There it was, this chart that resembled the Rocky Mountains staring back at me. This was a very harsh reality that had gained a significant amount of weight over the past several years.
Now, this was the first time I saw actual numbers slapping me in the face. Since I was in college, I never ever looked at the scale. When I would go to the doctor I would back up like a garbage truck on that brutally honest piece of machinery and nervously tell the nurse “I don’t want to know my weight.” Then, I would step off blissfully unaware of those three digits.
The reason for the ritual was a consequence of many other rituals starting at the ripe old age of eight. Since that sprit young age, I’ve had an eating disorder. You name it and I’ve had it; binging, purging, restricting, over exercising and under eating, and on and on and on. Not to mention the constitution I bestowed on myself of not eating items with more than 5 gams of fat, or baking indulgences for others and watching them savor it, or not eating a certain restaurants, because their food would send me into a tail-spin.
Everyone’s dealt with weight issues and insecurities; young, old, men, women, you name it! In college, I felt so insure with my body and style. My nights out would be consumed with wanting to take a hammer and chisel to my body so I could sculpt it into a beautiful long-legged statue that emulated the bright-eyed beauties, wearing the latest Forver21 fashions, which I was out with.
I always swore to myself I would never exceed a certain number on the scale or on my jeans. Well guess what? Even with daily workouts and majority healthy eating, I surpassed those numbers long ago. I’ve had two kids in two years and my body’s been through a lot of change. Just a few short years ago, if I saw the numbers that I witnessed at yesterday’s doctor’s appointment, I would’ve stopped eating, binged, purged, cried myself to sleep, and experienced copious amount of anxiety. Sounds dramatic, but part of the disorder that is difficult to control
Yes, it was very difficult and unnerving to see the weight gain. But instead of regressing back to my old rituals, I set a plan. Also, my family is aware of this, so they can keep an eye out for my old ways. There are going to be good days, and days where positivity is met with resistance. But I’m going to keep going to the gym and trying to make healthy choices.
Ultimately, I am not happy about my weight gain, but am proud of how I handled something that would’ve once almost killed me.
P.S. Have you ever struggled with body image issues? If so, how do you get past those negative thoughts?