We live in a world that loves a quick, convenient narrative…neatly packaged stories tied up with a bow that allow us to easily assess a story and keep scrolling.
Before/after photos are the personification of this convenient (if inaccurate) storytelling: the sad before, the triumphant after, and a tidy Instagram caption that makes it all feel like a straight line. Desperate for evidence that change is possible, those dramatic before and after photos seem to offer exactly such proof.
But do they really?
Those photos are a snapshot, a moment in time, but they don’t show the real story, the hard work, the daily grind. They don’t show the nights when you don’t have the energy to cook, the weekends when you are tired of strategizing, the parties or vacations where you took the hard road, stayed the course and it barely seemed to matter. They don’t show you sitting in your car after a hard day, trying to decide what you actually need, while desperately talking yourself out of buying a candy bar at the gas station. They don’t show all the times you did everything right, cooked the meals, and did the workouts. They don’t show the ways in which we successfully bob and weave, navigating life’s pitfalls and with no explanation the scale is up seven pounds, and it feels like a sucker-punch. They don’t show you decision-fatigued, or confused, frustrated or scared.
Those photos don’t capture the moments when cravings, stress, or anxiety took over, or when you gave in to peer pressure or overwhelming emotions. They don’t show all the times the “old” you resurfaced in the form of a binge lasting days or weeks.
Before/after photos don’t show you the middle, the months that are monotonous and unrewarding. They don’t show the stretch after the newness has worn off, progress feels glacial, and you start to wonder if you can possibly go on.
The middle is not glamorous or exciting. It is… the middle. And it is challenging.
This is where many people throw in the towel, not because they are weak or incapable, but because they do not realize that this is whatdoing the thing looks like. It’s not about the photos; it’s about the life being lived and the lessons learned along the way.
The middle is when change stops being a “project” and becomes part of life, who you are. It is when you are no longer powered by adrenaline and novelty, when the scale does not deliver a dopamine hit every week, and your brain starts whispering, “Maybe I can’t do this,” or “Maybe this just isn’t in the cards for me.”
The middle is where you are not sure what or whose story you are in anymore, but it is also where all the really important stuff happens.
The middle is not a sign you are failing. It is proof you are in it, and being in it means you are already farther than you ever thought you would be when you started. Few people show those pictures on their well-curated Instagram grid, but that part counts. That part is the whole point.
Because despite the theater of a good set of before and after photos, there is not really an “after.” There are just lots of middles strung together.
What I wanted from an “after”
When I first started this journey, I used to scroll endlessly through amazing transformation pictures looking for a sign, anything at all, to give me hope that this time would be different. I wanted proof that I could actually set out to do what had eluded me for so long: being a “regular” fat person who could more easily fit into the world.
That was the loftiest dream I had for myself, if I am being totally honest. I wasn’t thinking about thinness as some shiny trophy. What I wanted was relief. Relief from the constant math of chairs and airplane seats and distances I would need to walk during activities of daily living – things many take for granted. I wanted relief from the incessant drumbeat of food noise. Relief from feeling like my body was a prison and a problem I carried into every room. I wanted an “after” because an “after” meant a finish line. It meant I could stop thinking about it. It meant I could finally live.
I achieved that finish line, but in terms of the rest of it, what I had no idea about back then was that there is no “after.” There is only the messy middle.
Today, I have one of those dramatic before and after photos and more peace around food and my body than I ever imagined. I do not say that lightly: there are days I eat without constantly negotiating with myself. There are meals I enjoy without tallying them. I no longer fear I won’t fit in a chair with arms or if a seat won’t hold my weight (although the thought still crosses my mind with every new room I walk into). And there are stretches of time when my body feels like a good place to live instead of a battleground. That is real progress. That matters.
And still, I am by no means always “at peace.” I still have many moments that catch me by surprise, old habits that flare up when I am tired or stressed or feeling vulnerable. These thoughts show up out of nowhere like they never left.
I am living in a body that weighs less now than it did when I was ten years old, and yet I am never fully satisfied with it. That is also true. Not because I am ungrateful, or because I don’t appreciate all that has changed, but because being a person is complicated. And being a person in a body that was morbidly obese and has decades of diet culture living in her brain rent-free is even more so. There are old wounds that still live just under the surface. There is the simple fact that bodies change over time, even when we do everything “right.” There is the reality that confidence and self-esteem are not always perfectly synchronized with the number on a scale.
So no, there is no after. I will always be in the middle. I am a lifer.
Does that make me a failure? No. It makes me human.
Learning to stay
Somewhere along the way, I had to make a shift from chasing a finish line to building a life I was willing to live inside. That shift did not happen in one dramatic moment. It happened in thousands of small ones. It happened when I kept going even when it felt meaningless, when I chose consistency rather than the after. It happened when I learned to notice patterns, and instead of punishing myself for them, started treating setbacks like information instead of indictments.
It happened in the middle. It happens in this wonderful, messy, complicated middle I am now in. Forever.
The middle taught me how to stay. It taught me how to let a hard day be a hard day instead of a reason to quit. That is why the middle is sacred. It is not the part you rush through to get to the “real” part. It is the real part.
If you are in the middle right now
If you are in the middle right now, I want you to hear this with your whole being: nothing has gone wrong. You are not stuck because progress is slow. You are not broken because motivation comes and goes, and you are not doing it wrong because it feels messy. Messy is normal, slow is still forward, and ordinary is how transformation actually happens.
The middle is the chapter that builds everything that comes next, which is what makes it so powerful. And that next chapter? Also, the great and complex middle.
There will be days when you feel like you are moving backward. Days when you do not recognize yourself. Days when the scale does not budge and your brain wants to declare the whole thing pointless. Those days are not proof that you should stop, they are invitations to practice the skill that matters most: continuing.
Keep going.
Not because a perfect “after” is waiting for you, but because the life you want is built here, in the middle. The version of you who makes it through will look back at this part with pride. Not because it was easy, but because it was the stretch when you learned who you are when things are quiet and no one is noticing how hard you are working, when you are choosing yourself in ways that are almost invisible to everyone else.
This is what doing the thing looks like.
This is the middle.
And if you are here (and have read this far…), you are already in it.
