Facing My Biggest Fear: The Scale

Hey guys,

So, I did something today that I promised I would never do again for a looooong time.

I weighed myself.

Ah, every recovering bulimic’s worst nightmare. What will I weigh now? I haven’t thrown up in so long! I’m going to be so fat!

Not sure if you guys know this (or if I even included this in the last blog post) but I am currently in Båstad with The Swede and his two best friends at his parents country house. It’s been a really fun past couple of days but I am looking forward to going back to the city next week.

SO, ANYWAYS, back to the scale thing: I can’t even remember the last time I got on the scale. My psych doctor strongly advised me against it and truthfully, I didn’t want to see the number. The number is more powerful in my mind than it should be. The number has the ability to define and consume me. Welcome to a fucked up mind, right?

As I was saying, we are staying at The Swede’s parents house. And, in their house, is a scale.

DUN

DUN

DUN

Just hearing or typing the world “scale” makes my Size 4 body shiver. Seriously, though, the scale has always been my enemy.

However, today was different. I stared at the scale and didn’t feel immediate dread like I used to. The big bad scale just looked like a raised, glass platform with a screen. Non-threatening.

Still, I considered a couple things: it was the middle of the day and I have already consumed food and a liter of water; I haven’t been walking in Båstad as much as I usually walk in Stockholm; I have grown 1.5 inches since my last weigh-in; and, I’ve been allowing myself to drink more wine than vodka. Wine =  fuck ton of calories.

I shook my head and said, “Fuck it”. If I got upset by the number on the scale, then I was crazy. My 32-25-35 measurements are fine. If I let the number alter my mental state of mind in any way, then I should go back and seek treatment.

I held my breath and got on. Luckily, it was in kilos so I wouldn’t be crazily shocked if the number was sky high. I would have to convert it first and THEN I would cry.

The screen blinked as if it was hesitating.

57 kilos.

From my days of modeling in Tokyo, where we had weekly weigh-ins in front of the entire office and line of other models, I had some sort of idea about the kilo-pound conversion. I mean, I just remembered that I was 48 kilos/106 pounds.

Clearly, I had gone waaay up.

I shakily typed in the kilo number for conversion and saw the number.

125.6 pounds.

Oh.

I processed this information for a minute. I was actually surprised. I thought I weighed more than that.

I felt a pang of relief that I tried to ignore. I didn’t want my weight to give me any dissatisfaction or comfort whatsoever. I didn’t want it to even be a thing!

Then, I realized that it really wasn’t a thing.

Who cares if it was a couple kilos more or less? I look and feel great. And, I’m happy. Which is the most important.

 


  Basically, the message I’m trying to get across here is that the scale is not something to be feared. Your weight DOES NOT define you and it never will. You are still your perfect, amazing, dope self regardless of what a tape measure or scale says.

Go eat that ice cream cone or slice of Brie you’ve been craving. You fucking deserve it.

Love you guys.

Stay tuned for the big news tomorrow 🙂

Side note: I know it may seem like my size and measurements are skinny but you guys have to really put yourself in my mind when you read this. I advise you guys to reread this with the knowledge that I was once a very insecure, eating-disorder-plagued girl who weighed 103-106 lbs and had 32-23-33 measurements. Thank you.


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