I am now at 147 lbs.  Though, I am disappointed in myself, I do realize that I have very valid reasons that I have gained weight.  Before I quit smoking, I was 134.  When Mom died I was 128.  There was a time when I was working out 6-7 days a week.  Everyday, 4 am, busting my ass, sweaty, strong, slim . . . oh, I only wish I could be that/do that now.  I did that for over a year.  Once I got into it and saw a difference in many aspects of my life, I had to stick with it.  When we took our summer vacation, I even narrowed down my hotel choices based on their fitness amenities.  Two weeks later, Mom died.  I couldn’t eat for days.  The next week, I could hardly live, let alone exercise.  I’ve never quite been able to rededicate myself since.

      Most of the day, I’m not thinking about my weight.  When I’m at work, I’m eating healthy, not obsessing about hunger.  Then I come home, and I get bored.  I think about chocolate and multiple helpings of dinner.  Old habits came back.  I feel disgusted with myself, which only pulls me harder.  I don’t really snack when I’m sad.  I just release it (let it go missing inside of me) in other ways and move on.  I’m sure there are plenty of reasons why I am doing this to myself.  I’m also sure that if I worked at solutions to these issues, I might have a chance at still fighting this before I give into it.