Thoughts I had Stepping onto The Scale Today.
Today, I’m seventeen years old and 10 kg down from my original weight. It’s not a lot; not in relativity to many of the others on this sub. Not to the few kids at my school who’ve already gone through amazing transformations, having conquered the seemingly herculean act of maintenance and balance that shows in the very way they carry themselves, with varsity jackets slung over toned shoulders that once drooped from an (in)visible weight as mine do.
I’m seventeen years old and still quite a bit away from my goal weight.
But that’s fine. I know it’s okay to have plateaus. That it’s okay—normal, even—to indulge sometimes. I know that it’s fine to still sometimes forget to count my calories and guesstimate a fair share of times that I do remember. It’s fine to feel shit about it occasionally, too. It’s okay, because I’m still learning.
These habits, like my weight, will change.
After all, I know for sure I don’t want to stay this way forever. There’s a myriad of reasons I’m trying to lose weight—each shallower and pettier than the last—and I know things like spite and anger don’t burn as fuel forever. But, hey, I’m starting this journey before health concerns become dire enough to end up as the primary motivator, and that has to count for something, right?
So, I’ve been trying.
I now know my sodium intake is far too high on some days (and even then, I’m not entirely sure what the implications of that are), and that the extent of my self-control is eating two pieces of chocolate instead of three. The only macro I know of refers to the economic concept, and my understanding of the food groups are elementary at best.
(All I know is that I’ve most likely been having too much from a couple of them.)
I can’t consistently work out. I don’t have the willpower to always pick low-cal foods over my usual favorites. My taste buds are still trained to the saccharine flavors that have given me immense comfort, whilst simultaneously stabbing my self-confidence and worth in the back.
(The oranges and green apples haven’t quite stopped being unappetizingly sour yet.)
I know can’t always pick the right choices. That much already shows in the way I look. But maybe I’m starting to learn—even though somedays it honestly doesn’t feel like I’m doing enough and on others, it feels like I’m doing too much, too quickly.
(you can replace ‘doing’ with ‘eating’ and that would also be true.)
And honestly? I don’t know if I’ll ever have the body I dream of. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to eat intuitively and not from a scale, or on the basis of meals I’ve already skipped for the day. I don’t know if I’ll like myself any better—don’t know if the issues of self-image will disappear when the fat does. I don’t know if I’ll ever form a healthy relationship with food, or my body.
Regardless of that, what matter to me right now is that I keep trying. A part of me thinks that I’ll be okay with working towards this for the rest of my life if I need to, that falling is fine as long as I stand a little longer and fall a little less after each time I do.
And when I stepped on the scale tonight, saw myself just a step closer to my goal weight, a slimmer dress size, and potentially a face with less acne, I realized that it’s going to be fine. That finding my place, my method, and my strength takes time.
So here’s to one more day, one more rep, and one less mistake.
EDIT: grammar
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