The Woman I Left Behind

A quiet story about discipline, healing, pain, weight, and a body that carries it all. The fragile art of returning to yourself after losing the woman you once were, and the courage to begin again.

I think about how quickly I slipped back into old habits, as if the strongest version of me had only been visiting for a while.

She came with fire in her eyes and a discipline unknown to her, and for a brief time, I believed I could be her forever. But life tested me, and somewhere between exhaustion and comfort, I let her go.

It feels heavy, not just in my body, but in the small corners of my mind where disappointment sits quietly and refuses to leave. The kind that lives inside your chest. I can feel it sitting there, the mix of shame, regret, and longing for the person I once was.

The truth is, I eat everything I promised I wouldn’t. The kind of food that used to comfort me when nothing else could. The kind that soothes me for seconds and hurts for hours. And still, I push away the thoughts that tell me to stop.

And then I sit there with that familiar ache, not in my stomach, but in my heart. The same question circles in my head: Why did I do it again?

I feel ashamed. Not because of the food itself, but because I knew what it would do to me, and I did it anyway. I feel frustrated, angry at myself for knowing better and doing worse.

There was a time, not that long ago, when I felt in control of my life in a way I never had before.

I still remember April 2023 like it was yesterday, the year I decided to take control, not out of vanity, but out of survival.

After years of diets, pain, guilt, and disappointment, I stopped chasing quick fixes and finally listened to my body.

When I was diagnosed with fibromyalgia, something inside me woke up. It wasn’t motivation; it was understanding.

For the first time in my life, I wasn’t trying to lose weight because I hated myself. I was trying to heal because I finally cared about myself.

From one day to the next, I stopped eating the things that hurt my body, not out of fear, but out of respect. I stopped chasing “diets” and started choosing what made me feel whole.

I changed everything: what I ate, how I moved, how I treated myself. Real food, rest, resistance training, and a determination I didn’t know I was capable of.

And it worked. My body responded. My mind cleared. My pain softened. The fog lifted. My clothes fit differently, but more than that, I fit differently inside my own life.

Between April and December 2023, I lost 18 kilos (about 40 pounds). But more importantly, for the first time in two decades, I gained a kind of strength I had never felt before. It wasn’t just about food or weight. It was about discipline, about trust, about a promise I made to myself.

But discipline, I’ve learned, isn’t about control, it’s about consistency. It’s not something you find once; it’s something you keep choosing. And I stopped choosing. When life got heavier, I slowly stopped showing up for myself.

I remember that woman so vividly. She was strong, steady. She looked in the mirror and saw someone becoming who she was always meant to be. And I can’t help but wonder, what would have happened if I had just kept going? If I had held on a little longer, trusted myself a little more?

But life has a way of testing you when you think you’ve finally figured it out. And when it did, I didn’t notice at first. I got comfortable. I thought I could handle a little bit of the old life again.

It didn’t happen overnight. It began with small compromises, a little chocolate here, a skipped workout there. Then came the justifications, the tired days, the stress. Before I knew it, I was back in the same place I had promised myself I’d never return to.

Slowly, silently, until it became familiar again. And it’s that familiarity that hurts the most. Because now I know better. I know what it feels like to live without that pain. I know what it feels like to feel light, in body and in spirit. I know what it feels like to wake up and not dread the day. I know what it felt like to be strong. And knowing all that makes coming back here feel unbearable.

I hate that I lost her, the version of me who believed she could change.

But maybe she isn’t lost. Maybe she’s just waiting. Waiting for me to remember that healing doesn’t disappear when we fall, it just goes quiet until we’re ready to listen again.

And maybe this is where I start again. Not by chasing the version of me I lost, but by remembering the woman I became when I stopped giving up on myself.

She’s still here, under the exhaustion, beneath the cravings, waiting for me to remember how it felt to choose her.

So this time, I don’t want to start over. I just want to return to the woman who showed me what it means to fight for myself. And maybe this time, I’ll stay.

So now, I won’t make promises or write lists or swear to start over tomorrow. I’ve done that too many times before.

Instead, I’ll just sit here, feeling it all, the guilt, the grief, the longing, and remind myself that these feelings are proof I still care. If I didn’t, it wouldn’t hurt this much.

Maybe healing isn’t about staying perfect all the time. Maybe it’s about finding the courage to begin again, every single time we lose our way. And maybe this, right here, right now, is my beginning again. Because I know what it feels like to live differently. And that means I can do it again.

The map is still in me. The strength is still in me. The woman who once believed, she’s still here. And now I’m writing to her to tell her, I want her back.

Have you ever felt yourself drift away from your strongest self and found your way back?

With a smile,
GOO:DMOO:DISM