Growing up we never had a scale in our house… at least not that I can remember. And if we did it was only around when I was super young. Even without a scale in the home I knew how much I weighed. And I knew I got a lot of attention for being skinny. Sometimes that attention was negative… being called chicken legs as a kid never quite felt like a compliment. There was a part of me that secretly craved these comments, whether they were positive or negative, they all meant the same thing: I was thin and I was beautiful. And oh did I crave to be beautiful. Beauty meant the perfect life, it meant someone, anyone, or everyone would love me, care for me, and accept me. There was another part of me that felt guilty or bad for being skinny, as if I was doing something wrong because I was skinny and others weren’t. Whether I listened to the part of me that craved the attention or the part of me that felt like my skinniness was wrong one part remained true: being skinny was a part, if not all, of who I was. I can’t remember exactly when the good and the bad comments about how skinny I was started to diminish. But when they did I literally had an identity crisis. If I wasn’t skinny… what was I? Being skinny was who I was, it defined me, and if people didn’t look at me and see skinny what would they see? That question frightened me right to the core. What if they didn’t see anything worthwhile?
Looking back I realize this was a huge turning point in my life. It would have been so easy to resort to unhealthy habits to try and ‘stay’ skinny. I could have started a diet, or exercising excessively, or behaviors that are even more destructive. In truth all signs pointed me in that direction. And to this day I do not understand why I didn’t go that way and why other girls did. I can tell you that there is no real difference between them and me. I found other ways to cope, equally as destructive (which we won’t be diving into today, we’ll save that for another day).
There is a part of me that wonders how a scale in the home could have changed my coping behaviors. Would that increasing number of a growing girl been too much? Would it have tipped me over the edge to dieting and excessive exercise? Would my worth have been defined every day by the number on the scale? Honestly, I don’t know. And I never will know how the scale could have changed my life. It scares me to think that something could have that much control over me, and I am so grateful that it never has.
Maybe your own story is somewhat similar to mine; maybe it is exactly the opposite. No matter what your story is we all have one. To this day I still do not own a scale. And I will never own one. I refuse to play into the notion that the number on the scale attributes any significance to my self-worth.
Do you have a scale? Where is it? What does that number mean to you? What does that number give you? What does it take away from you? How does that number make you feel? How does it control you?
Throw it out! Throw the scale out! I may be skinny or I may not be skinny. But I am not defined by my body or my weight! You and I are worth more than the number on the scale!
Still not convinced? Check out these other blog posts put on by our friends at Beauty redefined!
“Weigh Less. Smile More.” How Fitness Magazines Define Healthy in Very Unhealthy Ways.
