Monday, November 19, 2012
So. This post requires some back-story of some sort.
I have a really mean grandma. That sounds horrible to say, I know. But really. This woman has made me hate myself from the time I was six. That sounds like an exaggeration, but it isn't. Not even a little. She has always made me feel really fat and ugly. Combine that with the fact that she's told me she (honestly.) thinks I'm going to hell because I have my ears pierced, wear jeans, and cut my hair, and it's a recipe for minor Anna-disaster. End back-story.
I've been actively trying to lose weight since July. I've lost a fair amount of weight, and gone down 2 pant sizes. I still have a long way to go, but at this point, it's pretty evident that I've lost quite a bit of weight.
I ran into her at the store today. She said, "Oh, your dad said you'd lost quite a bit of weight. Well, I can't tell, but you just keep at that."
It sounds harmless, and even typing it, I feel petty. But holy mother, that hurt. It hurts. I'm currently hurting.
If nothing else, I suppose it serves as good motivation to work out...