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Due to a recent unavoidable health-related development, I’ve been experiencing some unfortunate side effects. One of which has been a sharp increase in my depressive symptoms and a marked decrease in my ability to motivate myself to do much of anything, including eating right and exercising. Over the course of the last month or so I’ve put on about 11 pounds.

While my doctor says this is still “normal,” it’s been difficult for me to accept. We leave next week for vacation. I’ll be among my husband’s colleagues, and their trophy wives. The climate will be warm, the setting will be pool and beachside, and being eleven pounds heavier in a swimsuit isn’t making me feel that great. It adds up, and not in the right places.

Pretty much all I want to do is eat and sleep these days. It’s going to get worse before it gets better. And yes, I know, I shouldn’t tie my self esteem so closely to my body image, but that’s easier said than done. Most days I have to drag myself out of bed, and keeping a happy face on for my family is really draining. My work life is also exhausting emotionally, and I’m getting lots of knowing clucks from the women in my office about the weight gain. In their eyes, my weight loss plan has failed, and they’re judging me for it. It feels pretty yucky all around. Bear with me, guys. I just need some time.