The Scale

Hope everyone had a great long weekend! I enjoyed mine too much and I’ve gained a pound. 

My hate hate relationship (as opposed to love hate) with the scale has gone on since I was nine years old. Yes, nine. My first diet. It worked but probably started me down the road of metabolic suppression. 

I once had my metabolism tested when I was in my late 20s. I had such a pathetic metabolic rate that the doctor said she didn’t understand how I was not way heavier. She asked me if was I on a perpetual diet just to maintain. 

I bring this up because, for whatever reason, I’ve been beating myself up for not having figured this all out by 53.

I think, as the weight loss gets tougher, I look for excuses. Rationalizations to give up. 

My thoughts have returned to that medical appointment many times this week. She said to stop dieting. I looked at her like she was crazy. When I stop, I gain. When I stop getting on that scale, the next time I do, I am pounds heavier.

It makes me mad. I hate the obsession I was raised to have. I was an academic achiever, but the real complements were given when I lost weight. For a family so obsessed about thinness, we’ve had remarkable little success achieving it. (If my sister who basically eats one meal a day to stay thin since her late 30s reads this, she’ll be thinking, “I did it! It just has to matter more than eating!” or something to that effect. (I love you!)

But this obsession isn’t healthy and makes it harder somehow. How to separate out all of this and find a better way? 

I’ve done everything I can to teach my daughter about moderation, never deprivation. She gets treats. I teach her about quality calories and eating protein. She dances many hours a week. I believe knowledge is power for a growing dancer.

Maybe I should follow my own advice?