Fat? Again?

I struggle with what to write on here. It's not the same thing as writing to myself, as I often do, but instead I'm writing to any random person that might stumble on my little page. So I pick things that might...may...help someone else. So here's my next topic that seems to be a common issue, I've found.

I'm fat again. Or am I?

I've spent my whole life focused on weight. My mom was very focused on weight. I was praised for being skinny. So that was one of the main places I found my worth.

For some odd reason, I picked the number 100# or under, to be an acceptable weight for my 5'3", athletic frame in high school. I was 105#. So I was fat. As one does, I got older, and in my mind, fatter. I put my woman weight on. I was 115# in college. Didn't matter that I worked out regularly. That I was in small clothing. The scale was over the weight I deemed acceptable. I was fat.

Out of school. At the gym. I was poor. I didn't have a scale at home. A trainer decided he was going to guess my weight. 130#. I freaked out. I was so offended. I stepped on the scale.

130#.

What!? I cried. I cried when I looked in a mirror. Avoided them all together.

Marriage. I tried. I did fairly well maintaining the 135 to 140 range, but 4 kids, and 7 years later, I had creeped up to 180#. At this point I had just accepted that I was overweight. Morbidly obese, according to BMI.

Morbidly Obese.

I just accepted it. I looked back on old photos. High school. College. All the years I thought I was fat. I'd kill to see those numbers on a scale again, but this was me now. Embrace it. So I did. I was tired of cramming my fluffy body into smaller clothes. So I went to the store and bought clothes that fit me. Funnily enough, the act of buying clothes. The sizes repulsed me enough that I found new motivation to lose weight. I started dropping weight. Lost 20# on the program Noom. I had been into fitness my whole life, but Noom helped me understand the psychology behind why I was gaining weight. It also taught me health shouldn't be about the number on a scale, but how you feel. Most importantly it taught me to get up and move. Didn't have to be a work out. Just move more.

Found Jiu-jitsu. Next thing you know, I'm 112#. I found community. Friends. Motivation, and I was moving. I was a size 2 in pants. XS in tops.

I had a thigh gap.

I was fat.

I could look in the mirror and the only thing I could see was the excess skin on my belly.

At this point I knew I wasn't fat. I wasn't going to make the same mistake again. Mentally I knew I was small. Didn't matter what my eyes told me. I would focus on the cold hard facts. What others told me, and the size of my clothing. Not what I told myself. I would silence the voice in my head. I didn't know how to be kind to myself, but I didn't have to be mean either.

These last couple of years have been stressful ones. I've gained weight back. I'm around 135# again. My life has completely changed. I have learned not to obsess over the scale. I know not to trust the mirror. I'm active.

And then...

Then I ordered a new rashguard. I wanted a loose fit, so I sized up, but in the act of sizing up, I started to spiral.

The joking comments people have been making about my weight? My clothes fitting tighter. I was 135# but 135# wasn't 180#. Am I fat again?

Yes. You're fat again.

That familiar voice slammed into my brain. It felt like a cascading waterfall I was trying to catch in my cupped hands. Couldn't stop it. It flowed.

I let it run it's course. I sat in it.

It made me think of someone that's at my gym. They are very physically fit, and they regularly comment on being fat to themselves when they are frustrated with their performance. It doesn't appear to be attention seeking behavior. I think they really believe it. They are trapped, just like me.

I think I will forever be stuck in that area of my mind. It will never be healthy, but one thing I can do, is focus on the fact that my worth isn't about the number on the scale. Heck. It isn't even about what I see in the mirror. It isn't about what people think or say about me.

My worth is that I was "fearfully and wonderfully made"

I have worth, because I was given worth by my creator. Value, because He died for me.

The King of Kings. Died for me.

Who am I to dismiss what He says I'm worth because of a number on a scale? Because I'm a little softer than I think I should be? Because I don't measure up to someone else's standards?

I have value.

I will tell myself this today, and every day.

Reflecting on it now...it seems so trivial to put so much weight on one's weight (see what I did there? Sorry, not sorry...) It seems so silly, and laughable.

Yet, here I am at 5:56AM spiraling because I sized up on a rashguard. face palm

The struggle is real.