Hello everyone! Today I’m bringing you another guest post to go along with this week’s series focusing on body confidence and acceptance. This post was written by Rebecca from Rebecca Chapman, a blogger who I totally admire and respect. I’ve been following her blog for months now, and I just love all of her posts, especially 10 Signs of a Reading Addiction, Total Rebecca Move, Are You Gonna Have Kids?, and so many more! You need to check out her blog now if you haven’t before, or even if you have, because her posts are always top-notch and relatable. So please read her awesome post below and head on over to her site to learn more about her!
Most of my life I was thin. Overly thin. So thin that I never thought about what I ate or if it would make me gain weight. Until about a little over the year ago I never cared what the scale said. But now that I’m older, I’m not quite as thin.
Now I stand on the scale compulsively. Each and every morning it’s like a ritual. I take all my clothes off to get in the shower, I stand in front of the mirror and pull at all the fat I see around my waist, as if I could stretch it away, and I weigh myself. The number is never nice. It wouldn’t matter what it was, I would be unhappy. And it makes me start my day in a funk.
Still, I am not that number my scale flashes back at me. So many other numbers make up the person that I am other than that silly number that’s just my relationship to gravity.
The scale should say 3 – which is the number of years I’ve loved my husband.
Or it could say 12 – the number of months I’ve been his wife.
It could say 28– which is the number of weeks I’ve blogged consistently. The number of weeks I’ve committed myself to a goal or a dream seriously for the first time in my life without giving up.
What about 4706 give or take a few? That’s the number of days I’ve woken up with a chronic illness and still gotten out of bed.
I’ve still faced the day with a smile on my face even if some days were painful.
One. That’s the number of days I’ve slowly gotten healthier and stronger since having a major surgery.
Or the number 4. That’s the number of faces I look forward to coming home to every night (3 of them are furry faces) but they love me just the same.
8949 is the number of days that I’ve collected memories, accomplished challenges, fought battles, loved hard and become me. I’ve become a me that has absolutely nothing to do with what the number the scale says. And one day when I’ve reached my last number to collect, I think I will wish I had spent less time worrying about what I looked like and more time being happy. More time loving myself and the people around me.