I finally followed up with my doctor regarding last week’s urgent care adventure.
One of the bad things about being a Navy wife is having to change doctors every 3 years or so. Not this time! I wasn’t a huge fan of my doctor in Florida so I was NOT sad to leave him at all. I was, however, SUPER bummed when we moved to Florida and I had to leave my doctor in Maryland. I loved her.
I’ve had 2 doctors that I’ve really connected with and, interestingly enough, they were both women, athletes, and moms. They got me. I miss them.
My new doctor is a woman, she’s in pretty decent shape so I’m betting that she works out, and I learned that she’s a Navy wife! We didn’t get into a huge discussion – there were lots of sick and coughing patients in the waiting room – so I don’t know about kids, etc but first impressions are important and this one was good.
And then there was the moment with the scale.
I hate the scale.
I shouldn’t hate the scale but I do.
I’m healthy (blood pressure’s under control, thankyouverymuch!), I eat well, I exercise regularly and one step onto the scale and I feel as if I’m being judged.
Not weighed so my doctor will know what dosage amounts of medicine to give me should I need them but JUDGED.
Judged for that Dove Dark Chocolate Promise I had after lunch.
Judged for eating almond butter in my oatmeal at breakfast and peanut butter on my banana at snack.
Judged for having a second glass of wine.
Or for a piece of amazingly delicious double chocolate bundt cake with chocolate ganache that I made for my grandma.
And the scoop of vanilla ice cream I had with it.
Now, I know that muscle weighs more and, with CrossFit as a normal part of my “diet,” I’m going to have some of that (hopefully) and that inevitably pushes the number up a little but still …
I kinda freak out a little as the nurse pushes the weight bar and it stops at a higher tick mark than I would prefer.
The sound of it dropping into that little slot resonates through my brain like a gun shot.
Where does that come from?
Why should it even matter?!
Now, I know my doctor isn’t judging me and I’m pretty sure the nurse isn’t judging me either.
Am I being judged then by the scale?
Hm. Probably not.
So, basically, I’m judging myself.
On a preconceived notion of beauty determined by society.
Am I thin enough? Am I tall enough? Is my butt too big or too small? (seriously, botox injections for your butt? No.) My boobs aren’t big enough. My boobs are too big. When I smile, I look like I have a double chin. My teeth are crooked. My nose is too big.
I need to stop.
We ALL need to stop.
Beauty is not determined by the number on the scale.
Beauty comes from within.
Pretty sure the scale isn’t going to measure the beauty of my soul.
It’s hard to remember that though, after sitting in the waiting room reading trashy magazines where stars and starlets are called out for the Best and Worst Beach Bodies or put on the “baby bump” list because maybe they’re shapely and curvaceous or their pants don’t fit well or they were photographed from a bad angle.
And then, your name is called and it’s your turn and the first place they take you is the scale.
Your “weighing in.”
For the prize fight in which you are about to compete.
Good grief, if your doctor’s appointment is like a boxing or wrestling match, maybe it’s time you found a new doctor!
Seriously, if you are trying to lose weight for HEALTH, then stepping on the scale is a good thing. To track progress. To celebrate accomplishments.
But, judging yourself and your worth based solely by the number you see?
Coincidentally, I decided that I needed to start using the My Fitness Pal app again.
I started today, as a matter of fact.
I only use it occasionally and mostly to track my ration of protein, fats, and carbs to make sure I’m getting enough. There was a point in time where I was definitely not getting enough protein and my workouts were faltering. I didn’t realize that was the problem until I used the app and it helped me adjust my diet accordingly.
This time, though?
Not for the same reason.
I’m embarrassed now, after all the words I’ve written above, to share with you why I felt it necessary to start again.
I feel like my face looks too round. And maybe a little chunky.
I know. I’m lame.
As you can see in the picture, I come by the roundish face somewhat naturally.
It’s kinda in my genetic make-up.
Which makes me even more lame for being self-conscious about it.
I think I’m going to uninstall the app from my phone.
And then, I’m going to go for a run.
And celebrate the things my body can do and is good at.
And then, I’m going to give Thing 2 a hug (yep, a big ole SWEATY hug) and celebrate the fact that my body MADE her. And her sister. Whom I can’t hug because she’s a few states away. I’ll call her instead.
And, I want you to do the same!
Well, your preferred form of exercise is acceptable. You don’t HAVE to run. You do have to hug your own kids though. Not mine.
But, I want you to celebrate YOU.
And then look in the mirror and say -
Yep, I’m awesome. I kick ass. And, I’m BEAUTIFUL!
Because you are.
Talk to me: I’d appreciate your thoughts on this and would love to hear anything you want to share.