When will the scale tell me I’m “good enough”?

I feel defeated. It seems like every time I try to make progress (or actually make progress) that something derails me lately. I started eating better and walking again in November... then COVID hit our family. I started again on the workout track after my mom’s intense battle with COVID, only to be crushed again... this time with a kidney stone. 

I’m nervous about the procedure and the anesthesia and what comes afterward as I try to pass the fragments. And I’m scared long term of not rediscovering this motivation again once the pain passes. But I’m so tired of spending my life hating what stares back at me in the mirror. I’m so exhausted with the obsession over my appearance and the guilt, shame, and depression it brings me. 

I recently polled on Facebook whether an overweight/chubby woman could still be attractive.  Sixty-two women commented in the affirmative. But it still makes me wonder if it’s true or if we just tell ourselves that. If we can tell other women that but can’t see it in ourselves, then are we really attractive?  Because that suggests to me the lack of self-confidence that everyone claims is essential for beauty. Yet in my experience that’s a totally bogus claim. I once had a ton of confidence, but it apparently didn’t make me attractive.  I know I’m not the only woman in this fight.  Why is weight (specifically lower weight) synonymous with or rather indicative of beauty?  

I’ve been so desperate for God to lift that burden off me. To help me be content in whatever state (i.e. whatever weight). I realize that requires work and effort for me, but what if I can’t ever drop this weight again?  Can I ever see myself and not loathe the woman I’ve become?  

I was clearing out old digital notes the other day and found this note to self, written some time last year. I think it’s still a worthwhile pursuit though, if I can actually convince myself that these things matter more than the number on the scale or the size on the tag in my pants.

Goal weight in 2020:

Whatever weight I am when...

*I stop looking at other women and saying, “I wish I looked like her.”

*I’m not ashamed of how I look in my clothes or of my reflection in the mirror. 

*I’m not ashamed for my husband to stare at my body. 

*I can lift weights and feel strong again. 

*I can run a 5K again. 

*I can hike without my lungs and back hurting. 

*I feel like I could kick someone’s *butt* if I had to. 

*I start wanting to take pictures of the memories I make with my husband and family and friends. 

*I don’t dread shopping for clothes. 

I might add to that list now, when...

*I don’t flinch to have to weigh in front of my husband or tell the nurse my weight if he takes me to an appointment or stays with me. 

*I’m not terrified of anesthesia if I have to undergo a surgical procedure.

*I can look at my body happily in mirrors or reflective glass like I used to, seeing the positive and not the negative. 

*I can shop easily at any store, not just specialty stores.

*I can celebrate my curves and not feel like others are snickering.

*I can enjoy going out in public and not give a second thought to whether I measure up to any passers by. 

*I can relax around others who are dressed immodestly instead of being obsessed whether they have more to offer than I. 

*I stop feeling replaceable. 

Whether I’m looking at the number on the scale or compare myself to either of these lists, I still fall short. I wonder if I will ever feel the curse lift of hating the skin I’m in. I wish I could remember where I got the photo above from to give it proper credit. But it’s certainly convicting... when will the scale tell me I’m “good enough”?