I finally made peace with my weight in late July after returning from vacation, and stopped trying so hard. And of course, as soon as I stopped trying, I lost weight.
I've been in a pretty good place since then, only stepping on the scale once every 1-2 weeks - a huge improvement from my daily weigh-ins of the past. And my weight's been staying in check, only fluctuating a pound or so.
Last Friday, I had a doctor's appointment and they weighed me. I hadn't weighed myself in 2 weeks, and hadn't thought twice about it. And then, in a matter of moments at the doctor's office, I slipped right back into weight obsession. The number on the scale was not at all what I was expecting to see. It was a good 5 pounds higher than when I last weighed myself. Now, intelligently, I know that I have to take that number with a grain of salt because there were several factors in play:
1) I was fully clothed
2) I had already eaten a big breakfast and washed it down with an even bigger coffee
3) Ahem, that time of the month...
Despite all this, I haven't been able to stop thinking about it. And since then, I have felt like every pair of pants is just a little bit more snug than I remember...
In the midst of all this obsessing, I manage to snap out of it for a minute or two, and have some rational thoughts:
- I'm happy and healthy, without starving myself - so who cares about that number?!
- It's just a number, and it's prone to fluctuating
- I exercise daily and eat a healthy diet, and that hasn't changed even though the number went up
The husband thinks I'm completely crazy! He much prefers my current shape to the 102-pound me of a year ago. And he makes some valid points when I bring up my weight (not the least of which is the fact that I talk about it too much!!).
Anyway, all this rambling to say that the moral of the story is that I think I've finally come to the realization that my lowest weight isn't my healthiest (or happiest) weight.