In my journey towards mental well-being, I found myself needing an SSRI, specifically Prozac, after my previous medication, Zoloft, lost its effectiveness. Ironically, we chose Prozac because it had a lower tendency for weight gain compared to other options available to me.
I had embraced a wardrobe of dresses, avoiding the uncomfortable reality of tight jeans or ill-fitting tops. However, the truth was unavoidable: I had gained weight. Transitioning from a size 8/9 to a 14/16, or from medium to XL/XXL, was a startling revelation. I started purchasing dresses in XL, dismissing the snug fit as a result of my fuller bust.
On a summer morning, I looked in the mirror and realized my stomach resembled that of someone who was several months pregnant. A wave of panic washed over me—my body had changed. Though not “fat” by societal standards, this new size felt foreign. Once weighing 120 pounds pre-children, I found myself at the larger end of the spectrum for an average American woman.
In a moment of desperation, I discarded my Prozac, believing that my other medications would suffice. I thought the weight would simply shed itself without the SSRI. Initially, I lost a small amount of water weight, but when I stepped onto my ancient analog scale and saw 180 pounds, the tears flowed.
For many women in America, seeing a number like 180 can trigger feelings of inadequacy. I found myself questioning my worth, with my husband reassuring me that my appearance didn’t reflect that weight. There was a disconnect between the scale’s reading and how I felt about myself.
Determined to lose the weight, I adopted a strict modified paleo diet and began a Couch to 5K running program. However, after two weeks, the scale remained stubbornly at 180 pounds. I cried again, haunted by memories of how I looked after having my second child.
Despite my efforts, five weeks later, the scale still read 180. I had lost inches around my waist and was running longer distances, but the number on the scale was unchanged. My psychiatrist advised me to focus on how I felt rather than the number, but I couldn’t resist checking the scale once more.
When it still said 180, I kicked it under the dresser in frustration. My clothes fit better, my body felt stronger, and my energy levels had increased. I realized the scale was a detrimental presence in my life, much like a toxic relationship. Discarding it was liberating. I no longer cared about fitting into Lane Bryant sizes; I felt healthier and happier.
The number on the scale had the power to shatter my confidence, but I understood that my value was not dictated by it. The word “fat” carried negative connotations that didn’t apply to me; I rejected those labels. Now, when I receive compliments, I choose to accept them, knowing they reflect my journey rather than a number.
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In summary, shedding the scale from my life allowed me to embrace my body and experience true self-acceptance. The journey to self-love is about recognizing that our worth is not measured by weight, but by how we feel and care for ourselves.
Keyphrase: self-worth and body image
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