The Secret Scale
I have a secret relationship with my scale. I don’t personally own one but, my mother does! In fact, I convinced her to buy the one she has now knowing I could secretly borrow it.
A little untold secret of fat girls is that we’re not supposed to really care about our weight. Oh, we all know fat girls stuff their faces either behind skinny people’s back or when we’re with a large group of people at a restaurant. But heaven forbid we actually know our own weight! How big our chin rolls are, how many stomachs close to a cows we have, and the way we waddle walk are supposed to dictate exactly how fat we are. From chubby, to kinda over weight, to plus size, to yeah she needs to lose weight to morbidly obese. Weight is supposed to be a number too scary for us fat girls to handle. And for some, perhaps it is. But for me, I get a higher rush, secretly undressing in my mother’s bathroom to see if I lost so much as a pound.
And if I have, I’ll over analyze my body in the mirror, wondering what part of my body is now that much closer to being skinny. I’ll hold my tummy with both hands, check out my butt, and turn my face to either side just to see if I can notice any difference. I’ll test my pants when they’re back on to try and see how close to a pants size I am to losing and I’ll sway side to side once my shirt is on again to see how much my muffin top has shrunk. I do all of this privately, and nakedly.
I’m not vain, at least I’m pretty sure I’m not. I like to make sure before I leave the house I took passably decent and sometimes I will spend a couple of hours “dolling myself up” but I don’t think this makes me vain. Nor do I think I have an eating disorder. When the scale goes up a couple, or a few, pounds from what I was hoping, I won’t lie and say that I’m not slightly disappointed in myself. But instead of beating myself up I remind myself to just be more conscious of how much and what I’m eating.
My mother’s scale gives me hope and the urge to keep pushing myself to keep trying. I usually fail but I never let it defeat me. I hope to someday soon be at least a couple of clothes size smaller. Everytime I look at that scale and see a smaller number, it fills me with pride for myself and confidence that I can one day reach my dream of being in between a size ten or twelve. I always want to look in the mirror and think yeah, I’ve still got some curve but still be healthy.
I just want to take a moment and say, Thank you scale. Without you I wouldn’t know I’ve lost a pant size or that I’ve become seventeen pounds closer the weight on my state id. I would probably be less confident and still be beating myself up. I would probably revert to over eating and not changing. So while you usually get blamed for playing the bad guy for letting us know our true selves, thank you scale for making me grow (No pun intended) into the ever more confident, and beautiful woman I am starting to finally feel.
From A Fatso