F*ck the Scale
So last week I stepped on the scale for the first time in about 3 months… the result? Some anger, sadness and anxiety followed by feelings of pride, clarity and acceptance.
Some backstory - I’ve struggled with my eating habits for as long as I can remember. Periods of depriving myself, feeling hungry and skinny, but happy (?) Periods of overeating, tummy aches, and guilt. I correlated happiness, attractiveness, status etc. with the NUMBER on a stupid machine. I couldn’t walk by a scale without weighing myself - every morning when I woke up, at friends and families houses, after a day of eating poorly, just to survey how bad the damage was. If the number was slightly lower than it was the day before I was elated, if it was higher I was beyond upset and would insist on eating lettuce all day. I wanted my cheek and collarbones showing, to fit into those “too tight jeans”, boobs and butt to be smaller, the list goes on and on. I tirelessly tried to change everything about myself.
Okay so fast forward to last weekend… I go home for the weekend and I’m reunited with my worst enemy, the scale. I wish more than anything in the world I could’ve walked right past it and not even thought twice, but the bad habit lingered and I stepped on the scale in the morning (because that’s when you’re the skinniest right !??!?!?!!?). The number wooooof was one I had not seen in a while. I was not going into this situation with high hopes. I knew I had been pretty careless with my calories lately, trying to just listen to my body and not deprive myself. I knew I had been enjoying all the wine, cookies, french fries and was not forcing myself to sprint to exhaustion but instead was doing more walking and yoga instead to make my body feel gooood. To be totally honest, the reason I even got ON that scale in the first place was because part of me wanted to say to myself, “look Meg, it’s not THAT bad” and the other part of me wanted to punish myself for living my friggen life.
From there, old Meg would have been fixated on this number, insisted on going for a run before doing anything else that day, cutting carbs, signing up for a bikram class (my go to while living home whenever I was feeling any level of dissatisfaction with my weight). What did I do instead you ask? I put on a comfy pair of overalls, got in the car with mom, drove to the bagel store and then to my grandparents for brunch. I proceeded to enjoy my brunch - half an everything bagel with cream cheese and lox, a hashbrown, some bacon/sausage, frittata and a cherry freaking TART for dessert. I didn’t feel the need to overeat any of these foods and I know that was because I wasn’t labeling them as OFF LIMITS. I enjoyed my full plate and conversing with my family because I was living in the present not focused on obsessing over a silly little number.
I sometimes look back at photos of myself and think, “wow, I looked so amazing there.” But that is not the same girl staring back at me in the mirror today. I don’t know if I’ll ever reach a point where I’m no longer fighting this internal struggle between lusting for thinness vs. achieving ultimate self-love (some Yung Pueblo level shit - if you haven’t read Inward, run don’t walk to the bookstore). The fact that I’m opening up and talking about it is a big win for me. So for now I leave you with this… we are constantly growing, changing and developing - not to mention those child bearing HIPS.
We depend on our bodies to carry, fuel and love us daily so let’s be kind and loving to them and feed them the cupcakes and cookies when they ask for them.