My journey on “whole” self love: Numbers.
My mother’s ability to make me angry is an art, truly.
My mother’s ability to make me angry is an art, truly. For example, just now when filling out my passport info for me (Cause my writing is too messy and I would screw it up) she asked if I was going to put my boyfriend as a reference. I said yes, and then she says, “Should I put him down as a friend?”… I’m pretty sure you can be boyfriend/partner on a passport and you’re just being a bitch.
She also said I need to put my real weight on it. We don’t have a scale in the house and I have avoided the number because it honestly terrifies me to see what it might be. I told her to put down what’s on my drivers license, even though it’s false, and she said that it has to be right “and besides, maybe seeing the number will motivate you to lose some weight”. No. No, Mother. All that number will do is set in my head that I’m a cow and that I’m disgusting.
I’m still trying to achieve full body love and I think that if I were to see that number now, it might set me further back into my self-loathing. Just her mentioning it is making me fight an anxiety attack. My reply to her above statement was “A number doesn’t mean anything, Mom.” and she replied with, “Well, why are you so scared then?”… Just… what the hell is so wrong with me trying to love my whole self? I tell her about body positive blogs I read and how I’m trying to embrace and love all of who I am and I get shot down. It hurts that she isn’t on this journey with me and I know I need to overcome that in order to continue on with my self-love, but right now I’m sort of stuck.
This number is already looming over my head. But why should this number define my body? Even attempting to type out my estimated weight at this moment scared me so bad I had to go back and delete it. I’m not at that point with myself yet. It’s the same reason I can’t bring myself to turn anon on. I’m not confident enough yet to stand up to a lot of criticism, hate and this blasted number. I deal with the hate and criticism everyday and it’s hard enough to try to love my body without knowing the number, then if I do find it out.
The last time I found out sort of what I weigh was at Science World in Vancouver. There was a scale there to compare how much you weighed to certain animals. I weighed as much as my boyfriend and his bestfriend together. For the rest of that day, I couldn’t stop hating myself. It’s only been in the past few months that I’ve gotten over that weighing on me (haha) and now I’m going to, what? Throw out all the work I’ve done in loving myself and start from scratch? I know that this number will only affect me negatively because of my confidence level at the moment. My mom even inquired as to whether my doctor weighed me recently and I replied, “No, because even though I’m fat and have depression, arthritis and a knee condition, I’m actually pretty damn healthy. I get my blood pressure checked everytime I go and it’s normal and I’m doing fine. She doesn’t need to see my weight to figure out my health.”
This is my first real roadblock on this journey. I mean, I deal with all the negative comments, being laughed at, and all the bad days that every person gets but this is the first real obstacle I’ve faced since I began my fat-love quest.