I didn't regret the weight. I just missed the softness.
Missing it isn't vanity. And it doesn't mean you regret the body you worked for.
I was proud of every pound — sixty of them, eighteen months, and I'd do it all again tomorrow.
But one morning, I leaned toward the bathroom mirror and stopped. My clothes fit. My energy was back. People were noticing. And yet the softness my face used to have just wasn't there anymore.
That was the part I didn't know how to say out loud.
why doesn't my face look like how I feel?