







Today, I am celebrating the day that I stood beside an amazing man and became his wife, and he became my husband.
I write about my husband a lot here, because he’s my best friend. So many people complain about their spouse, but I am the opposite: I enjoy spending time with my husband. We don’t get nearly enough time together.
Part of feeling that way is that we took so long to find each other. Both of us had been married and divorced already, so both of us knew what it feels like to tie that knot with the dreadfully wrong person. We both learned first-hand what it’s like when your marriage was a mistake instead of a blessing, and we knew with certainty what we did not want, ever again.
We stumbled across each other one day and were drawn to each other, despite all the chaos and negativity around us at the time. Other people tried like hell to keep us apart. They failed. Through all the lies, attacks, and rages, we held onto each other, supported each other, and went to battle for each other.
This past weekend, we escaped for a long weekend to one of our favorite beach spots as an early anniversary gift to each other. Sitting beside him in the sand, listening to the waves, is one of my most cherished ways to pass an afternoon.
We slept with the drapes pulled back so we could watch the sunrise from the bed, relaxed in each other’s arms. Typically we get up early, walk on the beach, pick up shells, and watch the sunrise from the water’s edge, but this time, we just wanted to stay right where we were. And it was perfect.
We have been together about 18 years now. Who knew, that first time I saw the tall, loud man who can make everyone laugh, how much my life was about to change?
We haven’t always had it easy. We haven’t been allowed to. But in sweet irony, every attempt to drive us apart only forged us closer together. We have leaned on each other, supported each other, and backed each other up, and through it all, we knew that what we found with each other is well worth fighting for.
Today, we celebrate our decision to make it official, to become husband and wife, to face all of our tomorrows as a team. There is no one else I want to watch sunrises with, for the rest of my days. Words cannot adequately describe how I feel about him, so I will let my actions show him every day instead.

Lately I have written a lot about change, and there’s a good reason for that. I finally gave up on endless empty talk. I decided that if I am unhappy about something, I must do what I can to improve it. Granted, that can come with many, many false starts, face-plants, detours, and stumbles, but it’s all part of the dance.
Over the last several months, I have made countless changes to my routine and habits, and I have lost over 60 pounds. I am still getting used to my body. When I put my hands on my hips, I marvel at how much smaller they feel. My rings slide off my fingers. I have had to replace nearly all of my clothes. I automatically wander to the plus section, out of habit, before I realize that everything there is several sizes too large now.
My husband likes to lay in bed, slowly stroking my hip, my legs, my shoulders, my back, everywhere. I am sure I feel very different to him, too. He tells me how great I look and feel, then he is quick to remind me that I was beautiful before I lost weight. I know what he means. I did not dislike myself when I was overweight. But I definitely prefer how I look and feel now.
I am less than 10 pounds away from my goal weight, and since so many of you have been here, reading about all of my struggles, commenting when I fell down, encouraging me, then I wanted to make sure I include all of you in this final push in the home stretch. I am still in disbelief that I stuck to it this time and have finally, finally gotten rid of this weight.
I know blogging is a dying art, but thank you to anyone still reading, still writing, still commenting. The support and fellowship are invaluable, and I appreciate all of you! I am looking forward to celebrating the long-awaited finish line with you.

Oh, did I say I was going to start over on Monday? I’m sure I said that with the best of intentions and certainty. Yeah. Well, long story short, it didn’t happen. Apparently I needed a few more days of wallowing in misery and self-disgust before I had enough.
I had enough last night. Do I really want yet another gain this Saturday? Do I really want to wait until I break 200 pounds again and have to buy clothes in the sizes I just cleaned out, before I snap out of it and make a change?
I set the alarm last night and told my husband he had my permission to shove me out of bed in the morning if I didn’t get up. I suspect he secretly hoped he would get the chance to do just that, but when the alarm went off in the peaceful, sleepy darkness, I got right up, changed clothes, and headed to the gym.
I wanted a strong start to my new-start day. So far, so good. I have a meal plan for the day and have already logged breakfast in my food diary.
Temptation keeps whispering in my ear, but I am not giving in. I need to take control again, be strong again. I deserve this.
