Weight. And Weighing

In the years before I started taking Zepbound and before I lost weight, I never, ever stepped on a scale unless it was in a doctor's office and I hated that experience with all of my being. The reason I did not weigh myself is no mystery. I knew I was gaining weight and I simply did not want to know how much. When I had to weigh at a doctor's office, there was no denying how many pounds I had, in fact, gained in the last several years. 
I've always had a fucked-up relationship with the scales. When I was in high school, I flirted with disordered eating as so many girls do. Luckily, I was simply not cut out to starve myself to the point where I did actual damage to my body. But for awhile I became obsessed with keeping track of every calorie I consumed and weighing myself. I honestly cannot remember how long this lasted but I know my anxiety about my weight started probably in the second grade. Kids will be happy to point out the fatty in the class. Well meaning adults were happy to step up and express their worry about my weight. This included my P.E. teacher in the fourth grade who, under the excuse of talking about what a healthy diet was, picked me out of the class in front of the class and asked me what I'd had for dinner the night before in order to show the other kids what an obviously unhealthy diet was. Since a lot of the kids in my class were skinny due to everything from intestinal worms to simply not having enough to eat, this was not only cruel, but ridiculous. 
In college I became a vegetarian, mostly in hopes that I could control my weight like that. I wasn't too stressed about it all, as far as I can remember but I do recall a psychiatrist I was seeing for clinical depression asking me if perhaps my weight was making me unhappy. 
Actually, it wasn't. And actually, I believe I was probably gorgeous. And actually, at that point in my mental un-wellness, that question was not only absurd but horribly unhelpful. 

And so on and so forth. I struggled with my weight and my feelings of inadequacy due to thinking I was overweight for years after that. And then, after my first two children were born, I determined that what I needed to do was to get skinny. Fucking skinny. 
And I did. I cut down my caloric intake to a dangerous level and I began running. 
And this is the method I used for years to lose weight. 

After I had Lily, I found Weight Watchers and I learned how to eat in a relatively healthful manner and still lose weight and then maintain it. I loved Weight Watchers. It was great. It wasn't easy. I never quit craving the foods I did not allow myself to eat or that I could only eat a little of. But I became far more educated about diet. It was a constant struggle though, keeping track, once again, of everything I ate. And I was pretty darn compliant. 
Eventually, I decided to work for Weight Watchers and I did. I can't remember at exactly what period of my life that was. Possibly after my fourth child. I was a good Weight Watchers leader. I really was. I was good at speaking to a roomful of people, I was funny, I was empathetic as hell, I was properly educated on the program, and I believed in it. There were times, though, when I felt like some evangelical minister preaching the Gospel of Weight Watchers. 
And yet, I still believe the program has helped many, many people and even now, I don't think it has the earmarks of a cult. 
Besides that, their cookbooks have some of my favorite recipe and I'm not kidding. 

Anyway at that time, I weighed once a week and that was at work. All the employees had to chart their weight because we were all active members of Weight Watchers and weighing once a week was far better than stepping on a scale daily or, okay, more often than that. 
And to tell you the truth- I got a hell of a lot of positive reinforcement for being fit and thin. Not skinny. But slender, shall we say? And the reinforcement came not only from my fellow employees and class members, but from the people I knew and saw regularly. 
And I felt pretty darn good-lookin'. 

After I'm not sure how many years, though, I decided I'd quit working for Weight Watchers. The pay was shit, we'd just moved here to Lloyd where I was deeply and purely in love with my new house, and I had an agent for a book I'd written and wanted more time to spend on that. 
Fine. Good. 
But over the years, I quit keeping track of all my "points". The vast relief of not having to measure every fucking bite of peanut butter I ate was unbelievable. I still kept up a lot of my good habits and made meals that were healthy and I still walked regularly. 
And yet, with just that tiny lapse of discipline, I began to gain weight again. 
Which leads us to where I was when I started taking Zepbound which I have been doing for about seventeen months now. I was very overweight. Unhealthfully overweight. I had aches and pains that I knew were associated with what I was carrying around. As I so often mention, it was difficult for me to get up off the floor or ground. I felt...well, I felt old and unattractive, to say the least. I groaned every time I got up from the couch or a chair. I did not look into mirrors unless I had no choice about that matter. 
I was not only uncomfortable in my body, I was miserable in it. I did not want to be fat phobic. I did not want to judge my own body in ways that I would never judge another person's. 
And yet I did. 

