if I have actually done something wrong, it’s an important step toward changing the wrong.

But that’s a thought process, and what I experienced was a purely emotional kick to the gut that winded me. What did I do? Am I a bad person?

My father taught me that self-punishment over years of making me feel as if I didn’t deserve anything nice or good because it was my fault, rather than the truth: he was a misogynist. I was born female. That’s not a good mix.

My hair-trigger reaction to emotional attacks is to immediately believe that something is my fault and that I have done something wrong; my self-punishment is to deny myself anything that might be construed as a good thing. On an intellectual level, I know that’s faulty belief, but this experience reminds me that I still have a long way to go in excising that devil from my brain; or at the very least, learning to make it quiet down.

I have to remain in control of my own existence and be discerning when I consider how others assess me. That spark of self-doubt may always be there, but it’s up to me to keep it from flaming up.