What I Weigh on the Sun

Gosh, I haven’t posted for such a long time.  I’ve been busy with my full-time job, my husband of 24 years, 3 older dogs, my mom in a nearby assisted living place, working out...basically living my 64th year on Planet Earth.  I'm happy and content and mostly NOT crazy.  I don't update much because I know my blog is about the most boring thing around. 

But something is giving me the urge to update.  I need to write about this...something that happened yesterday, a random, kind of weird, event.

As any of you who have read any of my blog over the years (HELLO?  anyone still out there?), the number on the scale has always made me insane.  I used to obsessively weigh myself and then the mind games would take over.

Is the scale up? Is it down?  Why doesn't it move? Oh crap I've gained! ...on and on.

Because of this mindset, I literally stopped weighing myself a few years ago.  For me, the specific number doesn’t matter…or rather, it SHOULDN’T.   I don’t even let them weigh me when I have my annual physical, although they always fuss a bit about that. (My doctor, who knows my history of eating disorders, agrees that as long as I am a "normal" weight, the "real" number doesn't matter.  So she has given me permission to just I tell them a number that I think is reasonable.) 

Plus I really don’t look at myself in the mirror, because when I do all I see is a huge person, big and scary, kind of like the Abominable Snowman.  (Thanks, Mom!)  Even in my gym, I've asked my trainer to cover up the mirror where we are working out, so I don’t see myself.  I actively avoid mirrors.  When getting dressed, I will look very briefly to make sure my skirt isn't tucked into my underpants, but other than that, I don't look.   Even with 5 years of therapy with a therapist whose specialty is eating disorders and BDD (body dysmorphic disorder), I still don't look in mirrors. 

As I mentioned, for the past few years, I have been working out and eating right (still doing IF for the most part).  I feel great!  As hard as it is for me to believe when they say it, people often will remark to me how lucky I am that I'm so tall and thin.  After not seeing my 2 sisters-in-law for over a year, when they picked me up at the airport this summer, they both said they didn't recognize me because I've lost so much weight.  Even my gynecologist referred to me as “slender” the other day.

The fact is, I’m really not that thin.  I am tall (5’9”), with large boobs, and a good sized butt.  My thighs are thick and I have broad shoulders.  My abs are strong, but they are covered with a bit of belly fat (which I hate BTW).  But I think I carry myself well and I know how to accentuate my best feature...my long legs (thank heavens for tunics with leggings and high heels).  And since I'm pretty muscular, I'm sure I give the impression of weighing less than than I actually do.

All that being said...the number on the scale shouldn’t matter. Right?  As long as my size 10 jeans fit fine, I've been perfectly content just going along without knowing "that number." 

But here's what happened yesterday to shake up my peaceful little world:

My husband and I were at the Pacific Science Center in Seattle to see the Terracotta Warriors exhibit.  While we were waiting for our time to get in, we wandered around the Center and looked at some of the other stuff which is geared towards kids...interactive displays, etc. 

One of the displays was right in the middle of the lobby.  As we walked by, not realizing this exhibit was a MIRROR, I accidentally glanced at myself.  I was surprised when the first thought that came into my mind was, “Hey, I don’t look huge!  I actually look kind of small!”   I quickly looked away and we continued to wander around when we came to another exhibit that tells you what you weigh if you were on other planets...the Sun, the Moon, Neptune, etc.  My husband playfully told me to step on and I did without thinking "this is a scale!" (Well, DUH)

We both laughed when we saw that I weigh over 4,000 lbs on the Sun.  I saw all the other funny weights, but all of a sudden, I saw what I weigh on EARTH.  I was shocked because I guess in my mind the number should have been at least 10 lbs less than what it said, based on how my clothes fit and my knowledge of what I used to weigh in the past when they felt a certain way.  With panic in my voice, I said to my husband "It says I weigh XXX!"  He knew immediately what I meant, and said "Oh, that scale is probably fucked up so don’t worry about it."  He knows me and my mind and my emotions so well!

But I have been ruminating on that stupid number ever since.  Obsessing.  Trying to make sense of it.  Letting it bother me.  Discounting what I saw in the mirror, where literally 5 minutes before I thought I looked okay?  What does that stupid number matter?  I feel good and strong and fit.  But I went from a high of thinking I looked good, to a low because the number on "the scale" didn't match what I thought it should.

It almost feels as if I've been Mindfucked by Science.  I guess the only thing to do it just keep doing what I'm doing...AND NOT GET ON ANY SCALES!

Thanks for reading.