Finally, at an appointment with Dr. Zorn who had NEVER ONCE commented on my weight, I asked him about the possibility of getting on a glp-1. And he helped me do that. 
From the first day I injected myself with it, my relationship with food changed utterly to such a degree that it was miraculous. 
And it was nothing like taking drugs that promised to "suppress the appetite". And who among us women who have struggled with their weight have not tried a few of those, both OTC and well, a bit more sketchy?
The Zepbound simply made it so that eating was not an overwhelming force in my life but something that was pleasant enough but not a major force in my life, always on my mind. 
And I mean always.
It's gotten a little less powerful after all these months but it's still a miracle and I still can eat just enough and that's all I need. 
Will I be on it for the rest of my life? 
As things stand right now, I believe I will. And that's fine with me. 

But ALL of this is to say that I ordered a new scale today. Since I began taking this drug, which I give myself every Friday, I have weighed once a week. 
Once a week. I am not tempted to weigh more than that and the only reason I do weigh myself is to keep an eye on things. I can tell you though, that I still have some of the same feelings about stepping on a scale as I always have. It's just far more manageable and far less toxic. 

That picture you see at the top? That is the scale Mr. Moon and I have been using to weigh on for the last twenty-something years. Or at least, he has. I've only being using it for the last seventeen months. I got that scale for cheap when Weight Watchers decided to get rid of all of those scales and replace them with scales probably made in the twentieth century. And it's been a good scale. It's hefty. It feels like something you can trust, like it's a professional scale. It's not a lightweight itself. It makes squeaking noises and clunking noises. It has been a trusty and trusted item that lives in my laundry room. 
However. In the last few weeks it has become less and less able to be balanced properly which one does with a screwdriver and that black rectangle looking thing on the left side. I believe it may have finally sprung a spring or...whatever these scales do to indicate an end-of-life situation. 
So today I sat down and did a little research on reliable scales which do not have to be paired with an app, do not attempt to analyze your bone density, do not calculate your body mass index. 
A scale that simply tells you what you weigh when you step on it. 
And I fucking ordered one. 
And I will use it once a week. 
I have no idea what we'll do with the old clunker. Perhaps Mr. Moon will want to keep it. Fine with me. But I'm done with it. 
I think. 

It's been a good Friday. Not a GOOD Friday, you understand, but a good one. I hung laundry on the line and have made up the bed with those nice, clean sheets. 

I turned on the garden sprinklers to give all of those plants a little drink of water. I took pictures of marigolds shining in the late afternoon sun. 

I did more weeding in the area by the gate. 

I still have this (the stuff you see in the back of that photo) to attack. 

I'm sort of excited. 

Maurice has been my girl. She slept with me last night and she followed me around today, making sure I knew that she was only in those places by accident. 

Oh wait. 

This is not Maurice but her sort-of doppelgänger who lives in the yard and under cars and I don't even know where. 
He's sort of really handsome, isn't he? 

And Steve! 
Here are the sea grapes. 

This is the largest one, the one I started from the seed of a sea grape seed I picked up off the ground in the parking area of a little museum situated between Sebastian Inlet and Wabasso Beach. 

These are the ones I've grown from tiny seedlings I got in Roseland. 

I doubt anyone but you, Steve, can appreciate the thrill I feel, having grown these myself in North Florida.

I know I wrote too much tonight. I'd say I'm sorry but I'm not. I am not asking anyone to read it all. 
I have a feeling though, that I am not the only woman to have experienced the same things, thoughts, feelings, and actions as I have in their lives as pertains to body weight and body image. 
And there may be some men, too, who can relate. Body dysmorphia and disordered eating is not entirely a female thing. At all. And I think it's becoming more and more of an issue. Social media makes it all so much worse. 

Well. Happy Friday. 

Love...Ms. Moon