I stepped on the scale today.
One of the reasons I was hesitant to start a diet blog was simply: I was afraid to step on the scale. I mean, I literally felt sick at the thought of it. Why is that? It’s not like you can’t look at me and see that I need to lose weight. What difference should a number make? But it makes a world of difference to someone like me.
Many years ago, before I became overweight, I was talking with some friends of mine, a married couple. The husband was complaining that his wife – a smart, pretty, engaging woman – had gained “too much” weight since they got married. He was appalled that she now weighted nearly 160 pounds. I listened to them argue back and forth, until eventually the husband pointed at me and said, “She would never let herself go like that. You should spend more time with her!” The wife became understandably upset and left. I was uncomfortable, too, and excused myself shortly after that. The next day the husband came over and apologized for dragging me into their argument, and we moved on without discussing it again.
The thing is, it wasn’t being brought into the argument that bothered me, although I wasn’t thrilled about it. What really bothered me was, even though I easily wore a size ten, I already weighed more than 160 pounds. Had I said that, the husband might have shut up and the wife might have felt a little bit better. But I didn’t. Because I always, even before I needed plus sized clothes, thought my weight was too high. There was just no way I would have disclosed that darn number.
Today, I locked the bathroom door and pulled out the scale. The number, though scary, wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be. And now that I know where I’m starting from, I’ll know if I’m making progress. I guess I have no more excuses.
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