It’s Tuesday, which means that it’s my Weight Watchers weigh-in day. This also means my many weigh-in day rituals are in full effect. First of all, my clothing. I wear the same outfit every Tuesday. Okay, not the same exact clothes (I’m not a psycho, although some would argue this point). I wear a variation of the same outfit each week. I have numerous pairs of the same style of L.L. Bean pants that I wear every Tuesday. I have a rainbow of Lands’ End long-sleeve tees, also in the same style. A variation of this outfit must be worn each week. I also eat the same amounts of the same foods, I drink the same amount of coffee, and I skip the insane amounts of water I am supposed to be drinking.
When it’s my turn at the scale, it’s time to strip. The receptionist says, “Next,” and I immediately begin taking things off. The shoes come off, my ratty Old Navy sweater (worn due to variations in temperature in my school and to protect me from children who decide to use me as a canvas for their art) is tossed aside, my pockets are emptied, and I put my ever-present glasses down. Then I step onto the scale and wait.
I realize all of this probably sounds a bit, well, obsessive, but I never want to blame my clothes or the items in my pocket for a gain or credit them for a loss. This is on me, not what covers me. I have been clothed for way too long in varying thicknesses of metaphorical clothing, from a heavy 300-pound parka to a light fleece jacket to absolutely everything in between. I am tired, quite exhausted actually, from carrying these heavy items of clothing around. I want to be the person who walks into a room and one immediately notices her, not her clothing. Actually, since I tend to be quite reserved, better to not notice me at all, which is fine with me. Because at the weights I have been, what I have been noticed for is my weight, not for myself. People don’t look you in the eye when you are overweight, they look you down and up, feet to head, before they notice anything else. They are too polite to say anything, of course, but you know they are deciding if you’ve gained or lost since the last time they saw you. And this, my friends, is called judgment.
I don’t want that anymore. Just notice me. With all of my quirks and flaws and no matter what my yo-yoing weight is up to this year. Just see me.
So it’s ever onward every Tuesday for me. Stripping down and weighing in. Doing the little rituals that keep me honest. Losing some of me to, hopefully, become more of myself.