On Monday I had a total breakdown. My meltdown had absolutely nothing to do with my marathon training. It in fact, came from a whole other monster. It came from the scale.
After weeks of staying away from the scale in an attempt to not define myself by a number, I hopped back on. Much to my dismay I had not lost weight, but rather gained a few pounds. Now this weight could be added muscle, or simply a weight fluctuation, but I took it to heart.
I let the scale dictate my happiness, and thus I immediately fell into depression. I cried. I stood in my room, and cried because I had come to the conclusion that I would never have the body that I desired. I realized that I may never reach my goal weight and I immediately allowed for the word FAT to sneak back into my mindset and my vocabulary.
I let it get to me. I let the weight define me, again. I let it destroy my confidence and my self-esteem. It was truly awful. I was distraught and crying and hating myself.
But why? Why was I defining myself with a number? I am not a number, and I know that, but my whole life I have allowed society to tell me what perfect and thin and attractive is, and when I look in the mirror, I don’t think that I am any of those things.
So I torment myself, and put myself down, and look in the mirror and cry because I don’t look like how I think I should look based upon society’s standards, and that is awful.
But, yesterday morning was different. Yesterday I woke up, after a day of hatred and was suddenly accepting. I was accepting of my curves and my stomach and the state of my body. It was like something suddenly snapped inside me that told me that I was sexy and desirable, and perfect just the way I am.
So I am letting it go. I am letting the weight go, and refusing to define myself by it. Today, and from now on, I am embracing me, embracing me just the way I am.