There was a time in my life that I worked out all the time. It was the thinest time in my life. I worked out 5 days a week, 3 times I did two-a-days. It was a time when I felt the best about myself. I didn't ever feel the need to stress eat, and it was one of the most stressful times in my life. Single mom, work, home. It was a time when my dad was probably at his unhealthiest, or at least it was the time when things were starting to show. Quad by-pass, corroded arteries. Things were nuts.
When I struggle I think of a time when I was a better 'overcomer'. I often look back on my life and think about the things that worked (and the things that didn't).
I was probably even busier than I am now. (are you wondering if that is even possible?).
I was thin, and for the most part really happy. Sure, I had choices that given the opportunity I would not make again, but they are choices that have made me who I am today.
There is something about that time.
I never felt more loved in my whole life.
I'm not saying that time was perfect because it wasn't. But I long to feel that loved again.
I was never one to patiently pick up broken fragments and glue them together again and tell myself that the mended whole was as good as new. What is broken is broken -- and I'd rather remember it as it was at its best than mend it and see the broken places as long as I lived. ~Margaret Mitchell