I would weigh myself on Fridays. It was the only logical day, since it meant I’d be skinny following a week of restrictive eating.
It was the “high” I needed going into the uncontrollable, yet predictable weekend indulgences. Booze, carbs, late night eating, the typical reward for being “good” Monday through Thursday. I deserved it, right?
I’d shower, shave my legs and dry my hair of any excess moisture. Oh, and don’t forget to pee!
After my usual checklist, I was ready to step on that inanimate object that I, at some point, decided to give power over my emotions. I’d close my eyes, take a breath and open my eyes as I nervously waited for the moment of truth.
What I saw next would completely and absolutely, 100% determine the person I became for the next 72 hours. The number would tell me how to feel about myself. It would determine my mood, what and when I ate next, and what to wear.
A high number meant failure, ugly, fat and unworthy. A low number meant success, beautiful, skinny and desirable. It was horrible. It was like being on an emotional rollercoaster, and I hated rollercoasters. I often wondered what would happen if I stopped weighing myself altogether? Maybe go by the way my clothes felt? Was it possible? I’d only heard of girls doing crazy things like that in magazines. And honestly, I thought it was a myth.
But seriously, what if I stopped? What was I afraid would happen? Easy question, actually. I finally admitted to myself what I was
too ashamed to say out loud … to anyone! “What if I blow up like a blimp overnight?”
I’d been told several times that, as women, our weight fluctuates within about five pounds over the course of a month. Water weight, hormones and digestion. But, for some reason, I didn’t believe it. Not for me.
Fast forward eight years of letting the scale determine my own self-worth. I couldn’t do it anymore. I was done. I needed out of this relationship.
But, was I strong enough to ditch it?
What did I have to lose? I was already unhappy. What was that “number” really measuring anyway? And, could I really be one of those girls who goes by the fit of her clothes?
Honestly, I was scared to try it. But, I was more terrified of letting this thing that didn’t even have a heartbeat continue to determine my self-worth.
Honestly, I was scared to try it. But, I was more terrified of letting this thing that didn’t even have a heartbeat continue to determine my self-worth.
While I admit I failed to stop cold turkey a few times, I’m proud to say I eventually won the battle. One day (I’ll never forget it) I grabbed the scale, stepped outside and chucked it to the ground.
And, let me tell you … it was liberating as hell! That thing would not have power over me anymore.
It took several months for me to allow a scale back into my house. I waited until I was strong enough to have it in my bath room without feeling pressured to rekindle our toxic relationship.
I imagine it feels like being sober. Sober from the addiction of measuring my internal feelings and worthiness with an external piece of crap.
Now, 12 years sober, I’m happier, calmer and feel more confident and freer than ever.
Ending the love affair with my scale was, hands down, the best decision I ever made for my health — mentally, physically and emotionally.
Now, the few times a year I do weigh myself (which only happens at a physician’s office), I get serious satisfaction out of looking at that number and feeling nothing. Not good. Not bad.
It might sound silly to some, but ending the relationship with my scale was one of the hardest things I ever had to do. But, you know what? I can do hard things. And, so can you!
Jessica Denton lives in Vail, Colorado and works full time in hospitality. Passionate about helping women become happy, healthy and confident. She’s a certified IIN Health Coach, Master Barre Instructor and former fitness studio owner. In her downtime, she loves to golf, bargain shop, organize, and plan her next beach vacation. Her daily non-negotiables are exercise, coffee and her favorite smoothie.
