Numbers Suck.

So, I'm breaking up with my therapist. Not that she did anything wrong, it's just time. I started with her just before I got my lapband about 2.5 years ago. She specializes in eating disorders and is a credit to her profession. But I'm doing well, I'm comfortable in my life (mostly) so I suggested we break up. She was good with it, but asked for a transition period of 3 months....I said, "How about one month?" We agreed on two. Yeah, seems long, but it's not like I went for 6 free insurance-covered sessions to tackle a little hiccup in my life - this has been long-term, deep work, and I'm good for transitioning carefully.

That said, since she is the eating disorder expert, I've been using these last sessions to talk about food issues and weight issues. Seems like a good spend of my therapy-dollar, no? This week we talked a lot about numbers.

Numbers suck. Let me show you some:

- When I was somewhere between 9-13, I remember counting up my calories for the day with my mom (1200, of course). I was at 1197...she said "Well, you can go try and inhale 3 calories if you like."
- Age of my first diet: 5
- Pounds lost on said first diet: 23 (I gave up Kool-Aid and desserts)
- Highest weight: 262 (a
- Lowest weight: In 5th grade, I remember I was already tipping the scales at 135. The next thing I remember is high school....at 180ish most of the time.
- Clothes size seems to speak to everyone...."what are you? at 2? 4?" In L.A., a 4 is seriously obese. That is insane.
- Last, the numbers place that sucks most: THE SCALE.

Why do we use this crude and brutal tool to evaluate our self-worth daily? Oh wait, that's just me that does that. And my therapist informed me, "That's sick. Let's just get that out on the table." Really? Honestly, I've used my weight as the day's gauge of my value for oh, looks like about 32 years...if the number is good (that is, lower than the day before), then I'm a good girl. If the number goes up - no matter if I'm bloated, having pooped or just happened to eat a big dinner - then I am the requisite piece-of-shit (POS) of the house. No, of society. Really, I do think like this. She said, "What would you feel if after a week you gained weight?" My response, "That I failed for an entire week, rather than just the usual one day." Oy vey, Jennifer.

Now, don't think me a giant headcase. I'm not...not so much anymore, anyhow. But it's still a daily struggle not to use these numbers as my own personal little report card on The State of Jenn. Good Jenn eats *perfectly*, exercises with vigor *every single day* and is energetic and motivated *at all times.* Bad Jenn skips a day of hot yoga. She eats a potato, even a small one is a sin, even if it fits in the day's calories. Bad Jenn is a lazy-sac-of-shit on a Sunday when it's rainy and cold.

Ok, not always. And that is the good news! Now I can do all the "Bad Jenn" things and balance them out with the Good Jenn achievements. That said, I am setting a goal to wake up and instead of my first thought being "How will I lose weight today?" it will be "How am I going to spend my day?"

Step 1: Get off the bloody scale. My therapist said to go a week without weighing myself. Somehow, this seemed equivalent of asking for me to give up my Mac for a week, or my iPhone. Or something of critical value. So I called on my way home and asked Jill to just hide it. Get it out of here for a week. What is the worst that could happen? I gain a few pounds (she suggests, cringing and having her stomach turn over)? See, that's my visceral response. And it blows. Because even if I did, would the world really end???

What she did remind me is this: I'm eating well and not struggling with it much at all. I'm going to hot yoga almost daily - and with a joy and excitement I've never been able to integrate with exercise before. I'm doing it all right! And what the scale says really doesn't change that fact. So here we go - a week without weighing. I wonder how I'll fill that time....