It’s been seven years since I owned a scale. Back then, I was 19, and obsessively chronicling my calories, workouts, and incremental weight changes. 105 one day. 106 would send me into a panic attack. 106.5 put me over the edge. When a handful of months later, I’d find out I was 121, my world would turn upside-down.
Yes, I was one of those young women who, by all clinical definitions, had an eating disorder. I can’t exactly tell you how I came out of it. I tend to think I just outgrew it. But if eating disorders are about extreme method and control, then my exodus was something of a doodled roadmap, an attempt to stop thinking so much. Which I guess is why I can’t really remember the progress. But I can remember one thing: the women’s magazine article voice in my head telling me, “Beauty is not a number. Throw out your scale, Scary Spice! Fill your fridge with broccoli and Yoplait non-fat yogurts! Write down daily affirmations! Buy some self-tanner! This is how you’ll be a better you!” Keep reading »