I still remember the morning I stopped stepping on the scale.
Not because the number scared me but because I already knew it hadn’t changed.
Weeks of effort, sweat, and “discipline,” and yet… nothing.
I asked myself quietly, What am I doing wrong?
That question followed me everywhere.
When I first decided to lose weight, I was motivated. Not the loud, social-media kind of motivation just a tired feeling of wanting my body to feel lighter, my mind calmer. Clothes felt tighter than before. I avoided mirrors. Photos made me uncomfortable. So I told myself, This time, I’ll do it properly.
I started with rules. Lots of rules.
No sugar. No rice. No eating after sunset. Daily workouts, no excuses.
On day one, I felt powerful. On day three, hungry. On day seven, exhausted.
Still, I kept going.
Everyone around me said discipline was the key. If you fail, it means you didn’t want it enough. So when I felt weak, I blamed myself. When my energy dropped, I pushed harder. When my mood went bad, I ignored it. I thought pain meant progress.
But something strange was happening.
The scale barely moved.
My workouts felt heavier, not easier.
And worst of all, my relationship with food was changing.
I started thinking about food all the time.
During the day, I tried to be “perfect.” Clean meals. Small portions. Water instead of hunger. But at night, when the house was quiet and my willpower tired, my brain would whisper: Just one bite. Sometimes it was one bite. Often, it wasn’t.
After those moments, guilt hit harder than hunger.
I promised myself I’d “be better tomorrow.”
Tomorrow always came with stricter rules.
That was the mistake that ruined everything.
I thought losing weight was about control.
In reality, I was losing balance.
I wasn’t listening to my body. I was fighting it. I ignored signals low energy, bad sleep, constant cravings-because I believed struggle was normal. But deep down, I was scared. Scared that if I relaxed even a little, I’d lose everything.
Have you ever felt that?
Like if you stop pushing, everything will fall apart?
One evening, after another cycle of restriction and overeating, I sat alone and felt empty. Not hungry-empty. I realized I wasn’t failing because I was lazy. I was failing because my approach was extreme.
I wasn’t building habits.
I was surviving rules.
That shift in understanding didn’t magically make me lose weight overnight. But it changed something more important: how I treated myself.
I slowly let go of the idea that weight loss had to feel miserable. I stopped chasing “perfect days” and started noticing patterns. When did I feel most hungry? When did I overeat? What made me tired? These questions mattered more than any diet plan.
Instead of cutting everything, I added structure.
Instead of punishment workouts, I chose movement I could repeat.
Instead of guilt, I practiced curiosity.
Some days were still messy. Some weeks felt slow. The scale didn’t always cooperate. But my mind felt quieter. Food stopped feeling like an enemy. I could breathe again.
Looking back, the biggest mistake wasn’t eating a certain food or missing a workout.
The mistake was believing that progress only comes from being hard on yourself.
Weight loss, for me, wasn’t about forcing change.
It was about allowing consistency.
I wish someone had told me earlier that feeling tired all the time isn’t a badge of honor. That hunger isn’t something to constantly “win” against. That your body isn’t trying to sabotage you-it’s trying to protect you.
If you’re on a similar journey and things feel harder than they should… pause for a moment. Ask yourself gently: Am I building something I can live with?
I’m still learning. Still adjusting. Still human.
But now, when I look in the mirror, I don’t just see a number I’m chasing. I see someone who’s finally listening. And that, quietly, changed everything.