i hit 230 pounds in the 8th grade, and i’ve been struggling with keeping my weight off ever since. i’ll turn 25 this year, and i still look in the mirror sometimes and see the discouraged, overweight 13 year old girl looking back at me. no matter how many times the sweet people in my life tell me i’m pretty, there’s somewhere inside of me that it just doesn’t sink in.
up until this past december, i would religiously weigh on my bathroom scales three to four times a day. i justified this as a part of my OCD that would just never go away, and day after day i would look at my side profile in the picture–analyzing my belly and feeling digusted if i seemed bloated. i’d punish myself by weighing after enjoyable meals and pulling at skin (and fat) to show myself just how far i was from “looking good (in my mind).”
and suddenly, one day my scales were gone. upon investigation, i found my boyfriend justin to be the culprit. with sad eyes, he told me that he was tired of me beating myself up when he thought i was so beautiful, and he confessed how much he hated seeing me frowning in the mirror out of the corner of his eye sometimes when he walked by.
after our conversation, i resolved to give life without the scales a shot. it hasn’t been easy. to me, weighing multiple times a day was helping me monitor the rights and wrongs i committed throughout the day, and without using them i might literally blow up. but something interesting happened after a few weeks. i simply forgot them. i focused more on doing active things and eating a little better day by day (if and when i felt like it), rather than seeing how much i could eat and still prove to the scales i was as healthy as the day before.
i haven’t really thought much about those scales, and only occassionally do i itch to get them back out to use. earlier this week, someone asked me if i have lost weight. i had to reply that i was trying to be healthy, but that i honestly didn’t know. what a weird reply, i’m sure–but it kind of felt good to be free of such a heavy (no pun intended) addiction.
after a month, i got the scales out today. i was in a good mood, and i don’t know what struck me but i took a deep breath and waited on those numbers below my feet to judge me, size me up, decide my future mood. i looked down, and i have lost a couple of pounds if any. while a little disappointing, i was glad that i had proven to myself that weighing on the scales had no correlation to what i actually end up weighing at the end of the day, week or month.
i decided to “hide” the scales again above my kitchen cabinets. i’ve decided that maybe i look skinnier because my scales aren’t weighing me down.