I’m back at my low weight; I’d hoped to set a new low this week, but I know it’ll come.

That’s the roll of the dice, and why, when someone says “one bite/cupcake/meal/weekend won’t hurt”, I have to remember that for me, it does. Two weekends ago, I had a very nice weekend with planned cheats, and I had hoped to lose what I gained within the week; it only goes to show that sometimes, the best-laid plans aren’t necessarily going to go like you hope.

While I still have to silence that small voice that tells me I’m a failure when I’m not getting results I hope for, the good news is that the voice has grown a lot quieter. It’ll likely always lurk in a dark corner of my brain, but it’s a whisper, instead of a scream.

Yesterday was my birthday, and while it would have been a pretty normal thing to be tempted by a sweet, that wasn’t the case. I deserve this is no longer in my current thinking. My mother took me out to lunch for my birthday; we won a free lunch and I told the waitress it was doubly special because it was also my birthday — so she brought me a small bowl of soft serve ice cream.

My mother, who was eating a salad, happily stopped eating the salad and had the ice cream, and I was pleased that she got to have it; it’s not like she has such treats very often. Besides, it might have been my birthday, but she was the one that did all the hard work, years ago, not me. It seemed right for her to have it. Plus, it was a bonus to win a free lunch; she didn’t have to pay for my lunch, even though she treated me. Who can beat a deal like that?

Besides the simple things that I enjoyed during the day, I have to admit that while throwing yet another year up on the scoreboard of life makes me a little introspective, I’m happy where I am. Happy, despite knowing that the older I get, the more difficult weight loss becomes.

When I lost 140 pounds several years ago, it was a relatively fast process; I lost anywhere from 10 to 15 pounds a month, and I’d lost most of my weight within a year. One of my biggest issues was that my head hadn’t caught up with my body. I’d become a nearly normal weight — still heavy, but within a range where I didn’t have to shop in plus sizes anymore.

I no longer had to think like a fat person does. Although I was a solid size 16 and therefore still carrying excess weight, I was also quite fit. Despite that, my brain didn’t know my size.

When you’re morbidly obese, you get edgy in large groups of people, particularly in close seating situations; if I was in a crowded restaurant, I’d feel locked in and claustrophobic, as if I couldn’t get out if it were an emergency situation. My mind perceived that the spaces between backs of chairs at tables were too close for me to fit through. I worried about chairs holding my weight. Airline seats were (and are) a nightmare for both me and the poor passenger next to me.

Despite losing great amounts of weight, I couldn’t take a sincere compliment. Someone might tell me I looked good in a new outfit, and I’d say thanks, but my brain would add in the … but qualifier in there. Thanks, but I still have a lot of weight to lose. Thanks, but I think you’re just trying to be nice to me. Thanks, but I should be trying harder.

I know it’s not only the obese who have mental processes like this; many people do, for a variety of reasons. Mine, though, was caught up in the belief that I wasn’t good enough as I was at that moment. That I was on my way to some destination, and until I reached that destination — thin? acceptable? capably fit? — I couldn’t allow for excuses and be happy with where I was.

Being satisfied with progress was some sort of mental signal that I must be settling, and therefore, giving up.

This could not be farther from the truth! Rather than stand up and fight this, I lost traction little bit by little bit, letting that belief of not good enough overtake me to a point where I eventually just gave up on the fight and surrendered myself back to a comfort zone of fat. There’s little social risk in being fat, after all. People just don’t expect much of you, at all, and it’s easy to creep around the corners of life without chancing a walk into the middle of the room. It’s an easy mental place to hide.

Now? I feel mentally healthier. Sure, I’d love to wake up tomorrow and have all the weight off, but I’m learning as I go. I’m comfortable with myself to a point where I don’t freak out when weight loss takes a brief hiatus; there’s usually a reason, and it’s up to me to calmly go about resolving the issue instead of dissolving into a hot mess. And believe me, I’ve done that; self-doubt is truly a detriment to this process.

I think I have an accurate picture of me, at this point in the journey, and that’s crucial for success. I’m not worried about perceptions, or whether my brain is in tandem with my body. Having that accurate sense of self, and accepting it, is not somehow giving up. On the contrary, I think it’s a sign that I’m finally learning what it’s like to be okay with who I am at any given point in my life.

I’m far from perfect, but instead of suspending happiness until I’ve reached that final goal, I’m enjoying the journey. Metaphorically, I was on the interstate, before; now, I’m on the back roads, and I know exactly where I am… and where I’m headed.