I stood on the scales one day and realised that I had never been so miserable. I watched the digits on the screen scroll up until they flashed and beeped at me to get my attention, just in case I was looking elsewhere. Where they thought I would be looking I don’t know. I could only stare down at that tiny screen between my toes, holding my breath and wishing and praying for the result I was looking for.
So I hadn’t lost any weight, or gained any weight, since the last time I had stood on the scales. That was ok, not the end of the world surely? Maybe I should have a pee and try again, just in case. I did have a cup of tea a little while ago. Perhaps that was the problem.
That wasn’t it. The problem was I had only weighed myself a few hours before. And only a few hours before that. I had become obsessed with the numbers on that tiny screen and as they went up, my self-esteem and confidence went down.
This was only one of the many obsessive behaviours I showed around my weight and eating. I flipped from one diet to the next, from pointing to sins to fasting. I would feel good for a while, maybe lose some weight, and feel confident and ready to take on the world. It wouldn’t be long before it began to unravel.
I would go to some school or drafty church hall to get weighed, rushing to the loo even though I went before I left the house; queuing up, feeling that anxious knot in my tummy, reading my card with my weight on it, calculating how much I would have lost if this week I was down 2lbs … 1lb … even a half would do. That week the only thing I was down was yet another £4 as I got on the scales and they showed I had gained. “What went wrong this week?” the ever so helpful consultant would say as I stood forlornly. I genuinely didn’t know. I had tracked, I had weighed, and I had stayed on the approved food list. But it was no good. I had put on weight and felt like a failure.
This began to seep into the rest of my life. How could I be a successful if I could not control something as simple as my weight. Yet I felt healthy, exercised lots and actually my clothes fitted better than they had in ages.
in the end I sat myself down and thought long and hard. I wondered if I could cut down to weighing myself just twice a day, or maybe once, but with the option to get on again if I want sure I believed the scales.
Then I started to hear how ridiculous I sounded. How trapped I was in this cycle of behaviour. There was no cutting down I was obsessed with the number on the scales and it was dictating my self-worth.
I did the unimaginable. I stopped weighing myself. I went cold turkey and woke up one morning and decided to stop. That was 6 months ago and now I am a woman who doesn’t know how much she weighs. In fact I don’t even know where my scales are. What I do know is that I feel so much happier. I have learned that my weight does not define me, and I can have freedom from the anxiety and stress that ‘watching my weight’ gave me. Only by ending the obsession with the scales could I really be healthy.
I found my freedom from the scales.