Struggle finds me even when my eyes are wide-open awaiting shoes to drop and mountains to crumble. It surprises me, my knees buckle, and the ground suddenly feels closer to my heart than moments before. I grasp at air to stay standing, yet fall to the earth, pushing and pulling, clawing and climbing until I relentlessly release the effort to remain aloft. My energy wanes among the ruins of despair, waiting for a savior, surrendering with my white flag waving desperately, uncertain of how to rise to my feet again. Solutions are distant like a memory trying to retrieve itself, like words on the tip of my tongue. Former knowledge and lessons of yore vanish from my forefront, and I lay tattered, worn out, and empty in the dirt of failure.
Yet when silence and stillness come, a soulful, heartfelt whisper does speak volumes of my strength, past victories, and resilience that live within. Self-compassion weeps itself into existence. I begin to dust myself off, take stock of my current situation, and align goals with actions. Initially I rise to my knees, strength building upon small increments until momentum or a helping hand lifts me higher. Atrophy need not descend past efforts and return me to the distant starting line. I am further along than I initially thought. My ego recaps my incompetence, worthlessness, and failed outcomes, while my heart reiterates my true value with solace and shuts out the cruel, dark, inner self that plagues me with doubt, exhaustion, and failure.
Though the struggle is real, my heart leads me to the other side where healing lays waiting for relief, strength, and confidence to build upon itself. Faced-down-in-the-dirt moments require my courage to smell the tough fragrance that lifts me up through resilience. Pain and struggle influence harmful, edible substances for ingestion with desired yearning for more, believing I am in need of more to soothe the hurt. In these moments I cry the tears of old patterns, need for comfort, and relief of emotional pain, like an old muscle memory that lingers long past its welcome. These symptoms torment for immediate gratification while my heart aches for reaching the other side of struggle. The sweet food-related relief is temporary until I distance myself from the culprits taunting my taste buds; it acts as a dictator to my senses, attracting opium-like relief, the addiction it has become.
The far side of struggle stands where emotional pain lives and requires excavating myself from its ruinous path of failure. I embrace the knowledge it offers. Old patterns repeat while new lessons engage an alternate, successful path to repeal my destructive ways. Struggle waits steadfastly until ready to move to the healing, distant side. Leaning into emotions by feeling my pain, hearing their call for an unhealthy, eating solution marks the turning point of change. Without moving beyond this struggle, I remain in a holding pattern, reacting to pain, comforted by unhealthy, edible replacements. There I reside until I change my reaction. The paved weight loss path is a truth away in the far side of struggle by a shift of awareness bubbling to the surface. When it returns, I preparedly rise strong to take the first step.