There’s something quietly brutal about trying to coach yourself through your own mess. This is especially true when that mess includes more than what’s on your plate or on the scales.
This past month, I wasn’t just navigating wobbles in my routine. I was also untangling myself from a relationship. It lasted 18 months and chipped away at more than just my time. It asked for my vulnerability. My softness. My emotional investment. And against my usual instincts, I gave it. I lowered a wall I had built out of steel because he requested it. I was met by a wall on his side. It made mine look like it was made of cotton.
(But that’s a story for another time.)
Still, the emotional weight of that ending crept into everything. My workouts felt heavier. My discipline wavered. The inner critic grew louder, not just about food or fitness — but about me. About how I give, how I trust, how I recover.
I had two choices. I can slip into that space of “I’ve failed again.” Or I coach myself like I would someone else.
So I paused. Took a breath. And asked:
- What do I need right now?
- What’s hurting that has nothing to do with food?
- How do I honour this moment without abandoning myself?
Because the truth is, my setback wasn’t just about missing a workout or eating emotionally after a draining day. It was about grief. Disappointment. A broken expectation I’d built carefully over time.
And yet, even in that disappointment, I found a new power. A softer one.
I reminded myself: this journey isn’t just about the waistline — it’s about the backbone. The emotional resilience it takes to show up for yourself when your heart is still tender. When your trust is bruised. When your energy is low. Your body feels like it’s absorbing every single emotion. It’s as if it’s storing them in your hips.
So yes, I wobbled.
But I didn’t fall.
I got up the next day, stepped back into my leggings, and did my workout. Not to fix anything. Not to erase pain. But to say to myself, “I’ve got you.”
This isn’t just a weight loss journey. It’s a self-trust journey. And sometimes, the biggest progress is invisible to everyone else — but you feel it. In the way you bounce back. In the way you speak to yourself. In the way you refuse to shrink your spirit just because something didn’t work out.
To the woman reading this who’s holding heartbreak in one hand. She has a dumbbell in the other. I see you. You’re doing better than you think.
