Now, usually, these nurses try to be "nice". They'll put the scale on a lower interval than I am sure we all know I need and move the thing around to try to get the scale to balance. And honey, when you put it on 150 lbs, that shit is not balancing. EVER. Jesus will be back before it does. So let's not play games.
Lately, I've taken to moving the thing myself. I know what I weigh, so we can move this process along. Today, I said to the nurse, "Let me help you," and slid it to the appropriate interval. She then said, "Oh, you can get there! I'm down from 220 pounds."
1) Where is this "there" that we are going? Did I even say I wanted to go?
2) Furthermore, who said I was trying to get anywhere and that my weight was an issue?
When she said it, I paused and had a little debate with myself in my head. I'm a pretty direct person, so a big part of me wanted to say something. But then there was that nice person in my head that said, "She didn't mean it that way! She was trying to be nice!" So I stayed silent and gave no acknowledgement to her comment. And to give that nice person in my head credit, this nurse was very sweet and helpful. My weight was never mentioned again. She took the time to sit with me and get all my information and told me to call her if she had any issues. She was doing a great job. I am sure, looking back, that she assumed that my weight was a problem for me because most people seem to be unhappy with their weight. Plus, I'm fat, so it's basically a law that I'm supposed to hate my body and constantly want to change it. Except, I don't hate my body anymore.
I won't pretend that I don't have days where I feel less than accepting of myself. Everyone does. But for the most part, I love me. I appreciate what my body is able to do and I have learned to enjoy movement (in fact, I plan to go out and ride my bike in this excruciatingly hot weather once I post this). I've learned to embrace my shape and size and, more importantly, come to the understanding that my body is not me. My body is the vehicle in which I live out my life's adventures and experiences, but I am not this body. All of that is a big deal for me to say because it took a long time to get here. I used to torture myself and my body by starving and bingeing and putting all kinds of unrealistic and unhealthy expectations upon it. I used to look in the mirror and constantly tell myself how ugly I was. When I started my recovery process four years ago, the idea of getting on a scale at a doctor's office was absolute torture. I had to go on backwards and ask that my weight not be revealed to me, because I couldn't know. I couldn't know without allowing that three-digit number to impact me in significant ways.
For me to stand on that scale today and casually move the scale to the appropriate fifty-pound interval without hesitation was a big deal. To not cry afterwards about the nurse's comment and take it deeply personally (all blog posting aside) was a big deal. As for "getting there", the only "there" I'm interested in is the day I can say that I am recovered. When I can put this all behind me with a healthy mind and a healthy body and close the door on my eating disorder for good. That's where I want to go.
If I could go back in time and get on that scale again, I would look the nurse in the eye, smile, and say, "I've already gotten there. You can't imagine how far I've come."