“Don’t tell me my weight, please” I said sheepishly at the doctor’s office as I climbed on the scale backward. I’d been asking for blind weights for a couple of years since being in recovery. Yet, it was still a struggle.
I knew I had to ask to be weighed blindly every time I went to the doctors for the sake of my recovery. I realized that day at the doctor’s office that this small yet substantial request seemed so monumentally difficult to do for two reasons:
The first reason is that part of me WANTED to know my weight. By this point in my recovery, I’d come to name that particular part “Ed.”
I knew that Ed wanted to know if I’d lost weight. That way he could celebrate my “win” and encourage further restriction. Or he wanted to know if I’d gained, so he could plot exactly how to atone for my sins.
The second reason for making this request was that it was still so difficult to voice what I truly needed. In recovery and in life.
But using my voice about receiving blind weights doesn’t stop when I step off the scale. No, voicing my needs at the doctor’s office translates into my life in so many ways.
When my body has had enough exercise, I can say, “it’s time to rest.” When my job wants me to work through lunch, I can say, “it’s time to eat.” When my doctor wants to put me on a medication that will drastically impact my weight or hunger cues, I can say, “it’s time to think.”
It has been this process of finding my voice that has been truly healing for my recovery and life. Through it, I have found the ability to be self-confident. And that’s something that I needed when I found myself developing an eating disorder, to begin with.
Remember, the simple act of requesting that blind weight is not only an act for your recovery. It is also a profound act of self-care. And couldn’t we all use a little more self-care in our journeys towards healing?
So eventually when I went to the doctor’s office and said, “don’t tell me my weight, please,” I did so with confidence. I had found my voice.