*WARNING: May be triggering, numbers are mentioned so read on with caution!
Hey everyone, I hope you’ve all had a fantastic weekend. Mine went by too fast, but I was really busy and I enjoyed my family time at home.
In fact, my weekend was really great! Everything was going just fine—I had a fun time shopping with my sister, I enjoyed a trip to Starbucks and a gelato place, I made dessert, had time in the hot tub, watched Saturday Night Live, went to church…and then, BAM! I got weighed, and everything went downhill from there.
I hadn’t been weighed in over a month, since my doctor’s appointment. I was 90 lbs then, which my doc agreed was a healthy weight for me. I think she said as long as I stayed at or above the 90 mark, I was pretty good, even though it’s still underweight. I was happy to hear that.
Suddenly, just as I was about to go back to school after Christmas break, I started to get really intense ED moments. For no good reason, I felt fat and so I started restricting. Not too extremely, just a couple hundred cals below what I normally was doing. But I pretty much did that for four weeks. By the fourth week, I tried to start eating a little more, and I was feeling less and less controlled by my eating disorder. I was still probably eating a little less than I should have. I was scared my mom was going to weigh me the first weekend I came home, and she didn’t. But just before we left today to take me back to school, she weighed me. I was 94 lbs.
I tried so hard not to cry. I did not understand at all. How could I have gone up 4 lbs after having restricted for nearly a month? I knew in the back of my mind that my true weight wasn’t actually 94—the clothes I was wearing possibly added 2 lbs, and I had eaten recently before. Plus, at the doctor’s, I was wearing less, so 90 probably was my real weight, and now I was probably 92. But still. I just did not get it.
We went to a celebration-type service at church soon after I got weighed, and I hated it because all I could think about was plans to restrict, how fat I was, blah blah blah. I couldn’t really enjoy the service, and that made me mad that I let ED control me like that. Especially after I talked about in a recent post about how the number on the scale shouldn’t define you. And what was I doing—letting my weight define how I felt. I felt like such a hypocrite.
After the service, my mom noticed how sad I looked, and she obviously knew what was up. I started crying, and I didn’t really care that we were out in public. I felt so crappy right then. But she pulled me aside and told me how proud she was of me, and reminded me how my weight fluctuates. It made me feel a little better, but then I had to say goodbye for another 12 days, so I still was kinda sad.
My dad drove me back to school, and we stopped for dinner at this burger place. It’s really environmentally-friendly and everything and luckily, they have other non-red-meat options. I got the Portobello mushroom burger and it was super-delicious. I also got edamame on the side. It was a good dinner, but I was still so preoccupied with my weight.
|Not my picture (go here), but this is what I got for dinner.|
I’m so thankful for all the support you guys give me, so I think I should ask for some right now. I don’t want to slip back, but I absolutely hate this feeling right now. I hate having ED control me because I went up a couple pounds. Part of me is scared that I’m going to keep gaining, so I think I have to restrict. And the more rational part of me is saying that with all the factors, I’m not the ‘scary’ weight I think I am and even if I was, it’s nothing to be ashamed about. I really just need to take the time to sort out my feelings in a healthy way, without turning to restriction or over-exercising.
Thanks for reading such a long post and I hope you’re all doing okay, too!