I wanted to smash my scale in 2014, but I couldn’t let go of the security I found in knowing the next time I needed to be validated, I could step on the unforgiving surface and be reassured of my worth with every ounce lost.
I remarkably, sincerely, unequivocally needed that validation. So much so I bought another scale after giving the first one up to my therapist. It’s my worst enemy. The scale is the biggest piece of leverage my eating disorder has against me. It’s evidence. Evidence of things I can’t see–when my eyes tell one story, the scale tells another and when the number is lower than the day before I can breathe for a second.
I can breathe.
When I become emotionally overwhelmed, my breath becomes shallow to the point that sometimes I find myself holding my breath. Fear takes my breath away and burns my lungs.
It’s embarrassingly overwhelming to feel loved. To feel truly heard. To not feel judged, shamed, or guilty while talking about real things. I stop breathing because I don’t understand why anyone cares. I stop breathing because the eating disorder part of me wants to resist embrace. There is fear in letting someone in my space, it’s completely intrusive and I risk letting my guard down. All the way down.
The scale replaced my need for connection.
This isn’t how I’m operating anymore. The scale is a worthless piece of shit. Not me.
It’s ok to feel all the feelings. It’s ok to cry. It’s ok to be fearful of ups because downs always follow. It’s ok to release my worth against a number.
It’s ok to breathe and let that guard come all the way down.