Pocrescophobia and Me


It takes a lot of courage to admit that I was deathly afraid of “getting fat” for almost 15 years of my life.

More than losing a loved one.

More than failing college.

More than the end of a lifelong friendship.

More than holding onto a job that I loved.

More than dying.

For almost 15 years of my life, the ONLY thing that mattered was what the scale said.

It told me if I was Good. Bad. Worthy. Unlovable. Fat. Enough.

I had “good” times. When I started college, I lived on lettuce, Bacos, and Cold Stone ice cream a few times a week. I was shocked as my clothes continued to get bigger. I was working out my usual 1 to 1-1/2 hours a day and sleeping a ton. I figured I was just tired from so many new life changes.

SURELY, it couldn’t be because my poor body was literally shutting down from starvation.

I came home after the first month and my mom was horrified by my appearance. I thought she’d be excited because I was even SMALLER. That’s the point, right?! Keep losing! She said people actually expressed concern to her after seeing me at a football game. I was pissed to say the least. I figured they should be proud, not concerned. I was SMALLER.  That’s the POINT!

I weighed myself 3 times a day on top of my desk. I’d move my closet door so my roommate wouldn’t know. I made sure that I wore the same outfit (sports bra and shorts, because I had to know the weight was accurate). It was at the same time of the day.

If I was the same, I was mildly satisfied. If I had gained, I immediately shrunk down into despair and began my plan of “attack” at the gym for the next day; how I could get more time there because I was obviously slacking. If I lost, I binged. Sometimes it was a whole box of cereal in a sitting. Because I could! Because I WON!

So.messed.up.

There’s a HUGE difference between needing to lose weight because it’s dangerously affecting you and being dangerously obsessed with a number on a scale because it’s a form of control.

I don’t even have a scale in my house now. I haven’t for years. It’s not motivating to me to see a number I don’t want to see. Not anymore. That ship has sailed.

My focus now is to do my best- move daily in a way that doesn’t feel like punishment, eat all foods in moderation, and give myself the love I’ve always yearned for. My body will end up where it ends up.

I’m encouraging you to give yourself the freedom you so deserve. Smash the shit out of your scale and never look back. A battery operated machine should NEVER get that kind of power. Dig deep and discover your inner power- and let that be all you need to treat yourself right with food and exercise.

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