Every morning I walk past it, the square-foot or so of glass and metal that, for most of my life, provided a calculation of my self-worth. It wasn’t long ago that I lived for that little digital reading. A stripped down daily ritual offering a barometer for my mood.
Admittedly, I haven’t stepped on the scale since I moved into my new apartment. I’m on the fence as to whether that’s a good thing or not.
I think I’ve been on a diet my entire life. If it’s out there, I’ve probably tried it: Slim Fast, Dexatrim, Cortaslim, WonderSlim, Alli, Whole30, Paleo, juice cleanses, hypnotherapy…and the list goes on. I also have a history of disordered eating. Throughout the bouts of bingeing and purging in college, or the obsessive calorie-counting and fitness tracking in my first year of marriage, I never really felt like I’d reach my “goal.”
There was always another pound to lose, or size to shrink into.
I often used food as a drug to cure my hurt, mistaking feeling full for feeling fulfilled. I used obsessive, disordered eating as a way to gain a sense of control when things were spinning out. Over the past ten years, I’ve probably gained and lost over 200 pounds. The recent stress of moving and starting over with new routines hasn’t done me any favors. I find myself falling into old habits like reaching for food when I’m not hungry or wanting to do fifty jumping jacks to cancel out a handful of almonds I just had.
Part of my self-awareness journey needs to include mindful eating. This is probably the single most difficult practice I’ve attempted. Being someone with an unhealthy relationship to food, I know I have to work extra hard to be present when I sit down for a meal.
I’ve conquered a lot of food and body issues over the last few years, but my work is far from done. I’m ready to start showing up for myself and work toward feeling happy, healthy, and strong in my 30-year-old body.