Today I found myself thinking about my body again.
I am trying to be more accepting of it. What's interesting is that this is the work I do every day. I sit with people and help them untangle their "stuff," and so often that includes their relationship with their bodies. And still, here I am… trying hard, just like everyone else.
This morning, I took the scale out from under the sink. Even writing this makes me feel vulnerable. Honestly, getting on it is never easy for me. You would think that after all these years of working toward a healthier relationship with food and my body, it might feel more neutral. But it doesn't. It still carries something emotionally, not just physically.
And so I stepped on early, before the day really began. I have an upcoming doctor's appointment, and I wanted to get ahead of that moment, you know the anxiety that can creep in before you even realize it.
And then, a day or two later, a friend casually asked me how much I weigh. It was innocent. I know that. But I felt it in my body immediately, a tightening, a subtle shift. I could hear it in my voice when I responded. I think she noticed too. There's this assumption that if someone appears "thin," they must feel at ease in their body. That they don't struggle. But that's not always true. The question touched something deeper than I expected.
And that’s when I started to write. Writing is soothing to me. And I keep coming back to this: why does a number still hold so much power?
I know, logically, that it shouldn't. I remind others of this all the time. But there's a difference between knowing something and fully feeling it. And sometimes, there's still a gap. There's something deeply personal about attaching a number to your body, to yourself. It's not easy to separate the two. Our relationship with our body might be one of the most layered, complicated relationships we have.
I find myself wondering if this ever fully goes away. I don't have a clear answer. But I do know I'm not alone in it. And if you're reading this and it resonates, neither are you.
So today, I tried something different. I paused. Instead of going down the familiar path of criticism, I asked myself, what's really going on right now? And more often than not, it isn't about my body at all. When I can meet myself with curiosity instead of judgment, something inside me lets go and I can breathe. It becomes less about fixing and more about understanding. Sometimes the answer is movement like a walk, or putting on some music and going to workout. Other times it's quieter: writing, breathe work, reaching out to someone I trust.
These aren't solutions, exactly. They're just ways of coming back to myself.
The scale may always carry a certain “weight" for me. But I'm beginning to trust that those moments don't define me, and they don't define my relationship with my body. And so for now, I'll keep practicing, staying present and softening where I can. And if you’re somewhere in this too, just know that I am here.