The Scale Read 212 lbs and I Broke Down

I was beyond the scale of curvy, now.

Photo by i yunmai on Unsplash

I stared at the numbers in disbelief. Surely there was something wrong with the scale. I stepped off, then back on again. It still read the same numbers, the little red stick bouncing back and forth as I shifted my weight around.

That meant I was over 200 lbs. And, not just by a pound or two. Legitimately over. That meant I was really and truly fat. I couldn’t hide behind stupid sizing or my big boobs, anymore. Because, unless you’re getting terrifying implants, your breasts aren’t going to weight 50 lbs.

Like every other woman in the history of time, I’ve struggled with weight. I never jumped on any fad diets or starved myself. I was always a fairly active child, keeping that same level of activity into my teenage years. It meant that my adolescent metabolism would eat away at the intense amount of calories I thew at it.

And, throw I did. A box of Kraft dinner, eaten as a snack right after school didn’t seem weird. I’d wake up starving. I’d be hungry in between classes. I’d be ravenous at lunch. I’d eat a snack, a bowl of rice krispies and banana, before bed. And, yet, I was skinny.

While I knew I was decently slim, I never thought I was skinny. At least not until looking back at photos of me where I look very…