Every day I would wake up, put on the lightest clothes I had, and go step on the scale in my mother’s bathroom. That one moment dictated my mood for the entire day. Up a pound?Frustrated. Down a pound? Ecstatic. Up two pounds? In tears chucking every item out of my closet because I would never fit in it again. I’m a bit of a drama queen if you didn’t pick up on that.
Drama queen is the wrong term I guess. The fact is I let my weight control my life. I’m only happy when I feel like I’m having a skinny day. On a fat day? It’s like I had a dark cloud above my head until I decided to swallow it. Now that cloud is my gut. Gross.
So finally after another ridiculous break down and constantly watching every morsel that went into my mouth, I gave up. I was always in a bad mood. I was always hungry. And most of all, I was getting nowhere. But instead of getting a grasp on my weight and my emotions I just started eating everything. And by everything I mean half a pan of brownies, a pint of coconut milk ice cream, and tacos with a side of two turkey sandwiches. If I was destined to be fat, then I was going to really be fat! Go big or go home. I even walked down the stairs singing “Let It Go” after putting on my oversized sweatpants after a day spent in form-fitting clothes. Not a proud moment for my sister to witness.
After about a week and half of my bingeing, I was terrified to get on the scale. I couldn’t even fathom how much my weight had probably gone up. That was the turning point for me. If I was terrified of standing on a little box, then I just wasn’t going to do it. Who said I had to weigh daily? Who said I had to measure my progress by numbers?
I have not stepped on a scale since then. It has been a month now, and I struggle daily. It sounds crazy, but my weight had taken over my life. I had completely forgotten the fact that God was watching all of this happen. He was watching my tantrums. He was watching my face drop as I stepped on the scale. He was hearing my thoughts as I sat in church wondering if my dress made me look too fat. (Which is ridiculous because I wear a choir robe. Nevertheless, I worried about it.) He was completely aware that I considered myself unworthy, ugly, and a waste of space.
Consider that for a moment. I saw His creation that He made perfect, beautiful, and wonderful as unworthy, ugly, and a waste of space. I was questioning the creator of the universe?! Did I really think that I knew better?! Now, when I think about the scale, I pray. I pray for the willpower to stay away from it. I pray for the ability to love myself the way I am. Mostly, I pray that someday I will see myself the way He sees me.
I have continued to eat healthy foods, take long walks with my family, and treat myself every once in a while. Am I happier? Yes. Am I in control of myself? Yes. Is God happy with His creation? Well, I sure like to think so.
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