My name is Kymburlee. Well, okay, that’s a lie. My name is Kimberly, but I spell it funny because I think it’s a boring name. If you give it some thought, this will tell you a great deal about me.
I’m twenty-nine years old, mother of two beautiful little girls (3 and 22 months), and I’m really, really fluffy. I’m 5’9, and I was 135 pounds when I got married, 230 after having my second child, and I’m now at 184. I will admit this to anyone and everyone. I find the more I talk about my weight the easier it is to face it and fight it. Yes, I bore a lot of people, but that’s a price I’m willing to pay.
I’m a bookworm. When I’m worried by something, I read about it. I research. I sign out stacks of books from the library and I devour them. When my fluffliness really hit home, this is what I did. I studied for months and months, and consider myself a continuing student. I am flooded with knowledge about nutrition and how our body functions. I’ve used some of this knowledge…hence the loss of some fluff.
I’m stuck though. Knowledge isn’t enough. I’ve been bouncing between 182 and 187 since August. So this? This comes at just the right time. I’m done being fluffy. Done.
I once observed that I feel like my weight is a punishment. A reckoning because of how judgmental I was during my skinny days. And I just want to shout out into the cosmos. “I’ve learned my lesson! I’m ready to be skinny again!”