Things are getting better on the paranoia front. I’m not constantly peering out the back door — only once in awhile — and I don’t jump every time I hear a noise outside. Maybe every other time. Then again, I already had PTSD.
Anyway, it’s a process.
But the anxiety has made me start working out.
I’m down to a size 14 (size 16 pants were getting uncomfortable — and that was before I gained 5 pounds back in April). I’m down about 10 pounds on the scale (again, not including the five pounds from April) and I’ve put on some muscle weight.
At my skinniest, I was about a size 8-10, but that’s not really a realistic or healthy goal. So I’m just going to be happy with where I’m at on the scale/clothing size chart, and work towards a size 12.
It’ll be better for my overall health and better once I’m able to make it past the first trimester. As a heavier gal, I worry about gestational diabetes, blood pressure and all that.
So I guess unrealistic, overwhelming fear does have some benefits. And finding a healthy way to cope with that fear pays off.
Now I just have to stop checking out the back door at night. Process, people. Process.