By: Emily Carter
Updated: Jan. 25, 2023
Originally Published: Jan. 24, 2010
Not long after my partner and I began our life together, he took my hand one evening and I immediately sensed something significant was coming. Clearing his throat, he looked me in the eyes and uttered four words that would forever alter my perspective: “You are too thin.”
I chuckled nervously, a reflexive response when the topic of weight arose. Like many, I had battled body image issues throughout my life—struggling with disordered eating, body dysmorphia, and an obsessive fixation on the numbers on the scale.
His gaze remained steady, and my laughter faded as I realized he was serious. He expressed his concern over my eating habits, indicating that my intake barely provided enough nourishment for a small child.
I scoffed at his assessment. Yes, my meals were on the lighter side, but I’d come a long way from the days of frequently starving myself. I had abandoned that dangerous mindset long ago, hadn’t I?
His grip tightened on my hand as he continued, gently but firmly stating that my health was at stake. My hip bones and ribs protruded unnaturally, and I was putting undue strain on my body.
Stung by his words, I felt a rush of emotions—anger mixed with a sense of defeat. Who was he to judge my journey? Did he truly understand the battles I had faced? Deep down, I recognized that he might have a point. But was being a little on the slim side really a bad thing?
Then came the ultimatum: I needed to prioritize my health or risk losing him. I buried my face in my hands. Did he know that I weighed myself every morning, those numbers haunting me throughout the day? The memory of feeling dizzy during workouts rushed back, and I realized I often halted progress whenever the scale tipped upward. I didn’t want my daughter to inherit my restrictive eating habits and the associated body image issues—that thought crushed me.
Despite the strides I had made, my fear of gaining weight still loomed large. I longed to break free from its grip.
With determination, I walked upstairs to our bedroom. In the dim light of the ensuite, I picked up my scale, feeling a surge of disdain for it. I wanted to destroy it. Instead, I brought it back downstairs and handed it to him. He was willing to help, and I was ready to accept that support. Without a word, he took the scale away.
The following weeks were challenging as I navigated life without my emotional measuring stick. There were moments when I contemplated buying a new scale, but I knew that would only lead to enslavement to those numbers again.
Liberated from the scale, I began to exercise more vigorously and eat healthily, but this time, I focused on fueling my body instead of restricting it. To my surprise, my figure evolved—I became more voluptuous.
My waist shrank, my hips widened, my legs grew stronger, and for the first time, I had some curves! Yet, I faced a setback when I realized none of my pants fit anymore. Just as I was about to spiral into despair, my partner reminded me that this was expected. I didn’t want to see my old, ill-fitting clothes hanging in the closet, so I packed them up and donated them the next day.
As time went on, I bought new clothes that fit my new shape. Then, after scheduling a long-overdue physical exam, I faced my old adversary—the scale. I hadn’t weighed myself in over two years.
When the moment came, I stepped onto the scale and held my breath. Looking down, I was astonished to see that my weight was almost identical to what it had been all those months ago. This revelation was mind-blowing; the numbers held little real significance. I smiled, realizing that the size of my clothing was irrelevant. I was happy, healthy, and finally free.
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Summary:
Letting go of my scale transformed my body image and overall well-being. I learned that true health and happiness cannot be measured in numbers, and embracing change led to a more fulfilling life.
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