I used to, but

I used to wake up at 4:20 am and go to the gym. Almost every day.

I used to get to the gym before 5 am, and sprint up and down the parking lot, before it opened.

I used to be caffeine free, because that was a crutch.

I used to train on gymnastic rings, do heavy deadlifts, and then run from the gym to the bus stop.

But I never talked to anyone. I never made eye contact. I never took off the mask. I never considered anything beyond the numbers and the records.

I used to walk 17 floors every morning to work at my standing desk, arriving before anyone else.

I used to subsist only on decaf coffee and tea, and eat my food, if I had any, not a moment before noon.

I used to diligently walk a lap around the building every hour, and disappear into the stairwell to do pullups on my gymnastic rings, thrown over a pipe.

But I had no friends. I never told anyone how trapped I felt. I was incapable of deviating from this routine, even when it hurt, and it was difficult. I used to eat breath mints, gum, and even antacids from the medical cabinet just to get sweetness in my mouth.

I used to wake before dawn every Saturday.

I used to put on my running shoes and run 5, 10, 15, 20 miles.

I used to revel in my mile times and distance records.

But I never admitted that I did this so I could eat more. I never told anyone how I would roam the empty office every weekend after running, looking for snacks to binge on. I never admitted how awful I would feel in my body after ‘failing’ to fast after running for hours, and eating out of the trash can.

I used to work every day. I used to feel trapped in my job. I used to hate myself, doing anything to run from ‘past me'.’ I used to revel in how small my waist was, and yet lament the size of my arms. I used to diligently count and calculate every iota of energy I ate. I used to weigh myself every day, and feel awful that I was still at an overweight BMI. I used to feel afraid of talking to other people. I used to feel like a failure, without a career or a purpose.

But I can choose again.

I give myself grace, for coveting the used to’s, and ignoring the buts. I love myself for coping with the skills I had. I honor my body for the stress and trauma and bless it for allow me to feel strong and capable. I offer compassion for the part of me that doesn’t feel worthy or good enough.

I used to think I didn’t matter. But now I know I am awesome.