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Why I Got Rid Of My Bathroom Scales (My Weight Loss Story)

A person steps onto a pair of bathroom scales. The flloor is wooden and there is sunlight streaming in from the side

This bathroom staple was bad news for my weight loss journey, here’s how.

I want you to take a good look at the below image, and tell me, in which photo do I look healthier, 2004 or 2008?

Now look again,

Do you see? What you see in 2007 is a young woman who is gripped by anorexia. I was gripped with the fear of being unloveable and unhealthy, so I worked out what weight I had to be the ‘ideal’ BMI of 25, and then I went at it my weight loss to get there, and I’d do whatever it took to stay that way.

I was obsessed with staying the ‘ideal’ weight.

To my mother, I was gorgeous and pretty. To my then-boyfriend (now, luckily, my husband) I was a pain in the ass.

But this is what weight loss and dieting can do to you if you’re not careful, and this is why I’ve refused to have a relationship with my bathroom scales ever since.

Don’t get me wrong, in recent days I know that I have gone a bit too far the other way. I am definitely a larger woman now (I blame my husband for introducing me to some wonderfully unhealthy things!) and I definitely do know that I need to lose some weight. But you know what? Now I’m doing weight loss for myself, and I’m enjoying the journey along the way.

This whole new thought process started about 3 weeks ago when I thought about joining a WeightWatchers regime class. I couldn’t be the only one who thought the very idea of weighing yourself publicly seemed bizarre? It turns out, I was far from alone (NB. Bit of an old post).

So that was me decided. Neither WeightWatchers, Slimming World, or any of those other weight loss programmes are right for me.

To be honest, any time I’ve looked at any of those recipes, they just… well… don’t look particularly tasty to me. I’m not a fan of sweet potato or aubergine, for one.

Come to think, I’m not sure who would do more tricks for raw carrot, me or the dog. Alas, I digress.

Lately. I’ve been a very, very bad girl. A bit better than I used to be, but still a bad girl.

I was in bad habits, and I used to eat 4 chocolate chip digestives with a cup of tea as ‘breakfast’ because it was about all I had ‘time’ to eat.

Aware that I needed to change, I had a discussion last week with Matt, about my past. I pointed out that I refused to go back ‘there’, back to my old way of being. To me, a size 16 would be perfect, curvaceous and shapely.

“If you get to a size 16, I’ll be very, very happy.”

His tone was clear – if I got to a size 16, he’d have a tough ol’ time resisting me.


So this morning, I changed the routine. I had 30g of Tesco’s dark chocolate crisp granola, topped off with 1% milk, and then I took the dog for a brisk walk afterwards.

I get it, my choice of cereal contains dark chocolate, but why should I deny myself the most important things in life, pleasure, and happiness?

Our walk started off quite briskly, but after about 20 minutes, we slowed down to enjoy the scenery. Sure, my back hurt, but this was more about something else. As I lifted my chin and felt the winter sunlight on my hair through the winter trees, this was about more than just exercising, this was about living.

It was about the simple, small little things.

We can exercise to stay alive, or we can exercise to live.

With the sun on my auburn hair, I smiled and I felt the most beautiful I have felt in quite some time. Neither from being fat, nor from being thin, but just by being me. Simply and presently me. If I hadn’t gone, I wouldn’t have had some gentle exercise, nor experienced this moment of being. Isn’t that what living should be?

Aware of my desire to change, I stared at the bathroom scales last night. What were they to me? A tool of my health? Or a way to control my very being? Unsure if I was just being lazy, I researched my way of thinking. Once again, there were others who thought like me

I decided that I’m not going to give away my bathroom scales, nor am I going to bin them. Instead, they are going out for recycling. You see, by giving my scales to some other poor soul, I inflict the pain and suffering of being controlled by the digits on them. Nobody, ever, should have to go through the mental pain, anguish and control of anorexia.

Health is not a number on a scale nor the digit at the front of the rack. Health is measured by how much you do and how you choose to live. Anyone is beautiful without single figure clothes sizes or extensive beauty regimes. When you get to know the person inside, you realise that true beauty is far more than skin deep.

If you want to be healthy, remember:

Laugh and smile often, because even if the scales didn’t move downwards today, you are beautiful anyway!

Until next time,

Stay safe & have fun,

Helen xx

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