“How the heck did I allow this to happen?” I muttered to myself as I stared in defeat at the number on the scale. 8 pounds heavier? Really? In that moment, my entire sense of self-worth teetered on the brink of despair. I was all too familiar with how easy it would be to plunge into a pit of shame and guilt, but I also knew how challenging it is to claw back out. I have inhabited the abyss more times than I care to admit, so I knew I had to act quickly to protect myself from slipping back in.
I shudder at how often I weighed myself when I was younger, often several times a day. It grieves me to acknowledge that a number would dictate my mindset, mood, and self worth for the rest of the day. If I was up 2 pounds – disappointment, failure, and frustration defined me. Down 2 pounds – relief followed by a burning desire to lose even more (because I was never actually satisfied) took over. Those numbers could vary by a few pounds throughout the day, depending on when I weighed myself, how much I drank or ate, activity level, hormone fluctuation, how much I sweat and on and on. Yet, somehow, I allowed that number in that moment to define my worth. What an exhausting way to live, especially since the magic number in my head – the one I believed would make me OK and solve all my problems – was something I pulled from thin air. Whenever I lost weight and got close to the “magic” number, I’d look in the mirror, realize I still hated how I looked, so I chose another number. Smaller number plus smaller me equals happiness. It was the biggest fallacy I ever bought into.
Thanks to years of hard work, counseling, and a growing faith I was able to break free from that mindset. One of the things I let go of was my obsession with a scale. Now I weigh myself only occasionally and I view it as a data point. One lesson long covid taught me is that our time here is precious and then one day it hit me — all those hours I spent battling the scale and obsessing over a few pounds I’ll never get back. It took a scary illness to put things into perspective. How much more time was I willing to waste? Was the number on a scale worth all that time and energy? Did I want to live one more second with a scale as the center of my universe? Since then, I’ve worked my ass off to get stronger and learned to be proud of my body’s capabilities and shift my mindset.
But it’s far from easy. Somehow, after months of not weighing myself I decided to step on the scale. Those old feelings of failure and guilt wasted no time showing up to berate me. My brain reflexively generated a restrictive diet and extreme workout plan. Before I knew it, I was standing on the precipice as the weight of those lies threatened to pull me into the pit I had worked so hard to escape. Then the most dangerous lie of all said “See what happens when you stop obsessing and let up!” Thank God the truth of what reverting back to a life of obsession and restriction looked like snapped me back to reality and compelled me to act. I shoved the scale under the tub, walked away, then advised myself to take a deep breath and do a reality check. I needed to break down the situation objectively, without judgment, just as I would do with a client or a friend.
What were the relevant facts? Was it true that I was a failure and just proved my worst nightmare had come true? Eight months ago, I accomplished a huge goal. As a result of pursuing that goal, I was lifting and running consistently while focusing on fueling my body so it could perform. Taking care of my body was rewarding because I knew I was setting it up for success. But then life became chaotic. We were on the road all summer, living in an rv which made it challenging to always eat healthy. Late shows and long drives often made quick meals and junk food my food of choice. Unless we were at a campground, my running was limited to the treadmill in whatever planet fitness we’d find ourselves at. So I spent more time lifting, which was great because I built more muscle (which does weigh more) but I wasn’t getting in much mileage. When we were home, we were focused on selling our house and moving, so fitness and fresher meals often took a backseat. I took off more days than usual and often found myself stress eating. In the fall, we lived in a campground so once again, our space and ability and desire to cook healthier meals was limited. It was a very stressful and disorienting few months. This is not a complaint or even an excuse. It’s simply what happened which made it difficult to build consistency in anything. As a result I gained a few pounds. That didn’t change any of my accomplishments or change who I was. Nobody else knew or even cared. MY thoughts were the only ones being judgmental.
Years ago, the disappointment I initially felt would have triggered an urgency to starve myself and speak terrible insults to my reflection. But decades of experience has taught me how badly that backfires. Now, looking at my situation objectively, I can see why I lost consistency and gained weight. It makes total sense. Life gets in the way sometimes and that’s OK. Shit happens. Those are the facts – not a moral failure. Would I trade all that has happened over the last few months for a different number on the scale? Definitely not.
Because of my history I do have to occasionally ask myself – do I really want to risk having no energy to do the things that I love and actually make me feel good? Starving myself might give me a sense of control and power in the beginning, but however tempting that is I know for sure that it always backfires and is completely unsustainable. We all know from experience and science that inadequate fuel leads to fatigue, muscle breakdown, irritability, depression, distractibility, obsession, and eventually a complete physical breakdown. Is all of that worth the fleeting satisfaction of seeing a certain number on the scale? Absolutely not. Do the people around me have any clue how much I weigh or what size I wear? Of course not. And no one even cares. But they do notice how I carry myself — my mood, engagement, energy levels, and mindset.
What motivates me is the ability to lift heavy things, to run far and fast and to have the energy and stamina to keep up with my kids and participate in life‘s adventures. In order to do that, I need to take care of my body. The number on the scale or the size of my pants never solved anything. It never empowered me or helped me accomplish anything. What works? Fueling my body properly so it can perform, build muscle, run faster and farther, and prepare me to take on bad ass adventures.
I’m not saying it’s easy. Especially if we struggled with disordered eating, which is a very complicated issue. But I’m here to tell you that it is 100% possible to shift focus and learn how to let go. Step outside of yourself. Be objective. Please don’t wait for the moment when a health scare finally forces you to face the truth. If your weight has become an obsession, if you define your worth by how thin you are, if you spend hours thinking about losing weight and beat yourself up when you aren’t, if the thought of eating more to fuel your body terrifies you – I totally get it. I’ve lived it. There’s no simple answer or quick fix, but I can tell you this – you are not alone, you are not crazy and it is absolutely possible to think differently. Send me a message, talk to a counselor or a pastor, and take it one step at a time. Yes it’s scary and probably seems insurmountable, but I hope you can see that if I can do it, so can you. Life is so much more than a number on the scale. YOU are so much more.