So you’ve been working out everyday, eating those boring cucumbers and carrots, and you finally work up the nerve to weigh in. You’re confident, your booty looks better than ever, and then the moment of truth… you step on the scale.
You gained 2 pounds!
$%#^#*@#! After a string of obscenities and kicking the dog (figuratively, not literally, I will call PETA), the momentum and excitement that you had... dies. Now you’re wondering, what’s wrong? How did this happen? What did i do?!?!
Now, I’m not sure how often this scenario has played out in your life, but it’s happened more frequently than I’d like to admit. Shortly after, the chips and ice cream make a speedy return to my kitchen. But when I look back on each instance, I recall feeling great about myself and the changes in my body. For some reason, all of that would change when the scale didn’t reflect my expectations. I would become so obsessed with hitting a "target weight" that the other benefits would be overlooked. It's like I'd magically forget that I lost an inch around my waist or that my calves were perfectly toned, and that I had more energy than usual. It all meant nothing unless the scale said the "magic number." (And yes, you can lose inches and weigh more...)
I'm not exactly sure how I chose my target weight, but I was always felt unsatisfied unless I was a step closer to my goal. It may have been my determination to fit those one pair of jeans from freshman year in college (and yes, i still own them). It may have been family members who made comments about my weight or even other women and female "friends." Whatever it was, I was determined to reach my high school weight, doing every diet, and weighing myself multiple times a day, as if something would drastically change between lunch and dinner. But nonetheless, I kept it up, until one day, it clicked. I realized that I was actually obsessed with my weight. I wasn't trying to be healthy. I just wanted to be thinner. I just wanted to feel better about the way I looked. But no matter what number appeared on the scale, it wouldn't mean anything because deep down, I was trying to lose weight for all the wrong reasons.
Rather than focusing on my health, I gave into peer pressure.
Comments like, "You'll be really pretty when you drop those last few pounds," or my top favorite... "You're not gonna get a guy like that" (INSERT DEATH STARE) influenced me to lose weight for the wrong reasons. Even when I reached my goal, the influence of others would always be the determining factor if I weighed enough, was fit enough, or small enough. I gave others control over my body.
In that moment, I made a promise to myself that I would never give others control over MY body. Because it's mine. This body has value. This body is a fighter in every sense of the word. I find this golden body to be strong, fragile, poetic, and unique. The opinions of others are irrelevant when it comes to MY body.
I picked up my scale and tossed it into the dumpster. A bit dramatic... but I needed to do it. I had to stop obsessing. The scale could only tell me one thing, my weight... never my worth.
As a result, I've made it my personal goal to compliment at least 2 women each day. There's just an indescribable moment when a woman receives a compliment from another boss babe... like, my hair IS nice. I do look great in these jeans. So I dare you to join me, compliment another woman and watch the smile creep across her face.