[No new weight loss this week; I’m in the midst of a small stall and am changing some things up in hopes of progress. No matter; I carry onward.]

I’m excited waiting for the warm weather. Just about anyone who knows me also knows that I’m a child of the sun and water. As Spring melts into Summer, I typically find myself outside as much as possible; the more sunshine, the better.

I might still be fluffy, but my wings are growing in.

This year is somewhat different. I’ll still be spending as much time outdoors, but I’m excited in ways I haven’t been in years. Losing weight means that I’m able to do more, participate more, enjoy myself more. Sure, I’ve got my eyes set on my (smaller!) summer clothing, but that’s not all.

I find myself moving more on a daily basis, doing things I’ve been afraid to do, both physically and mentally. For the past week or so, I’ve been changing up one of our extra bedrooms and making some improvements to another. Although I’m at risk of getting scolded by my husband for admitting this, I was up on a step ladder yesterday, replacing a broken set of blinds. (Don’t worry — I was extremely careful, and I had my phone with me in case of trouble. I might be a risk taker, but I’m not foolish.)

The day before yesterday, I moved a heavy printer table out of the bedroom I’ve been working on; I have plans for that room, and it was a choice of moving on to something else and waiting for assistance, or taking it on myself. We have a two wheel handcart; I gave it a shot, and got that thing out of the house. Later, my husband and I moved an old desk out of there. (It was mostly him — I’m not crazy, people!) We moved an old loveseat in there, and I’ve been moving and lifting and sorting all day long.

I’ve made several trips to the local Walmart; I usually avoid going there because even our small Walmart means more walking than my knees have historically been able to handle. For several years, now,  I’ve used the much smaller local grocer, because it’s easier for me to get around in there. But over the last couple of days, I’ve been into Walmart a couple times — with absolutely no issues. (I know hanging out in Walmart is a dubious achievement, but I take this victories where I can get them!)

I also haven’t been in a dressing room in several years. I detest trying on clothes. I usually just take my chances, buy (or order) something, and return it if it doesn’t fit. Today, I went into a dressing room. What I tried on actually fit, too; I know I’m not alone when I say that one of the most defeating feelings a woman deals with is trying on something that ends up being too small. Believe me, I’m in no hurry to go into a dressing room again, but it’s just one more thing that was a nice little non-scale victory.

I’m getting more comfortable in my own skin, too. I’m still sensitive to the fact that I’m a large woman, but I had a reaction just today that surprised me. I was in Walmart (yeah, yeah, yeah), wearing shorts and a shirt, and a strange woman looked me up and down like she was disgusted, staring at my bare legs. (Mind you, I think she was just a cranky sort of person, after listening to how she addressed a salesperson.) I’ve had a tendency to cower at such attention in the past. My first response, this time, was the overwhelming desire to confront her and ask her just what the hell she was looking at. (Don’t worry. I didn’t, but I came close.)

I’ve been living in maxi dresses; my husband and I went out to eat recently and I wore a new skort — it falls just above my knees. I don’t have good looking knees, regardless of weight, so I tend to cover them up. But I felt good in that silly skort; I was comfortable. Why should I change how I dress to make random strangers happy?

My skin no longer fits my body. That’s a fact of life I am doing my best to accept, but as Summer draws near, I’m going to be out and enjoying myself — swimming, doing what walking I can, camping, and whatever else comes up. It’s nice to be out and among the living; I spent far too long, sequestering myself because I either felt bad about myself or couldn’t handle getting out without some sort of assistance.

These are among the gifts I’ve given myself, and for as long as it takes to continue my losses, I’ll keep fighting. Time to leave that nest and fly!