Scale Size

Like, don't buy a big blue scale?

Haha, sorry, the title made me chuckle out loud.
Mostly because it reminded me of this guy:

 
Good old baby blue.
Measure of my self hatred.
Er.
Worth.
And really.
Just a piece of metal.

I did my final, final weigh in with Mrs. Ashley Holm.
In my hotel bathroom.
As she was called to do it a second time.
A few hours after the first one.
Much to her chegrin, I am sure.
Did you just call me a Diva under your breathe, it's okay.

:)

But for an entire year.
And a month following finale.
This piece of metal.
Measured the world.
And my worth.
And my ugliness.
All of it.

Until May 5th.
When I decided it didn't.
Couldn't.
Wouldn't.
Anymore.
And for the very last time, I stepped off the scale.
And into loving myself.
For other things.
Besides a number or a measure.

Arguably.
I just started using another measure.
The one printed on the tag of my jeans.
The one that read/reads size 6 jeans.
My miracle jeans.

And that bikini up there.
That gets put on once a week.
I still have body dysmorphia folks.
That doesn't stop just because I decide to be strong.
Right?

Case in point.

 ^This guy.

Now, when my year ended.
I bought a size 10 jean skirt from Le Target Boutique.
And loved it.
It felt good, I felt good.
And I didn't even care that the number inside was double digit.

Well.
I wanted a jean skirt for school.
And the one I had was more for a night out.


Off to Le Wal Mart Boutique to get me the one above.
Last week.
I picked up the 14.
Because.
You know.
I'm huge now.
And held it again my body.
At least my brain can know that wasn't right.
So I picked up the 12.
Still no.
Then the 10.
...
The 10.
You know.
Double digits.
And I thought.
Still no.

And I laughed OUT loud at the store.
To myself.
No.

I picked up the 8.
Held it against my body.
And thought.
Probably not.
But.
I'm gonna try.

This morning.
I tried.
Put on that 8.
Zipped it.
Paired with a white T.
And went to work.

Size.
Scale.
Numbers.
They
don't.

Matter.
Anymore.

Because this morning.
I ate breakfast.
And walked.
On a broken foot.
And last night.
I worked out.
And ran.
And swam.
And laughed.

And the size inside my clothing didn't change anything.
Didn't make me a better teacher.
Or friend.
Except that everyone loved my outfit today.
Which, of course, I love the love :).
But really.
I love myself in a size 18 too.

I love myself on my extra water weight days too.
When my mind and my body feel like they weigh a thousand extra pounds.
And I cry in front of my mirror for no other reason than I can.

I am proud to be heavy scale free.
And number free.

And plain.
Free to be me.
And whatever that means today.

Which in case you were wondering, today, it means sticky hot.
No AC in my classroom.
Glad I fit into a size 8.
Non Sweaty Betty :)



1 comments:

  1. OMG, you have no idea how much this speaks to my life. I have tears in my eyes because I battle with this every day. Thanks so much for sharing. You're such a blessing.

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