Took a photo this morning in the same spot by the back door where I used to angle away from the camera. I'm 58 pounds down since February, about 31 weeks in. My size 18 jeans went into the donation box last weekend, and the size 12s I bought in June already need a belt.
What gets me is how ordinary it all felt. No big turning point. Just the after-dinner walk with my husband, which started as three nights a week and somehow became five. And cooking again — actually cooking, not reheating — because there's room in my head again to think about what I'm making. Last night I made a pot of lentil soup and froze half. Small thing, but it felt like taking care of myself.
I still catch my reflection in the grocery store window and do a double take. For those further along, does the unreality fade, or do you just get used to being surprised?