09/16/2019

I remember the day I stopped stepping on the scale.
I remember where I was when I made my final declaration.
I remember talking to my friend in the backyard about it-
I remember it because I had tried quitting the scale 4,000 other times prior,
like someone who so badly wanted to stop something,
they would go at any length to do it.
-
I remember the adrenaline rush I would get-
letting the anxiety pour over me,
anticipating some number that I had never seen previously-
Only to secretly know it was the ‘let down’ feeling that kept me on my high.
-
I remember putting so much pressure on a number, the one that would dictate whether the people ‘out there’ would love me-
whether I stayed on track or could label myself “good” or “bad” that day.
-
I was pregnant at the time- and I knew that pretty soon,
there would be a human next to me,
observing me for all hours of the day-
soon to be reenacting my eyebrow raises and the way that my face transforms when I see the people I love.
-
We all have our journeys, we all have our reasons for doing (or not doing) certain things- but thinking of my kid looking up at me while I stepped on the scale first thing in the morning started to put a dialogue in my head that had been missing for years.
Or maybe it had always been there?- but had too many cobwebs of ‘self doubt’ covering them?
-
“I want her to know there’s more to life, I want her to know that she has so much more to offer the world that WILL NOT be seen if she allows chains to bind her to the scale.
I want her to know that this shell, this body is not something that is made to please others’ gazes as they go on about their day-
But it’s her compassion, empathy and drive that will move mountains-
That is what I want her to know.
-
And then,
slowly over time-
I replaced my daughters’ name-
with mine.
-
It didn’t click overnight, it’s been a slow process transforming something that has been learned over a lifetime-
But it’s my story-
and I’m starting to feel more confident owning it.