Only a number.

Today I did the unthinkable for someone with an eating disorder. I weighed myself. I'm not really sure how I got to that point, to be totally honest. One minute as I was babysitting, I watched my 1-year-old nephew crawl on and off the scale. And the next minute, I was on the scale myself.

Weighing yourself - or knowing your weight period - might be the # 1 "no no" of an eating disorder. And the last time I did know my weight was pre-baby...and very deep in the middle of my eating disorder. I so very distinctly remember seeing that number - that number that supposedly told me how much of a success or a failure I was. A number that dictated how much I'd allow myself to eat that day. A number that literally was a part of my mentality every minute of every day. No exaggeration.

I'm still trying to figure out why I stepped on that scale in the first place today. I think it's because of what happened yesterday. Once a month, I have an appointment at an amazing local clinic. I meet with a dietitian who weighs me (and doesn't tell me) and checks in with how I'm doing with food and being pregnant and all. I also meet with a nurse practitioner who's the sweetest lady on earth; she talks me through any concerns I'm having. Heck, she even gave me a free, brand-new pack-n-play. I even have the option of meeting with a breast feeding consultant, which I'm sure will be helpful in the near future.

Anyway, this appointment is separate from my monthly appointment with my OB doctor. And I love it because they spend much more in-depth time with me than my OB doctor is able to. But the one thing that gets to me every month at this amazing clinic is when the dietitian shows me where I am on the chart - where I am weight-wise. Granted, I don't ever know the exact number, but the chart shows the low and high range for pregnancy weight - in congruence with how far along you are.

I think it's a chart thing...Seeing myself placed on a chart alongside the typical weight range just does something to me... Because the past two times, my weight is on the higher end of the average.

I always try to remind myself, "It's on the higher end of what's normal, and more importantly, where I should be." I guess I didn't remind myself of this well enough yesterday since I resorted to the scale at my sister-in-law's today.

You know, when I first saw the number flash on the scale in front of me today, I didn't believe it. I weighed myself a second and a third time. How could I possibly weigh this much? I've never weighed so much..

I stepped off the scale, completely shattered. All the classic thoughts from ED ran through my mind - Breanne, what have you done?! What a fat failure you are. Breanne, clearly you're eating too much. You're overfeeding yourself and your baby. Cut back. Cut back today. Breanne, enough with the cravings. No. more. milkshakes. No more treats or snacks of any kind. 

Not a good place to be. Not at all. But then I looked at myself in the mirror and had the thought, "...But I don't actually feel like I weigh that much. In fact, I feel a lot better than that." And then good thoughts flooded my mind instead. Well, of course you don't feel like you weigh that much! You're pregnant. You're supposed to get bigger because the baby weighs so much, as does all the amniotic fluid, and everything else that's growing! It's only a number. 

The last part of that thought is what hit me the most: it is only a number. A meaningless number on the scale. Who's to say that a number is going to tell me if I'm too fat or if I'm a complete failure. Why has that stupid number controlled my whole life? And why does it control all of society? All the time on Facebook, etc. I see ads for diets and "skinny" recipes and "tips for being skinny." Who do we allow to dictate what "skinny" even means?

If "skinny" means not eating and depriving my body and brain of necessary nutrients, I guess I don't really want to be skinny - even if it means I'm "less attractive" in the eyes of the world. That's not to say I'm taking my pregnancy as a chance to eat whatever I want, whenever I want, and however much of it I want. But it does mean I'll feed my body, my brain, and my sweet baby boy. And if I crave a milkshake at night every now and again, so what? As long as I eat a balanced intake of veggies, fruits, proteins - all that good stuff - it will be okay. 

So who cares what that number on the scale says? I know I certainly don't want to care. And hey, the fact that I'm actually in the healthy weight range for where I'm at in my pregnancy says I'm doing things right. It even says that my eating disorder isn't controlling my life anymore. Sure, ED has his moments, but he doesn't win in his attempts to make me spiral out of control anymore. And most importantly, that number tells me I'm taking care of my growing little boy.

So really, that number doesn't matter. What matters is eating healthy, feeding your body when it's hungry, and exercise (for the sake of feeling good and energized, not for the purpose of reaching a certain number on the scale). I need to stop caring if I'm a size 0 or a size 3 or whatever. I just want to be size healthy. And if that's a bigger size when I'm pregnant - duh. It needs to be! 

I guess you could say I'm grateful for this whole experience because of what it's taught me. And also because it reminds me of the numbers that are important in my life. Like the number of times I earnestly pray to my Heavenly Father. Or the number of times I offer comfort or help to someone. Or the number of times I feel my little guy kick. Or the number of kisses my nephews Deakon and Owen have given directly to my belly - as if they know who's inside already. Those are the kinds of numbers that really matter.

All the same, I may ask the dietitian to not show me that chart next month. And I may even ask my sister-in-law to hid the scale when I babysit. After all, it makes sense to avoid bad triggers. :) I'm just grateful so much good was able to come from this one.