There’s a cute graphic that says, “The scale can only give you a numerical reflection of your relationship with gravity. That’s it.”
I’m at the highest weight I’ve been since 2010. I weight 207.0 lbs today. I don’t have very many clothes that fit. I’m uncomfortable in my own body. But, 207.0 is a reflection of things happening much deeper than just body fat percentage or lack of exercise.
It represents 18 months of living in the valley. 18 months since we had our first miscarriage. 18 months of sadness. 18 months of illness. A year and a half of subjecting my body to a myriad of drugs attempting to fix my body. Hormones to correct my monthly cycle. Hormones to help my body decide to support a growing baby. Drugs to help my body end a pregnancy in which the baby has died inside of me. Again. Drugs to help me emotionally deal with miscarriage after miscarriage. Four miscarriages. Loss after loss. Antibiotics when my gall bladder started failing. Pain meds for gall bladder surgery. Pain meds after a tubal ligation. So many medications and so much sadness.
During those 18 months, food has been a comfort. Sweet church members have made sure that we’ve had plenty of home cooked meals or gift cards for restaurants. And, oh, the homemade desserts. I’ve shoved all my sadness down and ate and ate and ate.
So, when I see 207.0, I don’t see gravity’s effect. I see 18 months of physical and emotional torture. I see the need to fix not my weight but care for me. To deal with the physical and emotional wreckage of the past 18 months.
This is the journey I’ve started. I’m going back to the basics of self care. Relying on Christ to help deal with the emotional scars. Eating in a way that fuels my body. Using natural means to support my body while it is en route to healthy. Drinking tons of water. Finding a restful night’s sleep free of baby nightmares. Slowly, starting to become more active.
What about you? Does your weight mean more than a number to you? How are you dealing with it?