Learning to measure my health by more than pounds—and finally giving my almost-50-year-old body the credit she deserves.

I’ve been a diabetic since 2021.

And if I’m being completely transparent, I hate that I’m on seven different medications for diabetes and other health conditions. Seven. Sometimes I look at them and think, How did I get here?

Genetics definitely played a part. But I also know I spent years not taking the best care of myself. I can admit that without beating myself up over it.

Because what good would that do now?

I can’t go back and lecture the younger version of me about food, exercise, stress, sleep, or all the things I probably should have paid more attention to. I can only take care of the version of me who is here now.

And she’s trying.

My health journey has had plenty of highs and lows. I still want to lose weight. I still have a number in my head that I’d love to see on the scale someday. And yes, I still get annoyed when I step on that thing after working my butt off and it says… basically the same thing.

Or maybe one pound less.

ONE. 😂

There have definitely been moments when I wanted to look at the scale and say, Ma’am. I have been working very hard. Please act accordingly.

But somewhere along the way, I realized I was giving that number way too much power.

Weight matters when it comes to health. I’m not going to pretend it doesn’t. But it is not the only thing that tells the story of what is happening inside my body.

So I started paying attention to a different number.

My A1C.

When I was diagnosed with diabetes, my A1C was 7.0. For quite some time, it bounced around between 6.5 and 6.0.

And I decided that if I was going to get serious about anything, I wanted to get serious about that.

I started becoming more physically active. I added strength training and HIIT classes and found a gym with coaches who could actually guide me instead of leaving me wandering around pretending I knew what I was doing.

Thankfully, I found a gym I genuinely love.

There’s no ego there. Nobody is standing around trying to impress anybody. We show up, mind our business, suffer together for 45 minutes 😂, encourage each other a little, and go home.

It became my happy place.

When I started, I was lifting no more than 10-pound weights.

Now I can lift 35.

I couldn’t do ONE band-assisted pull-up or chin-up.

Now I can do a few.

A few!

That may not sound impressive to somebody else, but I know where I started. And sometimes that’s the only comparison that matters.

I am stronger than I used to be.

And when I’m at the gym, for that little piece of my day, I don’t have to be Mom, wife, friend, volunteer, or anything else. I don’t have to worry about what needs to be done or who needs something from me.

I just get to focus on me.

Nutrition? Whew.

That is still my struggle.

I’m making better choices, but I’m not going to sit here and pretend every meal looks like something from a wellness influencer’s Instagram page. Sometimes I make a great choice.

Sometimes I don’t.

Sometimes I slip back into old habits.

And then I try again.

I’m learning that taking care of myself doesn’t require perfection. It requires me to keep coming back to myself.

I also worry too much about what other people think. I worry about comments. I worry about someone looking at me and thinking, Well, she works out all the time. Why does she still look like that?

That thought has gotten into my head more times than I’d like to admit.

But then I remind myself:

At least I’m trying.

Actually, no.

I’m not just trying.

I’m showing up.

There’s a difference.

I’m showing up for a body that has carried me through almost 50 years of life. I’m showing up despite diabetes. Despite medications. Despite frustration. Despite the scale moving at the speed of a sleepy turtle.

And my goal has changed.

I don’t want to be skinny.

I want to be healthy.

I want to be strong.

I want good numbers when my labs come back. I want to move well. I want energy. I want to grow older and still be able to do things for myself. I want to take care of this body instead of constantly being angry at it for not looking like the body I had—or wanted—in my 20s.

Because why am I asking my almost-50-year-old body to compete with my 20-year-old body anyway?

She has lived a whole lot of life since then.

She deserves different goals.

So I’m going to keep lifting.

I’m going to keep working on my nutrition.

I’m going to keep celebrating the pull-ups, the heavier weights, the better lab results, and yes, even those stubborn little one-pound losses.

I’m going to keep taking care of the inside, too. Because looking good on the outside means very little to me if I’m miserable, unhealthy, or unkind on the inside. Cliché? Maybe.

I still believe it.

I don’t know exactly what my body will look like when I reach the healthiest version of myself.

And maybe that’s not the point anymore.

Maybe the point is that I’m finally learning how to take care of her.

If you’re somewhere in the middle of your own journey—frustrated with the scale, struggling with food, dealing with health issues, or wondering why your progress doesn’t look like somebody else’s—I hope you give yourself a little grace.

Find what works for you.

Celebrate the things the scale will never be able to measure.

And keep showing up.

I will too.

We’ve got this. ❤️