Postpartum, Progress, and a Little Grace
When I first started losing weight in 2012, the pounds seemed to melt off. Most weeks, I’d lose two pounds. One week, I lost five. It felt unstoppable.
I dropped 118 pounds in a year and a half. It was fast. It was intense. It was life-changing. I worked out six days a week, sometimes more than an hour at a time. I had laser focus, and I saw rapid results.
Now? Not so much.
“Mom” weight loss looks very different. Since giving birth in late January, I’ve lost 25 pounds — but I’m still carrying 45 pounds of pregnancy weight. It’s slow, it’s frustrating, and it’s a far cry from my first weight loss journey. But it’s also real. It’s honest. And it’s enough.
These days, I lose anywhere from 0.2 to 0.6 pounds a week. That’s one or two pounds a month — a pace that would’ve devastated me before. But this time, I’m not chasing quick fixes. I’m chasing longevity. Sustainability. Sanity.
Looking back, I realize just how fast and rigid I was before. I lost the weight quickly, but I sacrificed a lot along the way. I skipped dinners out. I turned down celebrations. I avoided anything that might tempt me off track. I was focused — and also afraid. Afraid of undoing the progress. Afraid of losing control.
That mindset may have helped me lose the weight, but I believe it’s also why I gained 70 pounds during pregnancy. Because that kind of rigidity isn’t sustainable. It’s not kind. And it doesn’t leave room for joy.
So this time, I’m going slow. On purpose. I’m not starving myself on 1,200 calories a day — I eat closer to 1,590 now. I still log what I eat, because it helps. But I don’t obsess. I eat cake at birthday parties. I go out to dinner. I say yes more often — not just to food, but to life.
And while the workouts aren’t six days a week anymore, I take what I can get. A short walk. A stroller push. A moment of movement in a day that’s already full.
The truth is, I’m not just trying to lose weight. I’m trying to raise a human. I’m trying to function on minimal sleep. I’m trying to be present, even when I’m tired. Even when I don’t love my reflection.
Right now, I’m about halfway between my highest weight (270) and my lowest (152). I sit somewhere in the middle — literally and emotionally. But the scale is moving. My mindset is healing. I’m showing up for myself in ways that feel balanced, not brutal.
Some days, I still don’t love what I see in the mirror. But when my son smiles at me? I remember what matters.
He thinks I'm perfect just the way I am.
And that’s reason enough to keep going.
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