I once came across an image of two little girls looking down at a bathroom scale. This was the caption:
“Don’t step on it. It makes you cry.”
Troubling.
Indeed, as a child, I had my own painful association it. There was once a time when I only saw a weird square in our bathroom. I didn’t give it much attention; I was more interested in the blue windmill stencil designs lining the tub and my rubber ducky. It was just a square, taking up space.
However, suddenly, Mom placed me on this square – and I became conscious of what I weighed. Apparently, it wasn’t a good digit as, with more frequency, I needed to get on this square. Now, suddenly, I had a “weight problem.”
And ever since, I no longer see just a square.
Throughout my childhood and adolescence, it dictated my worth, which was never good enough, always too big and always too heavy.
That drove me to eating disorders, with the hope as I became more punishing of myself, more “dedicated,” well, then my two-digit weight as a young adult would mean triumph. It, however, never really did become that reality, of course. Because, I could always lose more weight and somehow, magically, “be better.”
On and on and on I went, into my own hell…
