Months ago, I set a date of June 6, in hopes I would have passed some important markers: losing 200 pounds, finally no longer being considered obese by BMI. I chose June 6 because I had a lot of busy, celebratory stuff going on, and I had hoped that I’d start the summer off with a bang.

That didn’t happen. In fact, my weight loss over the last year has been negligible. I have been in such a mindset of moving toward loss that I admit, even knowing this would be a slow year for me, I’ve fought a sense of not doing enough.

Realistically, though, I have gone through two major surgeries that restricted movement, and because of necessary changes to diet, exercise, and focus, I knew I would be dealing with weight fluctuations. I have yet to get back down to my lowest weight; I have hovered around 10 pounds over that weight.

And yet — I keep running into people who swear I’m still losing weight and adamantly say so. In the name of transparency, I tell them the truth, even if it’s not really anyone else’s business. I’ve also noticed, though, that clothes that were snug several months back when I was 10-12 pounds above my low, now fit as if I’m not carrying that extra weight. I’m smaller, even if the number on the scale isn’t.

That’s the part that’s easy to forget; my body is still changing, despite weight fluctuations. I’ve been dedicating myself to walking on a consistent basis, pushing forward, changing my intensity and duration, and that has been paying off. My clothes fit better, and tall boots I bought just last fall can now zip all the way up; they hit me just below the knee, and although I’ll likely always wear wide leg boots, the last time I recall being able to wear boots like this was in my 20’s.

The small stuff is sometimes all I see; the minor differences in weight loss, the day to day things that don’t even seem noticeable. I get angry with myself for not meeting my goals, for not moving the marker. For the occasional bumps in the road that mean a few extra pounds that I don’t like seeing drift up, even if most people who have never been morbidly obese deal with exactly the same thing.

It’s easy to get lost in the details and not see all of the progress until something reminds me that I’m wrong about that. The scale is only one sole indicator, after all.

Many years ago, I was a knitwear designer. I could create a sweater from the bottom up (literally!); I started with a general idea of what I wanted the style to be, what features would look best with that style, and then I got down to the details: the ply of the yarn, the color(s) chosen, the experimentation of gauge and needle size, the math calculations involved in how much a design might change that basic gauge. I would start with the inkling of an idea, and then work on the pieces; to the unpracticed eye, much of what I did looked like a heap of yarn before it gradually took shape.

I swear, the end process, even though it paled in the amount of time required for the rest of the sweater construction, would seem like forever. Picking up stitches to complete a neck treatment, sewing the seams, tucking in the loose ends, finishing any other details such as buttons — until finally, I could smooth out the final item in its completion, fully recognizable and in its final form.

The closer I get to the final shape of my body, the more I have to remember that I’m in those finishing stages; I’m working on the final touches of my soon-to-be-completed project, where I get to wear this body for the rest of my life and enjoy the hard work I’ve put in.

Patience will pay off. My time will come; all the work I’ve put in is taking shape, even though it might not seem that way when I’m picking away at the details.

(PS: not me in the video.)