Why I Don’t Want to Be the Weight I Was Before
I never thought I’d say those words. For years, getting back to my lowest weight felt like the obvious goal. It was the number I’d compare myself to whenever I gained weight. The version of me I thought I should be aiming for.
After all, I’d worked incredibly hard to lose 10 stone. Surely I wanted to get back there? Actually… no. That doesn’t mean I’ve given up on my health. It doesn’t mean I don’t want to lose weight.
And it certainly doesn’t mean I’m pretending obesity doesn’t affect health. It simply means I’ve realised that the weight I was at my very smallest wasn’t necessarily the weight where I was happiest or healthiest. That has taken me a long time to admit.
I was incredibly proud of what I’d achieved
Before I go any further, I want to make one thing clear. Losing 10 stone is still one of the biggest achievements of my life. After being a mum, and before running a half marathon! It took determination, consistency and a huge amount of perseverance.
I learned that I was capable of changing habits I’d had for years. I discovered I actually enjoyed exercise. I gained confidence to do things I’d never imagined I’d be able to do.
I’ll never regret proving to myself that I could do something that once felt impossible. But being proud of losing the weight doesn’t mean I have to believe every part of that journey was healthy.
People only saw the result
When people looked at me, they saw someone who had lost a huge amount of weight. They saw the smaller clothes, the running, the photographs and the smiles.
What they didn’t always see was what was happening in my head. They didn’t see me analysing every meal and worrying about the scales before weigh-in.
They didn’t see how one pound could ruin my mood for an entire day. Or how gaining two pounds could make me question everything I’d eaten that week.
Outwardly, I looked like the picture of success. Inside, I often felt anything but relaxed.
Being a size 6-8 wasn’t as carefree as people imagine
People often assume that once you reach your goal weight, everything falls into place. You become confident, stop worrying about food and you happily maintain your weight forever.
That certainly wasn’t my experience. Being a size 6-8 came with its own pressures. I felt I had something to protect. Every meal felt important. Every holiday felt risky. Every birthday, Christmas or meal out came with a little voice asking whether I’d undo all my hard work.
I wasn’t just maintaining my weight. I was trying to maintain an identity. The woman who had lost 10 stone. The one people talked about. The one who’d “done it”. That pressure was surprisingly heavy.
I became obsessed with staying there
Looking back now, I can admit something I couldn’t admit then. I don’t think my relationship with food was particularly healthy. I wasn’t starving myself. I wasn’t doing anything too dramatic. But I thought about food constantly.
I weighed myself far too often. I’d mentally calculate every choice. I’d celebrate tiny losses and feel devastated by tiny gains. The scales had far more control over my emotions than they ever should have.
At the time, I thought that was just what successful weight maintenance looked like. Now I see it differently.
The number became more important than how I felt
There were times when I was fitter than I’d ever been. I could run and I had energy. I felt physically capable. But mentally? I was exhausted. Not because I was exercising. Because I was always thinking and planning.
Always trying not to regain weight. It took up far more space in my mind than I realised. If you’d asked me then whether I was happy, I’d probably have said yes. Looking back with a bit of distance, I think I was also quite anxious.
Regaining weight taught me something unexpected
When I regained weight, I felt like I’d failed. I was embarrassed. Ashamed. Convinced people would think I’d thrown everything away. But something unexpected happened. Over time, I stopped chasing perfection. I started questioning the rules I’d lived by for years.
I began asking myself what I actually wanted rather than what I thought I was supposed to want. Did I really want to spend the rest of my life terrified of gaining two pounds? Did I want every holiday to revolve around food choices? Did I want the scales to dictate whether I had a good day or a bad one? The answer was no.
My definition of healthy has changed
Years ago, healthy and thin were almost interchangeable in my mind. I don’t believe that anymore. Today, healthy means something much broader.
It means:
- Having enough energy to enjoy my day.
- Sleeping well.
- Looking after my mental health.
- Eating nourishing foods most of the time.
- Enjoying treats without guilt.
- Moving my body because it feels good, not because I’ve “earned” my dinner.
- Having food take up less space in my mind.
Ironically, I think my relationship with food is healthier now than it was when I was at my lightest.
Weight-loss medication changed my perspective
Taking Wegovy made me realise just how much mental energy I’d spent thinking about food. When that food noise became quieter, it felt like someone had turned down the volume in my brain. It wasn’t simply that I was eating less. It was that I wasn’t constantly negotiating with myself anymore.
That experience helped me understand that maintaining my lowest weight hadn’t just required discipline. It had required a level of mental effort that I no longer want to live with every day.
I still want to lose weight
This isn’t an article about giving up. I’m still overweight. I still want to improve my health. I still make choices that support weight loss. But there’s a difference between wanting to be healthier and wanting to recreate a version of yourself that wasn’t entirely happy.
Those aren’t the same goal.
I don’t need to be the smallest version of myself
One of the biggest lessons I’ve learned is that my lowest weight isn’t automatically my best weight. There may be a place somewhere in the middle where I feel stronger, calmer, less obsessive and more balanced.
I want to be more able to enjoy life without constantly worrying about maintaining a specific number on the scales. That’s the version of me I’m working towards now. Not the thinnest, the healthiest, both physically and mentally.
I’d rather have freedom than perfection
If reaching a particular weight means food dominates my thoughts every day…
If it means holidays become stressful…
If it means I can’t enjoy birthday cake with my family without feeling guilty…
Then that weight probably isn’t right for me. I’d rather be a little heavier and have a healthier relationship with food than spend every day chasing perfection. Years ago, I wouldn’t have understood that. Now I do.
What I’d say to anyone chasing their old weight
If your previous weight genuinely felt healthy, sustainable and enjoyable to maintain, then that’s wonderful. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with aiming for it. But if you’re chasing a number simply because you think it’s where you should be…
Pause for a moment. Ask yourself how life actually felt back then. Not just how you looked. How you thought. How you ate. How often you worried. How much space food occupied in your mind.
Sometimes nostalgia remembers the photographs and forgets the pressure.
My thoughts
For a long time, I believed success meant getting back to the weight I’d once reached. Now I measure success differently. Success is enjoying a meal out without feeling like I’ve failed. It’s going on holiday without spending weeks worrying about what I’ll eat. It’s choosing exercise because I enjoy it rather than because I feel I have to “burn off” lunch. It’s accepting that my worth has never depended on a dress size.
I may never be a size 6-8 again. And for the first time in many years, I’m genuinely okay with that. Because I’m no longer chasing the smallest version of myself. I’m chasing the happiest, healthiest and most peaceful one.
