I've seriously avoided this moment since tenth grade.
Even at the doctor's office, I turn the other cheek.
But, I inevitably had to suck it up and take the $30 hit.
I bought a scale a week ago. And, not just any old scale. I bought a Weight Watcher's scale that reads your BMI, Fat Percentage and your Water Percentage.
To truly understand why I've loathed scales for 8 years of my life, we need to recap.
I was an overachiever who got her heart broken in 8th grade and felt the best way to regain control (whilst getting revenge) was to reinvent herself. What better way to show that you are a new, hot post-adolescent girl than get insanely skinny?! (please know I am saying that with extremely bitter sarcasm)
By doing two-a-day basketball practices and eating 90 calorie Special K bars I "magically" dropped down to 114. Ironically, I started to eat full lunches and dinners (i just didn't allow myself to snack on anything other than 10 calorie Jello) while maintaining my weight.
But one fateful day I stepped on that scale and it read 118. Sweat beads gathered on my forehead, tears welled in my eyes. Buh-bye full meals...hello, crying sessions over Thanksgiving apple pie.
I weighed myself before school, after school, after dinner...I tracked each calorie of each stick of gum. I was obsessed.
Like many people with eating disorders, I couldn't keep it in control and I ended up developing a new (sleep) disorder and then gaining weight. Once again, the scale was my enemy.
I yoyo'd every year of high school. I was never over 140 ( I should have counted my blessings then). Then college happened. Then more weight happened. Then living on my own and getting my shit together happened. I was slowly, but surely dropping the unwanted lbs.
The most recent then, then happened: a traumatic event, which doubled my weight loss...in half the time.
Twenty-some-pound lighter me was simply happier and finally sleeping soundly. My philosophy over the past few months had been to go by my jean size. I didn't want to slip into the obsessive control...but I was becoming obsessed again nonetheless. My eating and working out habits were on point (for the most part). It was my emotions and self-perception that needed to be reigned in.
My mind would tell me I had a more noticeable muffin top. Too much salt one day would make me feel like I was 5 pounds heavier.
Then it dawned on me...I was looking at numbers either way. Whether it was the relief that my size 4 jeans zipped or the scale read a pleasing number, I was still tracking numbers.
So, I bought the scale that gives me not one, but four numbers. And, I have oddly never felt more at peace. Facing the number smacked me back to reality. I admit, it is a little struggle not to weight my self frequently...but, it's easier to overcome than "feeling" like I've gained weight.
What's your philosophy? Weigh in on weighing in down below.